Manuel Ascencio Segura

 

Manuel Ascencio Segura

Manuel Ascencio Segura y Cordero (Lima, June 23 of 1805 - id. October 18 of 1871) was a writer and playwright Peruvian, important representative of costumbrismo at the beginning of republican literature. He is considered the creator of the Peruvian national theater, along with Felipe Pardo and Aliaga ( 1806-1868 ), with whom he often argued. He stood out with his traditional comedies and sainetes, which he enriched with voices and popular turns. While Felipe Pardo was a man of aristocratic ideas and defender of the Spanish colony, Segura represented the democratic values of the new Peruvian society, which is reflected in the Creole flavor of his comedies. Poor middle class mongrel, he had a great affinity for the popular and the new social groups emerging in a recently emancipated country. In his honor, the Teatro Principal de Lima was renamed with his name in 1929 (Safe Theater).

 

Biography

Manuel Ascencio Segura was the son of the lieutenant of the Spanish army Juan Segura and the Lima lady Manuela Cordero. His paternal family hailed from Huancavelica, but it was already installed in Lima, then the capital of the Viceroyalty of Peru, residing in the very Creole neighborhood of Santa Ana. At the instigation of his father, he continued his military career by joining the royalist army as a cadet. He was then 13 years old.

 

He fought alongside the Spanish and with his father in the Ayacucho battle, the last of The War of the Independence of Peru (December 9 of 1824). Defeated the realistic cause they defended, the Segura stayed in the country, and young Manuel went on to serve in the patriotic ranks, reaching the rank of captain of the second Zepita battalion , cantonized in Jauja, in 1831. It was the days of the general's first government Agustín Gamarra, of which he was a supporter.

 

Between 1833 and 1834 Manuel A. Segura wrote her first comedy, The Pepa, in which he reproached the arrogance of the military, although it was never represented or edited, because its implicit criticism could jeopardize its military career.

 

During the following years, Segura was immersed in the successive civil wars of the beginning of the republic. He was a follower of Felipe Santiago Salaverry under whose auspices he was appointed customs administrator of Huacho. Then he decided to move south, to fight alongside Salaverry against the Bolivian invasion of 1835. Defeated his side, he was taken prisoner in Camana and with difficulty he saved his life. Installed the Peru-Bolivian Confederation, remained marginalized from the militia. Defeated the Confederation in 1839, was again called by General Gamarra to serve in the army, from which he retired definitively as a lieutenant colonel in the National Guard, in 1842. At that time anarchy began in the country, which lasted until 1845. Segura went on to swell the bureaucracy as an employee of the Ministry of Finance.

 

In those years, Segura wrote in various newspapers, such as 'Trade' from Lima, of which he was editor. There he published his only novel, Gonzalo Pizarro, for deliveries. In 1841 decided to leave said newspaper to dedicate himself to the edition of his own newspaper, entitled The bag. In it appeared his articles of customs "Los Carnavales", "I'm going to Callao", "El Puente", etc. These are careless texts in style, but with a direct and familiar language that easily captures the reader portraying the characters of their time. In this newspaper he also published some satirical poems and letters, such as the one titled "To the Girls".Simultaneously he published The Comet, a periodicillo that barely reached number twelve ( 1841-1842 ). Other of his articles of customs published in different newspapers were "Tea and the dungeon", ", "Las calle de Lima", "God save you from the day of praise", etc. In this way he became the greatest representative of the costumbrismo, next to Felipe Pardo and Aliaga.

 

When it appeared The Mirror of my land, satirical publication of Pardo and Aliaga ( 1840 ), Segura collaborated in the two issues of Lima against the mirror of my land, a publication that in response to Pardo was released by the Chilean Bernardo Soffia. Unsigned and with similar sharpness, Segura and Pardo crossed verses against each other. Segura and his editorial colleagues blamed Pardo for an anti-customist and derogatory attitude towards popular tastes. An example of this literary "correspondence" was the poem "Los tamales" ( by Segura ) and its subsequent response, "El tamalero" ( by Pardo ).

 

For those years, Segura was also the man of the theater in Lima. Indeed, between 1839 and 1845 he was the only one who, from time to time, premiered pieces in the Lima environment. In 1839 he premiered the drama ( or according to another version, stage toy ) Love and politics and comedy Sergeant Padfoot, a new criticism of militarism, which had an excellent acceptance among the public. Immediately premiered the historical drama Blasco Núñez de Vela (1840), comedy The saya and the cloak (1841 or 1842) and the appetizer The mozamala (1842).

 

In the night of January 24 of 1845 premiered in Lima the first version of Ña Catita, a 3-act piece ( that would later be expanded to 4 ), undoubtedly the most recognized of its theatrical pieces.

 

The April 20 of 1843, at thirty-seven, he married Josefa Fernández de Viana, twenty-three years old. With his spouse, he went to Piura, where he was highlighted as Secretary of the Prefecture. There he lived the next eleven years. He founded and directed the weekly The Moscón in which satire and mockery predominated, attacking the vices and excesses of Creole politics. This publication was only three years old ( 1848-1851 ). For those years he also wrote The Pelimuertada, subtitled Latest fashion epic (1851), a satirical poem full of ingenuity, in which he again attacked his literary rival, Felipe Pardo.

 

The October 12 of 1858 He was declared a permanent with full salary for having completed more than thirty years of service to the nation. He was fifty-three years old, and already had health problems. Back in Lima, he devoted himself fully to literary work.

 

Between 1854 and 1862 his theatrical activity became intense. He devoted his ingenuity to costumbrista comedy and established himself as the creator of the Peruvian theater. The December 9 from 1854 he premiered the comedy The spy, and the following year, The resigned. Re-released his comedy Ña Catita, the September 7th of 1856, with great success. The September 15 of that year of 1856 premiered No one hits me, and the January 24 of 1858, A toy. In January of 1859, in collaboration with the young man Ricardo Palma, presented the sainete The saint of Panchita. In 1861 premiered Perchances of a sender; in July of 1862, the sainete Lances de Amancaes, and in September of that same year The three widows, comedy in three acts.

 

Between 1860 and 1861 was an alternate deputy for the Loreto department, but its legislative action was opaque. Palma In this regard, he pointed out that it was impossible for him to overcome his shyness in the gallery, but that he was distinguished instead by his good practicality and by the independence of his conduct.

 

For those years, already become the center of the Lima intelligentsia, He attended the literary evenings that were held in the Pérez brothers' bookstore or in the portals of the Plaza de Armas. This is how the last years of his life passed, between literary activity and lively gatherings.

 

Good father of a family, with his wife Doña Josefa he had two children, one dead at an early age and another named María Josefa del Rosario. Beaten by health problems — suffered from asthma— and due to successive family misfortunes, he died October 18 of 1871.

 

He was a public official between 1823 and 1828.

 

Works

Segura's works are divided into three genres: the poetic, the dramatic and the journalistic ( articles of customs ). To them should be added their only copy of the novelistic genre: Gonzalo Pizarro.

 

Poetics

 

Feast of Saint John in Amancaes. Lima, 1843.

In the poetic genre his verses are shown in the manner of the corrosive latrillas of Francisco de Quevedo and Breton of the Blacksmiths. « He set out to moralize by laughing, and laughing not with humor that spikes grace, but with the sarcastic that expels the bitterness of life. ». His best known poetry is:

 

"To the girls", sextillas directed at the braised and boastful limelines, without distinction of age.

The Pelimuertada, subtitled Latest fashion epic ( Piura, 1851), burlesque and satirical epic, but more lyrical than epic in character. It was published in an 84-page brochure. It is divided into 16 songs, the last unfinished, with a total of 2,194 verses, distributed in leaflets, sextillas, quintillas and romances. In it he made unmistakable allusions against his literary contender, Felipe Pardo, and the academic writers of the capital. His procacity possibly motivated him not to be fully included, in the volume that compiled the literary works of Segura, where only five songs were collected (Articles, poetry and comedies, 1885 ).

Countless letters published in "La Bolsa" and "El Moscón", directed against Andrés de Santa Cruz, Felipe Pardo and Aliaga and many other adversaries in the office of letters.

To show his versifying ability, his mischief in the use of language and his allusions to his literary rival ( Pardo ), here are some examples taken from The Pelimuertada:

 

Ercilla sang to the Araucanian,

Tasso sang to Godofredo,

sang Bolívar Olmedo,

and Lucano sang to Caesar;

go from elbow to hand,

as they usually call me,

I'm going to sing too

more than fuss the show,

and although I'm with a cold

that I can't solve.

 

If epics make a hundred,

even those who go to school,

about the dead and who watches over him,

I have to do it too.

With a three bon or a well

it is not Béranger who obfuscates me;

and although people give birth

then the brain fades,

I have to release the boneless

stronger than Cuyusca.

The allusions to Felipe Pardo are clear: that of "people who give birth", which in a right sense refers to the brown people or the people, also alludes to the surname of his rival; Furthermore, Pardo had translated Béranger. All that is enough to realize who the satire was directed against. The "Cuyusca", as I would remember many years later Enrique López Albújar in their Memories, was the nickname of a very popular female character among the low town of Piura from the beginning of the 1840s( which coincides with the time Segura lived there ). She was a Creole brown, possibly between 15 and 20 years old, who cheered the streets with her songs and music. A testimony of her time describes her as a free black woman who caused scandals in the streets with her obscene songs, pronounced with her resonant voice.

 

Dramatic

 

Plaza Mayor de Lima at the beginning of the Republic. Oil by Juan Mauricio Rugendas, Lima, 1843.

In the dramatic genre, Segura composed fundamentally sainetes and comedies. In total he wrote seventeen plays, of which four have been lost. Its characters are mainly from the middle class, sometimes laughable, kind or simple the others, but always representative of society. His arguments are simple; his verse, fluid; and its language, agile and full of popular terms. According Menéndez and Pelayo, Peru owes Segura a theatrical comic repertoire in quantity and quality that any other country in America can offer. Alongside the only three comedies of Felipe Pardo ( of which only two were represented in the author's lifetime ) this production is notoriously abundant.

 

In accordance with the costumbrista norm, Segura explained her literary work in terms of social service. His articles and comedies were aimed at the public to motivate the change in habits that ugly the image of Lima society. In a fragment of The saya and the cloak, affirmed that his work was intended: « to correct customs / abuses, excesses / that plagued is / unfortunately our soil. » That corrective spirit is almost never violent ( excepting criticism of political passions, institutional chaos, lack of patriotism ).

 

Here is a list of his plays:

 

The Pepa ( 1833 ), his first comedy written, but which was not released.

Love and politics ( 1839 ), its first premiere, a work of a historical nature whose text has not been preserved.

Sergeant Padfoot ( 1839 ), a work in which he ridicules the boasts of an uneducated and boastful military man who, due to his haughtiness, is expelled from the house of the woman he is targeting. As in all of Segura's comedies, more than the plot what stands out is the spontaneity of the characters and the grace of the dialogues plagued by popular sayings, offering a lively, critical, ingenious, and festive — portrait of Peruvian society in its early Republican decades.

Blasco Núñez de Vela ( 1840 ), a historical drama in 6 acts, the premiere of which sparked controversy between Europeans and nationalists. Its original has been lost.

The saya and the cloak ( 1841 or 1842 ) comedy where he deals with a public employment applicant, who, to achieve this, falls in love with a young woman and promises her marriage, so that through his intersection and the influence of his brother-in-law, the minister may obtain approval of his wishes.

The mozamala ( 1842 ), among which the title alludes to the name of a very popular dance of that time.

Ña Catita( 1845; corrected in 1856 ), comedy. It is the work that summarizes all the humor and sparkling grace of Segura. Its main character that gives it its title has been considered as the most prominent figure in Peruvian theater. The argument is as follows: the spouses Don Jesús and Doña Rufina have a daughter of marriageable age, named Juliana. The mother, instigated by Ña Catita — a mischievous, gossipy and intriguing old woman —, tries to link her daughter with Don Alejo, a Donjuanesco type who pretends to have great rank and financial solvency. But Juliana, very candid and sweet, corresponds to the loving passion of Don Manuel, poor young man with no future, and stubbornly opposes his mother's attempts. When the union of Juliana and Don Alejo is about to be sealed, don Juan, an old friend of the family, arrives unexpectedly,who involuntarily disrupts Don Alejo's claims. Indeed, a newcomer from Cuzco, don Juan is surprised to see Don Alejo, who was his friend, and takes advantage of the casual meeting to deliver a letter from his wife. It is then discovered that the supposed gallant was nothing but an impostor, who had a wife and lived in Cuzco. Rufina faints with fright and cries her misfortune. Ña Catita, per perverse and pimp, is thrown from the house. The marriage of Juliana and Manuel is then agreed, while Don Jesús, through the intercession of don Juan, forgives the conduct of his wife Rufina. This work was released on the night of the It is then discovered that the supposed gallant was nothing but an impostor, who had a wife and lived in Cuzco. Rufina faints with fright and cries her misfortune. Ña Catita, per perverse and pimp, is thrown from the house. The marriage of Juliana and Manuel is then agreed, while Don Jesús, through the intercession of don Juan, forgives the conduct of his wife Rufina. This work was released on the night of the It is then discovered that the supposed gallant was nothing but an impostor, who had a wife and lived in Cuzco. Rufina faints with fright and cries her misfortune. Ña Catita, per perverse and pimp, is thrown from the house. The marriage of Juliana and Manuel is then agreed, while Don Jesús, through the intercession of don Juan, forgives the conduct of his wife Rufina. This work was released on the night of the January 24 from 1845, and re-released with aggregates the September 7th from 1856, triumphing thanks to the genius of the actress Encarnación Coya.

No one hits me ( 1845 ), short piece.

The spy ( 1854 ), comedy.

The resigned ( 1855 ), comedy full of political allusions, referring to the civil war between Echenique and Castilla. It was a formidable success that drew admiration from the romantic youth of “ bohemia ”, including Clemente Althaus, Manuel Nicolás Corpancho, Carlos Augusto Salaverry and Ricardo Palma.

A toy ( 1858 ), comedy

The saint of Panchita ( 1859 ), sainete, in collaboration with Ricardo Palma in scenes VIII-X of the second act.

Perchances of a sender ( 1861 ), comedy. Sharp criticism of the Lima press license, which did not respect honors.

The three widows ( 1862 ), comedy where Segura's wit shines the most restful, with psychological glimpses, unknown in his previous works.

Lances de Amancaes ( 1862 ), sainete.

The cachaspari, sainete made from the recast of the originals of the piece of an act "Two for one".

Journalistic

In the journalistic field, he made his first contributions in Trade from Lima, and later founded The bag and The Moscón. In them he wrote festive letters and traditional items, always wearing his mocking and cartoonish wit. Altogether, they add up to a much larger quantity than Felipe Pardo's articles, but he surpassed him in quality with his articles that he published in The mirror of my land.

 

Segura's articles of customs broaden the themes and sometimes deepen the critical vision of his comedies. With an unimaginative and often sloppy composition, these articles usually consist of a brief presentation by the narrator, from the humorous account of one or more urban events ( ranging from funeral honors to President Gamarra to the carnival game ) and a prosecuting conclusion. It is a clear antecedent of Peruvian traditions of Ricardo Palma.

 

Characteristics

 

Portrait of Manuel A. Safe. Published at the beginning of the 20th century.

His critics and biographers, from Juan de Arona up to José de la Riva-Agüero y Osma, They agree in recognizing their unique gifts as a resourceful comediographer. He painted places and characters, especially the latter, with singular skill. Caricature was his favorite descriptive form. Deep down, it did not pursue the cruel and bloody stigmatization of our customs, but its moralization. Its emblematic characters were the limo from Beatona and Pimp, the adventurous military, the unscrupulous politicians, the false aristocrats, the careerist public employees and all the heterogeneous types that made up the Lima population. He managed to create stamps full of grace, irony and sharpness, so full of vitality that many types of today's society can be recognized in them.

 

As for the use of language, it did not fall into the purism of the Spanish language that Pardo and Aliaga defended exacerbated. In this sense, he surpassed his colleague of letters, since he brought a renewal in the theatrical vocabulary, that is, in the poetic vocabulary. The Castilian literary language had sometimes become poor and discolored within the current stylistic molds. Segura used, with original grace as an authentic writer, voices that were not in the dictionary but in the daily speech of ordinary people. Thus he stamped the so-called Creollisms and also adorned the curious popular syntax, thus anticipating Ricardo Palma and Leonidas Yerovi. From there a joy results in his works, derived not so much from the very simple plots or from the ideas expressed, but from the words themselves in their intimacy and entrails. To the unwarned reader of the century xxi you will certainly be surprised to find in the dialogues of the Sergeant Padfoot and Ña Catita popular expressions of current daily use (« become Swedish », « go fry monkeys », etc. ). With good reason, Ricardo Palma defended Segura from those of supposed vulgarity: « What these critics forget is that when the people are painted they must be painted as it is. If there is something in our compatriot's comedies that offends picky readers, it will be the original's fault, not the portrait ».

 

 

Felipe Pardo and Aliaga

The figures of the two largest writers of the early Republican Peru are often opposed, Felipe Pardo and Aliaga and Manuel Ascensio Segura, Lima and contemporaries. It is true that both held long literary-journalistic controversies for various reasons ( for example, Pardo expresses indignation and moralism at the debauchery of the Lima carnivals; Safe, mischief and enthusiasm at this party ), and that in that confrontation they showed off their best talent to criticize each other, but it is not valid to pigeonhole them in Creole or anti-Criollista positions. A careful reading of Pardo's work also reveals his deep love and interest in Peru; on the other hand, Segura also makes harsh criticism of Peruvian society.

With affection,

Ruben

 

 

Alfredo Salazar Southwell

 

Alfredo Salazar Southwell

 

Alfredo Salazar Southwell was a FAP instructor and aviation hero. On September 14, 1937, during its test flight in a rehearsal prior to a parade for Peruvian Aviation Day, the Potez 39 A.2 airplane caught fire due to mechanical failures. He orders his co-pilot, sub-officer Carlos Fajardo, to evacuate and directs the ship towards the then vacant lands of the cliff in the Miraflores district (where the San Martín barracks and the Place of Memory are now located). With this he manages to avoid a major tragedy in the urban part of Lima. His remains lie in a mausoleum in the Presbítero Maestro cemetery. In 1953, Salazar Park was inaugurated in his honor, currently integrated into the CC. Larcomar.

(Images from Blirmedios and Juan Luis Orrego's blog)

 

ALFREDO SALAZAR SOUTHWELL. Peruvian aviator born in Lima in 1913. He studied at the Anglo-Peruvian School, entered the School of Engineers, but decided to join the Peruvian Air Force.

On September 14, 1937, Ensign Alfredo Salazar participated in the rehearsal for the air exhibition that would be held the next day at the inauguration of the Jorge Chávez monument in the Campo de Marte.

Unfortunately, the plane he was piloting suffered a breakdown and lost altitude. He asked his co-pilot to save his life by parachuting. However, Salazar did not jump, he decided to pilot the plane to an unpopulated area to avoid a greater tragedy. That's how the aviator hit his ship in an area near the cliffs of Miraflores. He was 24 years old.

In 1953, a monument was placed in his honor, the work of the Hungarian sculptor Lajos D'Ebneth. It represents a condor head.

A park was also built that was named after him, Salazar Southwell Park, later called Salazar Park. It was remodeled at the end of the nineties and converted into the "Larcomar" shopping center. Photo: Juan José Pacheco Ibarra

With affection,

Ruben

Story: Looking for Mr. Green 2

 

Looking for Mr. Green 2

[ Story - Full text. ]

Saul Bellow

---

 

 

He fell silent, and thought about how quickly Raynor had soaked it. He lacked time to put your suitcase on the table and unpack all your things. And then, on the street, he continued to reflect on how far he could have gone, and how much would Raynor have led him to count if he had not been interrupted by the great roar caused by Mrs. Staika. But just then a young woman, one of Raynor's employees, ran into the cubicle exclaiming:

— Can't you hear the scandal?

— We have not heard anything.

— It's Staika, putting together as much scandal as she can. Reporters are already arriving. He said he called the newspapers, and we are sure he has.

— But what happens? — Raynor said.

— You have brought the laundry and are ironing it here, with our electric current, because the charity does not pay the electricity bill. She has extended the ironing board next to the mission counter and brought her children to the six. They never go to school more than once a week. He's always dragging them around with her to maintain his reputation.

— I don't want to miss any of this — Raynor said, jumping.

Grebe, while following him with the secretary, asked:

— Who is that Staika?

— They call her the « mother of blood on Federal Street ». He is a professional donor in hospitals. It seems to me that they pay ten dollars for every half liter. Of course, it's no joke, but she organizes a scandal for it and the children are always in the newspapers.

A small group of people, staff, and customers divided by a plywood barrier, crowded into the narrow entrance space, as Staika screamed in a rough, masculine voice, while hitting the board with the iron and dropping it on the metal support.

— My father and mother came in third, and I was born in our house, in Robey, next to the Hudson. I am not a dirty immigrant. I am a citizen of the United States. My husband is a war veteran who was wounded in France. His lungs are weaker than paper, he can barely go to the bathroom alone. And to these six children of mine I have to buy the shoes with my own blood. Even a miserable white bow tie for communion means a couple of drops of blood to me; a piece of mosquito net veil so that my Vadja does not feel ashamed in the church with the other girls; At the clinic next to Goldblatt they take my blood in exchange for money. This is how I survive. We'd be fine if we had to depend on charity. And there are lots of people on the charts ... All fake! There is nothing they cannot get,They can go get their bacon wrapped in Swift and Armar at any time. They look for them next to the docks of the port. They never get out of work. What happens is that they prefer to stay in their lousy cots and eat the money from the public.

I was not afraid, in a black majority office, of screaming like that against blacks.

Grebe and Raynor tried to get closer to get a closer look at the woman. She was lit with rage and pleasure with herself, wide and huge, a woman with golden hair wearing a pink-edged cotton cap. She was not wearing stockings but she was wearing black gym shoes. The apron was open, and her large breasts, not very contained by a men's shirt, they prevented her from moving her arms while working on a girl's dress on the ironing board. And the children, silent and white, stood behind her. She had caught the attention of the entire office, and that filled her with enormous pleasure. But his complaints were authentic. I was telling the truth. However, she behaved like a liar. She avoided looking straight in her little eyes and, although she was furious, she also seemed to be up to something.

— They send me social workers in silk studios and pants to get rid of what awaits me. ¿Are they better than me? ¿Who has informed them? Get fired. Let them go and get married so they won't have to cut electricity from people's budget.

Mr. Ewing, chief supervisor, was unable to silence her and stood there idly in front of his employees, bare-headed, telling subordinates, like the former school principal who was:

— He will soon tire and leave.

— No, it won't tire — Raynor told Grebe —. You will get what you want. She knows even more than Ewing of charity. He's been on the charts for years, and he always gets what he wants because he puts on a awful show. Ewing knows that. It will yield soon. He's just saving his face. If he gets bad publicity, the commissioner will send him to the lowest offices, downtown. She has it up to her neck; in time it will have us all like this, and that includes nations and governments.

Grebe responded with his characteristic smile, completely at odds. ¿Who was going to obey Staika's orders, and what changes were her screams going to bring about?

No, what Grebe saw in her, the power that made people listen to her, was that her scream expressed the war between flesh and blood, perhaps a little crazy and certainly ugly, in that place and in those conditions. And at first, when he took to the streets, the spirit of Staika somehow presided over the entire district for him, and took color from her; he saw its color, in the uneven lights of the clubs and in the bonfires below Him, that straight path of darkness strewn with fire. Later, too, when he entered a tavern for a drink of rye, the sweat of beer, the association with the Polish streets of the West Side, all this made him think about her again.

He wiped the corners of his lips with the scarf, because he could not reach where he had the handkerchief, and he went out again to continue the distribution of the checks. The air was blowing cold and hard and a few snowflakes formed near it. A train passed him and left the structures trembling and a bristling icy whistle on the rails.

He crossed the street and went down a stretch of wooden steps to reach a store that was in a basement, with which a small bell began to ring. It was a dark and elongated warehouse that caught you with its smells of smoked meat, soap, dried peaches and fish. There was a fire writhing and stirring in the small stove and behind the counter was the owner, an Italian with a long, sunken face and stubborn mustaches. He warmed his hands under the apron.

No, I didn't know Green. I knew people but not their names. The same man could have the same name twice. The police didn't know either because they largely didn't care. When someone was shot or shot to death, they took the body away and were not looking for the murderer. For starters, nobody was going to tell them anything. So they made up a name for the investigating judge and considered it a closed case. Also, second, they didn't give a damn about a cucumber anyway. They couldn't get to the bottom of an issue even if they wanted to. No one could know even a tenth of what was happening among these people. They stabbed and robbed, committed all kinds of crimes and abominations that could have been talked about, men with men, women with women, parents with children, worse than animals. They lived their way,horrors faded like smoke. There was never anything like this in the whole history of the world.

It was a long speech, with each word the man delved into his fantasy and passion and became increasingly meaningless and terrible: a swarm kneaded by suggestions and inventions, a huge noise, that enveloped you desperately, a human wheel of heads, legs, bellies, arms, that circled the store.

Grebe felt she should interrupt him. He said abruptly:

— What are you talking about? All I asked him is if he knew this man.

— That is not the dynamics of the problem. I have been here six years. You probably don't want to believe it, but suppose it was true.

— In any case — Grebe — said, there must be some way to find a person.

The Italian's eyes too close together had been strangely concentrated, like his muscles, as he leaned over the counter to try to convince Grebe. Now he gave up the effort and sat on his bench.

— I guess. Occasionally. But I already told you that even the cops don't get it.

— They always chase people. Is not the same.

— Well, keep trying if you want. I cannot help you.

But he didn't keep trying. He had no time left to waste it on Green. He slid Green's check toward the end of the notebook. The next name on the list was Field, Winston.

He found the little house without any problem; He shared a patio with another house, with some columns that separated them. Grebe knew about this type of arrangement. They had been built en masse in the day before the swamps were filled and the streets were raised, and they were all the same: a little path around the fence, well below street level, three or four posts with a ball on top to put clotheslines, greenish wood, muted colored stones and a long, long stretch, stairs to get to the back door.

A boy of about twelve passed him into the kitchen, and there was the old man, sitting by the table in his wheelchair.

— Ah, it's on behalf of the government — he told the boy when Grebe pulled out the checks.

— Dey, bring me the box of papers. — The old man cleared a space on the table.

— You don't have to go to so much trouble — Grebe told him. But Field took out the papers and spread them on the table: Social Security card, charity certificate, letters from the State Hospital in Maintain and a naval discharge dated in San Diego in 1920.

— That's more than enough — Grebe — said. Now you just have to sign.

— You have to know who I am — the old man said —. You are a government envoy. The check is not yours, it is from the government, and nobody sends you to deliver checks until everything is proven.

He loved the entire ceremony, and Grebe had no further objections. Field emptied the box and finished showing him all the cards and letters.

— Here is everything I have done and the places where I have been. Only the death certificate is missing so they can close my book. — He said this with a certain happy pride and magnificence. But it remained unsigned; he just held the little ballpoint pen up on top of the greenish golden corduroy on his pants. Grebe didn't rush him. I felt like talking about the old man —. I have to get a better carbon — continued —. I have to send my little granddaughter to the coal shop with my order and they fill her the garbage car. This stove cannot handle that. The grid falls off. On paper it says it has to be charcoal the size of a Franklin County egg.

— I will report on it and see what can be done.

— Nothing can be done, I think. You know it and so do I. There is no way to make things go better and the only thing big is money. That's the only valuable thing, money. Nothing is black where he shines and the only place where he looks black is where he doesn't shine. What people of color need is to have our own rich. There is no other way.

Grebe remained seated, the reddened forehead paired with her well-cut hair and cheeks tucked to the sides of the shirt collar. The hardened fire glowed brightly inside the fish and iron tail frames, but the room was not comfortable. He sat there listening to the old man as he told him of his plan. The plan was to create a black millionaire once a month by popular subscription. An intelligent and kind-hearted young man who was chosen every month would sign a contract in which he promised to use the money to start a business in which he employed blacks. This would be announced through chain letters that would summon all black employees, who would contribute one dollar a month. In five years there would be sixty millionaires.

— That will get us respect — he said with a broken sound that came out as something said abroad —. You have to try to organize all the money that is thrown into the wheel of politics and horse racing. As long as they can take it from you, they will not respect you. Money, that's the sun of the human race!

Field was a mongrel black, perhaps a cherokee or a natchez because he had reddish skin. And just as he spoke of a golden sun in that dark room, and because of his — greyish appearance and his head crushed — with the blood mixed from his face and thick lips, and with the small pen still stiff in hand, he looked like one of the underground kings of mythology, the old judge Minos himself.

Now he did accept the check and signed. In order not to stain the receipt, he held it with his knuckles. The table swung and creaked, that dark and pagan center of the prehistoric remains of the kitchen, covered in bread, meat and cans and the mess of papers.

— Don't you think my plan would work?

— It's worth thinking about. It is true that something should be done, I agree with that.

— It will work if people do. That is all. That is the only thing always. When everyone understands it like that.

— That's true — Grebe said, getting up. His gaze met that of the old man.

— I know you have to go — he said —. Well, God bless you, boy. You haven't been mean to me. That is seen right away.

He came back through that buried yard. In a bunker someone was trying to make a candle not go out, where a man unloaded firewood from a pram with crooked wheels and two voices shouted a conversation. As he climbed the covered pass he heard a great blow of wind on the branches and against the facades of the houses, and then, when he reached the sidewalk, saw the red of the needle eye of the cable towers up there in the icy sky, hundreds of meters above the river and factories: those light spots.

From there they prevented his vision to the South Branch with its wooden banks and the guides by the water. This part of the city, which they had rebuilt after the Great Fire, fifty years later was once again in ruins, with factories closed with boards, abandoned or collapsed buildings and pieces of meadow between them. But what this made him feel was not sadness, but rather a lack of organization that released enormous energy, power without measure, without ties and without rules of that giant and wild place. Not only did people have to feel it, but at least it seemed to Grebe, they were forced to live up to it. In their own bodies. He no less than the others, he realized that. Let's say his parents had been servants in his day, while he was not supposed to be.He thought that they had never done a service like this, that it did not require anyone visible, and probably could not even be performed by someone of flesh and blood. Nor could anyone show why it should be done; nor see where it could lead. This did not mean that he wanted to be released from him, he thought with a thoughtful and serious face. On the contrary. I had something to do. The obligation to feel this energy and yet have nothing to do ... That was the terrible thing; that was suffering; and he knew what that was. Now was the time to quit. Six in the afternoon. He could go home if he wanted, that is, to his room, to wash himself with hot water, lie on top of the quilt, read the newspaper and eat some liver paste with crackers before going out to dinner.But in fact thinking about this made him a little sick, as if he had done something wrong. He had six checks left and was determined to hand over at least one of them: Mr. Green's check. So it started again. He had to examine four or five dark blocks, passing through open courtyards, closed houses, old foundations, closed schools, black churches, piles of earth, and he thought that there must be many living people who had once seen that newly built and new neighborhood. Now there was a second layer of ruins; centuries of history achieved thanks to human massification. The number of people had given that place the strength to grow; the same number of people had destroyed it. Objects that were once so new,so concrete that it would never have occurred to anyone who took the place of other things, they had collapsed. So Grebe thought, his secret was exposed. The secret was that they stood up by mutual agreement and were natural and not unnatural by agreement, and when things themselves collapsed that agreement became visible. If not, what made cities not seem strange? Rome, which was almost permanent, had not elicited communist ideas. ¿And was it really that enduring? But in Chicago, where the cycles happened so fast and the familiar faded, and re-emerged transformed, and died again at the age of thirty, you saw the common agreement or pact, and you felt compelled to think about appearances and realities. ( He remembered Raynor and smiled. Raynor was a smart boy.) Once one had understood this, many things became intelligible. For example, the reason why Mr. Field could come up with such a plan. Of course, if people agreed to create a millionaire, a real millionaire would emerge. And if one wanted to know what inspired Mr. Field to think this, of course, he had the scheme in sight of his kitchen window, the very skeleton of his success plan: E 1 with the blue and green confetti of his signals. People agreed to pay ten cents to get into those cars that were nothing more than crash boxes, and that's why it was a success. But how absurd everything seemed; what little reality was there to begin with. And yet Yerkes, the great financier who built it, had known that he could get people to agree to do it. By itself,it seemed like the plan among the plans, the closest thing to an appearance. So why miss Mr. Field's idea? What he had done was understand a principle. And Grebe also recalled that Mr. Yerkes had created the Yerkes Observatory and endowed it with millions. But how would the idea of giving astronomers money would have occurred to him in his New York palace, which looked like a museum, or on his yacht traveling to the Aegean? ¿Were you amazed at the success of your strange undertaking and were you therefore willing to spend money to find out where in the universe being and appearing were identical? Yes, I wanted to know what was permanent; and if the meat is the grass of the Bible; and offered money to burn in the fire of the suns. All right then, Grebe kept thinking,these things exist because people agree to exist with them — this far we have come — and also because there is a reality that does not depend on consent but within which consent is a game. But what about the need, the need that keeps so many thousands and thousands in their position? Answer me that, private gentleman and decent soul ( these words he used against himself with contempt ). ¿Why will consent be given to misery? ¿And why is she so painfully ugly? ¿Why is there something depressing and permanently ugly? Here he sighed and abandoned the idea, and thought that it was enough for the moment. Now he had a royal check for Mr. Green, which must also be real without a doubt. I wish his neighbors didn't believe they had to hide him. This time it stopped on the second floor.He lit a match and found a door. In the end a man answered his call and Grebe had the check ready and showed it even before he started talking.

— Does Tulliver Green live here? I come from charity:

The man locked the door and spoke to someone behind him.

— Do you live here?

— Eeee ... no.

— Or somewhere in this building? He is a sick man and cannot come to collect his pasta.

He showed the check to the light, which was full of smoke — the air smelled of burnt bacon — and the man put the cap back to study it.

— Eeee ... I've never seen this name.

— Is there no one around here who uses crutches?

He seemed to reflect, but Grebe's impression was that he simply expected a decent interval to pass.

— No, he said. No one I see.

— I've been looking for this man all afternoon — suddenly Grebe spoke with sudden energy —, and I'm going to have to take this check back to the office. It seems strange to me not to be able to find a person to give him something when you are looking for him for a good reason. I guess if I brought bad news for him I'd find it pretty soon.

A reaction movement occurred on the other man's face.

— That's true, I guess.

— It's almost useless to have a name if you can't be found with it. It does not represent anything. For that it would still give him no name — he continued, smiling. It was the biggest concession he could make to his desire to laugh.

— Well, there is an old man and everything full of knot that I see from time to time. It could be the one you are looking for. Down.

— Where? ¿To the right or to the left? ¿Which of the doors?

— I don't know. A little boy with a skinny face, humpback and a bahton.

But no one answered at any of the doors on the first floor. He went to the end of the corridor, looking for the light of a match, and only found a stairless exit to the courtyard, a fall of about two meters. But there was a cabin near the path, an old house like Mr. Field's. Jumping was not safe. He ran from the front door, through the underground passage, and entered the courtyard. There was someone in that place. A light was seen through the curtains, upstairs. ¡And the name on the label under the broken and misshapen mailbox was Green! He rang the bell with joy and pushed open the closed door. The bolt snapped slightly and a long staircase opened before him. Someone was going down slowly ... a woman. In that dim light he had the impression that the woman was fixing her hair as she descended, making herself presentable,because he saw that his arms were raised. But it was in search of support that he raised them up; He was groping for the path, down the wall, stumbling. Then he thought of the pressure of the woman's feet on the steps; he didn't seem to be wearing shoes. And the staircase even danced. The doorbell had gotten her out of bed, perhaps, and she had forgotten to put them on. And then he saw that the woman not only did not wear shoes, but was also naked; she was completely naked and as she went down she spoke alone, a thick, naked and drunk woman. He fell on him stumbling. The contact of her breasts, although they only touched her coat, made her go back to the door with a blind impression. ¡Look what he had found in his game of finding houses!But it was in search of support that he raised them up; He was groping for the path, down the wall, stumbling. Then he thought about the pressure of the woman's feet on the steps; he didn't seem to be wearing shoes. And the staircase even danced. The doorbell had gotten her out of bed, perhaps, and she had forgotten to put them on. And then he saw that the woman not only did not wear shoes, but was also naked; she was completely naked and as she went down she spoke alone, a thick, naked and drunk woman. He fell on him stumbling. The contact of her breasts, although they only touched her coat, made her go back to the door with a blind impression. ¡Look what he had found in his game of finding houses!But it was in search of support that he raised them up; He was groping for the path, down the wall, stumbling. Then he thought of the pressure of the woman's feet on the steps; he didn't seem to be wearing shoes. And the staircase even danced. The doorbell had gotten her out of bed, perhaps, and she had forgotten to put them on. And then he saw that the woman not only did not wear shoes, but was also naked; she was completely naked and as she went down she spoke alone, a thick, naked and drunk woman. He fell on him stumbling. The contact of her breasts, although they only touched her coat, made her go back to the door with a blind impression. ¡Look what he had found in his game of finding houses!Then he thought about the pressure of the woman's feet on the steps; he didn't seem to be wearing shoes. And the staircase even danced. The doorbell had gotten her out of bed, perhaps, and she had forgotten to put them on. And then he saw that the woman not only did not wear shoes, but was also naked; she was completely naked and as she went down she spoke alone, a thick, naked and drunk woman. He fell on him stumbling. The contact of her breasts, although they only touched her coat, made her go back to the door with a blind impression. ¡Look what he had found in his game of finding houses!Then he thought about the pressure of the woman's feet on the steps; he didn't seem to be wearing shoes. And the staircase even danced. The doorbell had gotten her out of bed, perhaps, and she had forgotten to put them on. And then he saw that the woman not only did not wear shoes, but was also naked; she was completely naked and as she went down she spoke alone, a thick, naked and drunk woman. He fell on him stumbling. The contact of her breasts, although they only touched her coat, made her go back to the door with a blind impression. ¡Look what he had found in his game of finding houses!but she was also naked; she was completely naked and as she went down she spoke alone, a thick, naked and drunk woman. He fell on him stumbling. The contact of her breasts, although they only touched her coat, made her go back to the door with a blind impression. ¡Look what he had found in his game of finding houses!but she was also naked; she was completely naked and as she went down she spoke alone, a thick, naked and drunk woman. He fell on him stumbling. The contact of her breasts, although they only touched her coat, made her go back to the door with a blind impression. ¡Look what he had found in his game of finding houses!

The woman was saying to herself, furious:

— So I don't know how to fuck, huh? I will teach that motherfucker what I know how to do.

¿What was he going to do now? Grebe wondered. He had to go. He had to turn around and leave. I couldn't speak to that woman. She couldn't let him stand there naked in that cold. But when he tried he found himself unable to turn around.

He said:

— Does Mr. Green live here?

But she kept talking to herself and didn't hear him.

— Is this Mr. Green's house?

She turned her furious and drunk gaze towards him.

— What do you want?

He looked away again; he had a point of blood in that rabid glow. He wondered why she did not feel cold.

— I am from charity.

— Very well, so what?

— I have a check for Tulliver Green. This time he heard it and reached out.

— No, no, for Mr. Green. You have to sign — he said. ¿How was I going to get Green's signature that night?

— I will take it. He can not.

Grebe shook his head desperately, thinking of the precautions Mr. Field had taken with identification.

— I can't give it to you. Is for him. ¿Are you Mrs. Green?

— Maybe yes, maybe not. ¿Who wants to know?

— Is he upstairs?

— Very well. Get it up, you idiot.

Of course he was an idiot. Of course he couldn't get on because Green would probably be naked and drunk too, and maybe he would show up on the landing soon. He looked anxiously up. Beneath the light was a tall, narrow brown wall. ¡Empty! ¡It remained empty!

— Well then go to hell — heard her scream. To deliver a check for food and clothing, he was leaving her there in the cold. She did not feel it, but her face burned with cold and ridicule. He turned away from her.

— I will be back tomorrow. Tell him.

— Ah, go to hell. ¿What are you doing here in the middle of the night? Don't come back — he screamed so much that he saw his tongue. She straddled there in the cold poyo of the entrance and grabbed onto the railing and the wall. The house itself had a box-like shape, a tall, clumsy box pointing to the frozen sky with its cold, winter lights.

— If you are Mrs. Green, I will give you the check — he said, changing his mind.

— Then give it to me. — She took the check, grabbed the pen that he held out with his left hand, and tried to sign the receipt on the wall. He looked around, almost as if to see if someone observed his madness, and he almost thought he believed someone was standing on a bunch of used tires at the car parts store next door.

— But are you Mrs. Green? — it occurred to you to ask now in vain. She was already climbing the stairs with the check, and if she had made a mistake, if she had gotten into trouble, it was too late to undo what she had done. But he wasn't going to worry about it. Although she may not have been Mrs. Green, he was convinced that Mr. Green was upstairs. Whoever it was, that woman represented Green, whom he was not going to see this time. Well, you fool, he said to himself, so you think you found him. ¿And that? You may have really found it ... so what? But it was important that there was a real Mr. Green whom they could not prevent from reaching because it seemed to them that he was the emissary of hostile appearances. And although the ridicule he felt disappeared very slowly,and his face was still red as a result, he felt, despite everything, a great joy.

— Because after all — was said —, I managed to find it!

*END*

With affection,

Ruben