I bought this book in Spanish in Buenos Aires. It's one of Argentina's most famous books and author, but even native Spanish speakers find it somewhat difficult of a read. Eventually I got a copy in English.

Context: Oliveira is a pretentious bohemian who for half the book has been talking theoretical philosophy. He has gotten his friends to rig a bridge of boards between their third story windows, across the street, so that they can give him some mate tea leaves mixed with nails. Talita is sitting in the middle of the precarious boards, in her bathrobe, nearly fainting from the heat while her husband gets her a hat. The whole time Oliveira has been imagining that the scorching day is really frigidly cold and the sun is actually the moon. Suddenly he doesn't want the mate anymore.

"It's hard to understand you," Traveler said. "All this work and now it turns out that one more mate, one less mate, it doesn't really matter."

"The minute-hand has made its circle, my son," Oliveira said. "You move in the time-space continuum with the speed of a worm. Think of all that has happened since you decided to go find that overworked Panama hat. The cycle of the mate came to a close without reaching fruition, and in the meantime the ever-faithful Gekrepten made her showy entrance, loaded down with cooking utensils. We are now in the cafe con leche sector, and nothing can be done about it."

"That's some argument," Traveler said.