Flora and Fauna

About the book:

Small and medium businesses from the outskirts of Buenos Aires, old communist activists, sales strategies for cell phones, beer-flavored kisses, Tinder dates, phobias, millennial entrepreneurship, and the question of motherhood: the characters in these stories exist in those unstable and challenging places, where they struggle not only to make their way in the world, but also to stand out and examine—in the chiaroscuro of these days—what their own story and desires are, where each person's boundaries begin and end. Federico Falco.

Excerpt:

I’m not sure I liked it back then, but now, every so often I have dreams of the ceramic Christ with hundreds of rosaries hanging from it. Grandma emptied her room so mom and dad could stay there when we visited her during summer, and she moved the Christ to our room. Sometimes I would stare at his expression, his sad eyes, the tears on his cheeks, the crown of thorns, the tiny candles burning down around him. That’s something I actually enjoyed, the smell of the melting wax, as many candles as grandma’s pleads. There were no religious figures at home and suddenly there was one at grandma’s. It was fine that they left that statue with us, that grueling statue, full of Esther’s prayers. And the truth is that I don't get why grandma would leave something so precious in our room with us, messy and naughty as we were, just like mom.

Grandma always got so upset the minute she saw her. She tried to hide it, but it was all over her face, especially seeing her jaw locked. She once let it slip that she couldn't understand how his son had married a woman like that, so complicated. And she was right in a way. Mom was all over the place, anxious and flushed, unpacking her countless belongings and complaining about the space. Dad followed suit, also upset, giving us orders, telling us to go get our bags and help grandma. And the last thing we wanted to do was to work.

Translated by Sebastián Gutiérrez - Edited by Laura Estefania