"Why do you open this letter before the others?"
"Because I'm from Sweden."
"What else is there to do in Sweden except for women?"
Neruda blinked, despite having heavy eyelids.
"There is a Nobel Prize in Literature."
"I'll give it to the teacher."
"If you give it to me, I won't refuse."
"How much is the prize money?"
The poet, who had already grasped the contents of the letter, responded lightly.
"152,500 dollars"
Mario jokingly added, "And 50 cents."
But I instinctively suppressed my absurd boldness and asked more gently instead.
"And?"
"huh?"
"They're giving me a Nobel Prize?"
"That may be true, but there are some strong candidates this year."
"why?"
"Because I wrote masterpieces."
"What about the other letters?"
The poet sighed and said.
"I'll read it later."
"ah!"
Mario had a feeling the conversation was coming to an end.
So, as was the customary mood of Neruda, the sole recipient, I fell into silence.
Mario was so quiet that the poet asked a question.
"What are you thinking about?"
"The contents of other letters.
"Could this be a love letter?"
The heavy poet coughed.
"Hey, I'm married! Mathilde will hear!"
"sorry."
Neruda quickly searched his pocket and took out a bill.
It was a larger amount than usual.
Mario said, "Thank you," not because of the money, but because of the impending separation.
That sadness turned Mario into a stone Buddha.
It was so worrying.
The poet, who was about to enter the house, became curious as to why Mario was acting so obviously depressed.
"What's going on?"
"yes?"
"You're standing like a telephone pole."
Mario turned his head and looked up to find the poet's eyes.
"It's stuck in like a window?"
"No, it's as quiet as a chess tower."
"Is it more serene than a porcelain cat?"
Neruda let go of the doorknob and stroked his chin.
"Mario, I have much better books than 'Song of Everyday Life'.
And it's unfair to test me with all kinds of metaphors."
"What did you say?"
"It's a metaphor!"
"What is that?"

--- p.25

(silence) Okay.
Up to here is the poem, from now on, it's the sounds you wanted.
First, the sound of the wind in the bell tower of Isla Negra.
(The wind continues for about a minute)
Second, the sound of me ringing the big bell of the Isle Negra bell tower.
(The bell rings seven times)
Third, the sound of the waves on the rocks of Isla Negra.
(Perhaps recorded on a stormy day, edited to include the sound of waves crashing against the rocks)
Fourth, the cry of a seagull.
(There is a strange stereo sound during this time.
The person recording it appears to have crept up to the perched seagulls and startled them away.
So, you can hear not only the sounds of new birds, but also the countless sounds of wingbeats that are full of restraint.
About forty-five seconds into the middle, Mario's voice is heard.
"Damn it, I'm going to cry." he yells.)
Fifth, the beehive (a dangerous buzzing sound that lasts for almost three minutes, with background sounds of dogs barking and birds chirping of unknown species recorded).
Sixth, the sound of waves receding.
(At the climax of the recording, the microphone seems to have followed very closely the sound of a large wave noisily sweeping across the sand until it mixed with the new wave.
Mario could have run alongside the crashing waves and jumped into the ocean, recording the waves blending together exquisitely.)
And the seventh, (a voice clearly filled with urgency, followed by silence) Mr. Pablo Neftali Jiménez Gonzalez.
(The sound of a newborn baby crying continues for about ten minutes.) (Silence) Okay.
Up to here is the poem, from now on, it's the sounds you wanted.
First, the sound of the wind in the bell tower of Isla Negra.
(The wind continues for about a minute)
Second, the sound of me ringing the big bell of the Isle Negra bell tower.
(The bell rings seven times)
Third, the sound of the waves on the rocks of Isla Negra.
(Perhaps recorded on a stormy day, edited to include the sound of waves crashing against the rocks)
Fourth, the cry of a seagull.
(There is a strange stereo sound during this time.
The person recording it appears to have crept up to the perched seagulls and startled them away.
So, you can hear not only the sounds of new birds, but also the countless sounds of wingbeats that are full of restraint.
About forty-five seconds into the middle, Mario's voice is heard.
"Damn it, I'm going to cry." he yells.)
Fifth, the beehive (a dangerous buzzing sound that lasts for almost three minutes, with background sounds of dogs barking and birds chirping of unknown species recorded).
Sixth, the sound of waves receding.
(At the climax of the recording, the microphone seems to have followed very closely the sound of a large wave noisily sweeping across the sand until it mixed with the new wave.
Mario could have run alongside the crashing waves and jumped into the ocean, recording the waves blending together exquisitely.)
And the seventh, (a voice clearly filled with urgency, followed by silence) Mr. Pablo Neftali Jiménez Gonzalez.
(The sound of a newborn baby crying continues for about ten minutes.)

--- p.122