The hotel where he stayed is gone; or rather, it now goes by another name.
The book I hastily bought at a nearby bookstore and he signed with uneven letters,
lost in one of my moves around the world.
He asked which book I brought. “El Informe de Brodie,” I said.
Borges seemed pleased and replied “Oh, the one with the story Guayaquil.”
The article I wrote based on my short interview of him and my impressions of the meeting,
given to a magazine editor. I didn’t keep a copy. I didn’t hear back from the editor.
Two of the three persons who went with me (who allowed me to go with them, rather),
both death now, like Borges. The third person, gone from my memory.
Have no idea who he was.
María Kodama a brief presence under the sill of another room in their hotel suite.
It seems like these words are all that is left of that brief encounter in Guayaquil.