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Gabo will never be alone
Gabriel Molina
When
Fidel’s Reflection was published July 9, 2008,
Gabriel García Márquez and his Mercedes Barcha were
stunned by the Comandante’s great affection.
Nobel Prize winner
Gabriel García Márquez with journalist Gabriel
Molina,
and other Cuban reporters, during a visit to Granma
International.
“What Fidel wrote left me cold, frozen. I had the
impression I had just met him yesterday. I had never
seen him that way, so affectionate,” Gabo commented
to some of his Cuban friends…
“He
was affectionate, relaxed. He spoke with us about
everything, about Birán, which we had visited with
him before,” Mercedes said. “Yes, about a great many
issues, with depth and clarity,” her companion of
more than 50 years added, concluding, “I’m not going
out on the street today.”
For
good reason, after these words which reached perhaps
millions of Cubans via the press, radio and
television, it would have been overwhelming to be
seen in public. Coming from some one else, this
might appear to be an exaggeration, but it wasn’t.
He recalled what had happened the previous day at
the Hotel Meliá Cohíba.
Just
past 3:00 pm, the restaurant was almost empty, an
opportune moment for hotel management and workers
alike to begin, as soon as we had placed our order,
approaching the table where Gabo, Mercedes, Conchita
Dumois and I sat. As people became more and more
bold, we could not continue our conversation in
regards to our third meeting with Angel Augier,
about to celebrate his 100th birthday, having spent
50 years in solitude. The admirers of García Márquez
brought books, pieces of paper and all kinds of
souvenirs for him to sign and asked to take a
picture with him. I admit that, at the time, I
wanted to continue enjoying his brilliant
conversation. He liked to talk about those times. I
thought he might lose patience with the
interruptions. But I was wrong; he was always this
way, devoid of any elitist attitudes typical of
celebrities. I would say he was truly delighted to
interact with the modest people who overcame their
shyness to approach a famous writer.
These moments brought to mind a day, 10 years
earlier, when in Lenin Park a Spanish tourist
approached us, asking to take a photo of Gabo. We
agreed, on the condition that he send us a hard
copy, which he did. This is the only image we have
of those collegial meetings here in the 1960’s.
Conchita Dumois, Jorge Ricardo Masetti’s
unforgettable widow, took on the responsibility of
building ties, getting Gabo together, almost every
time he came, with the Prensa Latina staff, which
was, in those contentious times, very close to
Argentina. Gathering to discuss the present, and
recall the past, were Ricardo Saenz and Joaquín
Oramas, like Conchita now deceased; Juan Marrero and
Marta Rojas, as well, although she did not work at
PL.
Too
many people are overwhelmed by success, especially
when their accomplishments are not as spectacular or
well-deserved as was the case with Gabo. I was never
surprised that, even after not seeing him for years,
he was always the same, or rather, even better. He
preserved his authenticity.
Gabriel García Márquez became so famous that at
times it was a burden. More than once anonymous
writers circulated letters on the Internet,
purportedly from Gabo, bidding farewell given his
allegedly imminent death.
It
is perhaps lamentable to lose one’s privacy,
especially when you most need it, but Gabo showed
that it was more important to know how to manage
fame. At the Meliá, he continued to express his
affection, wit and respect, as he did during our
meetings with Augier. Throughout our stay, he
graciously accepted compliments with a surprisingly
calm disposition, which encouraged the Cuban and
Spanish workers there. Some bemoaned the fact that
they didn’t have their books with them at the
moment, and he promised to sign them some other
time.
The
following day, I asked him about that and he had
already been back. I shouldn’t have been surprised.
How could I have doubted it, given the innumerable
demonstrations of his modesty I had observed, over
the years.
Gabo
was open, like any good Colombian costeño. His
former alter ego in those adventures, led by
Argentine Jorge Ricardo Masetti and his mentor Che
Guevara, was Plinio Apuleyo Mendoza from Bogotá,
who, despite the Latin-Greek connotation of his
name, was as sociable as his friend, perhaps because
his desk in the newsroom was next to mine.
When
we spoke about five years ago about Masetti and the
foundation of Prensa Latina, García Márquez told me
he was fine with our salary, which was good, not
just for Cuba, at the time. The country had broken
the habit of paying journalists poorly, largely
because of Che, we thought, who had suffered this
indignity while covering the 1955 Pan American Games
in Mexico.
My
companion, Ana María García, had the opportunity to
confirm Gabo’s great curiosity and congenial
demeanor, when she saw him for the first time,
during the 1990’s in a store in Miramar. Upon
recognizing him, it occurred to her to ask him what
he thought of the Colombian football team’s
performance in the World Cup competition, and if he
would grant her an interview on the subject. It is
well-known that he declined many interview requests.
I heard him say once, “Crocodiles don’t eat
crocodiles.”
Nevertheless, the idea was an original one. Gabo
turned to Mercedes and commented that no one had
ever asked him for an interview about sports, much
less about a game in which the players “look like
chicks running wildly after a ball.” The interview
was held; we published it in Granma International
and it was widely distributed in the French daily
Sud Ouest.
In
August of 2001, Granma International staff members
were enchanted with his wit as he greeted them,
before setting off with me to meet Augier in his
Habana del Este home, climbing eight flights of
stairs, since the elevator was out of order. During
the trip, I continued to enjoy Gabo’s natural
humanity. He liked to sing - doing so once in a
Paris bistro to help cover his expenses – and he
enjoyed sharing friendly conversation, good music
and a few drinks. He loved boleros and wanted to
compose, though he wasn’t happy with his efforts. He
loved his native country’s vallenatos, saying once
that “A hundred years of solitude is a 450-page
vallenato.”
The
García Márquez, who so impressed Fidel, was not just
a great writer and journalist, adored around the
world, but an extraordinary human being, who
responded to Fidel’s affection in kind. I can
personally vouch for this, recalling one of the last
times we spent together compiling Conchita’s
memories of PL for a book about Masetti. Fidel was
in life-threatening condition, and García Márquez
would stop every five minutes to wonder aloud about
how Fidel was doing, seemingly forgetting that his
own health was not good.
Thus
the words Fidel wrote about him and Mercedes deeply
moved Gabo. Allow me to quote some of the sentiments
expressed, “I decided to rest. I would have
preferred to meet Gabo and his wife Mercedes Barcha,
who are visiting Cuba through the 11th. How I would
have liked to converse with them, to recall the
almost 50 years of our genuine friendship! (...) I
never had the privilege of seeing Aracataca, the
small town where Gabo was born, although I did have
the privilege of celebrating my 70th birthday with
him in Birán. (...) Our friendship was the result of
a relationship cultivated over many years, during
which our conversations, always a pleasure for me,
would number into the hundreds. Talking with García
Márquez and Mercedes, whenever they came to Cuba –
and it was once a year – became a prescription for
the severe tension which a revolutionary leader
lived, unconsciously, but constantly.
“In
Colombia itself, on the occasion of the 4th Ibero-American
Summit, the hosts organized a car tour of the walled
area of Cartagena (…) My compañeros from Cuban
security told me it might not be convenient for me
to participate in the scheduled tour. I thought it
might reflect excessive concern, given the degree of
compartmentalization, those who informed me were
sometimes unaware of concrete facts. I always
respected their professionalism and cooperated with
them.
“I
called Gabo, who was close-by and said to him
jokingly, ‘Ride with us tonight, so they don’t shoot
us!’ And he did. I added in the same tone to
Mercedes, who stayed at the point our departure,
‘You’re going to be the youngest widow.’ I’ve never
forgotten it. (…) Later I learned that what happened
there was the same as what had occurred in Santiago
de Chile, when a television camera containing an
automatic weapon was pointed at me during an
interview with the press, and the mercenary
operating it did not dare to fire. In Cartagena,
there were telescopic rifles and automatic weapons
in place to ambush us in the walled area, but once
again, those who were to pull the trigger wavered.
The excuse given was that Gabo’s head was in the
way, obstructing their view.” Going about the world
with Fidel has its risks.
At
the end of his article, Fidel wrote that Gabo did
not much like giving speeches, but described as a
gem the one he gave accepting the Nobel Prize, when
he said, “We inventors of fables, who believe
everything, feel it is our right to believe that it
is not too late to undertake the creation of a
different utopia.
“A
new, sweeping utopia of life, in which no one can
decide for others even the way they will die, where
love is truly sure and happiness is possible, and
where the races condemned to one hundred years of
solitude have, at last and forever, a second
opportunity on earth.”
Not
long ago, conversing with García Márquez and
Mercedes, l said that in my opinion, he had rescued
our name. They looked at me quizzically and said no
more. I should have told them about the famous
figure of my childhood, named
Miguel Gravier, who as a radio magnate was very well
known. So well known that practically no one called
me Gabriel, but rather Gravier or Grabiel, which
bothered me to no end. I stopped telling people my
given name, preferring to use my surname.
That’s why I said he rescued and dignified the name.
As a result of his saga, everyone can pronounce it
well. Now that he is sadly no longer with us, I can
tell the story without fear that might appear
self-flattering. It is in truth a simple, intimate
and sincere tribute, because he rescued and
dignified ethical journalism.
I
know that García Márquez will never again be alone.
One day he said he was one of those who are buried
with their friends. I will take the idea farther,
and say that his ashes will always remain in the air
his friends breathe.
Gabriel García
Márquez and Fidel Castro.
Gabriel García Márquez. Photo: abc.es.
100 Years of Solitude, Gabo’s most renowned work.
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