I mean, it certainly doesn't hurt that Felisberto's unusual way of regarding inanimate objects as if they were endowed with life ("Contra la pared que recibía menos luz había recostado un pequeño piano abierto, su gran sonrisa amarillenta parecía ingenua" ) (97 in Spanish, 56 in Luis Harss' English translation) seems so natural, seems so right in context. However, for our purposes, the more salient question is this: how could Felisberto have ever managed to pull off such a preposterous premise? Three possible answers: Moxie. How do you say "WTF" in Spanish, you ask? Good question. Do I know how to work a crowd or what? In "El balcón", the usual Felisberto-style narrator-an unnamed piano player on tour in the provinces-gets into the usual Felisberto-style scrape-he charms a lonely, bad poetry-reciting shut-in who then has to choose between the piano player and her beloved balcony, with whom she seems to share an, ahem, unnaturally close relationship-with the usual improbably entertaining results.
Impromptu Felisberto Hernández Week continues with two stories-or rather a short story and an anecdote.
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