Multiple Choice Read Online Free Page A

entire recess, while the other children yelled and teased you.
    (6)  She cried from the shame. You were on the verge of tears, but you kept your eyes on her face, you felt a kind of sad fire burning. Her name, the girl’s, was Rocío.
    (7)  How long was that recess? Ten minutes, maybe fifteen. You never again spent fifteen minutes looking into another person’s eyes.
    (8)  It would be easier to just embrace the stranger there in front of you. You are both looking down; you are taller than she is. You focus on her black, still-wet hair.
    (9)  The tangled strands of that long, straight hair: you think about the hair that you used to untangle, carefully, on certain mornings. You learned the technique. You know how to untangle the hair of another person.
    (10)  Now almost everyone has gotten off the elevator, and only she and you are left. With each new space that opens up, you take the opportunity to move apart. You could stand even farther apart, each of you clinging to your corner, but that would be demonstrating something. It would be the same as embracing.
    (11)  She gets off one floor before you. And it’s strange and somehow horrible that when you see your body multiplied in the mirrors you feel the immense relief that you feel now.
    (12)  “In Chile, no one says hello to each other in elevators,” you say that night, at a dinner with friends from abroad. “They don’t in my country, either,” everyone answers, maybe out of politeness. “No, really, in Chile no one says anything. People don’t even look at each other in elevators,” you insist.
    (13)  “Everyone fakes their absence. Old friends, enemies, or lovers could be in the same elevator and never know it.”
    (14)  You add generalizations about Chilean identity, rudimentary sociology. As you speak, you feel you are betraying something. You feel the sharp point, the weight of your imposture.
    (15)  “In Chile, no one says hi to each other in elevators,” you say again, like a refrain, at a dinner where everyone competes to be the best observer and to inhabit the worst country.
    A)  None
    B)  4, 5, 6, and 7
    C)  8 and 9
    D)  3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, and 11
    E)  1, 2, 3, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, and 15

63.
    (1)  I was his friend, I was his pal. I knew him. And it’s not true what they say about him. Some things, sure, but not all of it. I care about what they say, it hurts. It’s as if they were talking about me.
    (2)  It’s true he thought fags were revolting, but he never fired anyone for being one. We all knew Salazar was batting for the other team—you only had to look at him. But he was lazy. My buddy fired him for being lazy, not for smoking pole.
    (3)  It isn’t true that he mistreated the maid. There was a reason she kept working in his house so long. He used a bell to call her; sometimes he said “please” when he asked her for things. And every Christmas he gave her a brand-new, spotless uniform. And in February he brought her to the house in Frutillar. The old lady got a one-month vacation, all expenses paid.
    (4)  And what is the problem, if I may ask, with the bell? Do you mean to tell me it’s better to call the maid by shouting at her?
    (5)  It’s true he didn’t like Mapuches, but it’s just that these days you have to respect everyone. I mean, come on, you can’t say anything—everything offends someone, and everyone’s a victim. And my buddy was consistent. He said what he thought and that was his only sin.
    (6)  And what’s the big deal with the Mapuches, anyway? They lost the war, same as the Peruvians. They lost, that’s it. The Bolivians, too—now they go around cryingabout how they don’t have access to the sea, yapping on and on about maps. They’re like little kids begging their