RAL ZURITA

Dreams for Kurosawa

Translated from the Spanish and with an A4erword by Anna Deeny Morales

[This bilingual edi<on of Dreams for Kurosawa was rst published in 2012 by Arrow
as Aarow Press, Chicago.]

1! / almost island, winter 2014

Mi Nombre: Akira Kurosawa

Como una vergenza que yo tena comenc a
soar. La laguna es amarillenta y detrs de los
paredones de sal se ve el ocano. La playa se
llama Punta de Lobos y las salinas estn al
lado. Recorremos la laguna en un bote guiados
por un remero descalzo y escucho el estallido
de las rompientes a menos de 50 metros.
Durante la dictadura el lugar se hizo conocido
porque Pinochet lo transform en su sitio de
veraneo y hoy es un paraso de surfistas. Las
salinas y la laguna ya no existen y las haba
olvidado por completo, pero volv a recordarlas
cuando mi abuela muri: el botero remaba
frente a m y a los lados se vean las paredes
de sal. Tengo cinco aos, mi hermana tres y
estamos con mi abuela. Haba nacido en Italia,
en Rapallo, y lleg a Chile con mi madre
todava nia. Ambas quedaron viudas con dos
das de diferencia. Primero mi madre, luego mi
abuela. Fue un veraneo corto. Mi abuela muri
en 1986. Yo sobreviv a una dictadura, pero no a la
vergenza. Aos despus, cuando me lleg a
m el turno, su cara se me vino encima como una
montaa blanca de sal. Quise escribirlo, pero las
palabras, como vsceras humeantes, llegaron
muertas a mis dedos. Mi nombre: Akira Kurosawa.

! / almost island, winter 2014

2

My Name: Akira Kurosawa

Like shame that possessed me I began to dream.
The lagoon is yellowish and beyond the massive
salt walls that encircle it you can see the ocean.
The beach is called Punta de Lobos and the salt
mines are nearby. We cross the lagoon in a boat
led by a barefooted oarsman and I hear the clamor
of the breakers crashing at least 50 meters away.
During the dictatorship the place became popular
because Pinochet turned it into his summer resort
and now its a surfers paradise. Neither the mines
nor the lagoon exist anymore and Id forgotten
them completely, but I remembered them again
when my grandmother died: the boatman rowed in
front of me and beside us you could see the salt walls.
Im five years old, my sister is three and were with
my grandmother. Born in Italy, in Rapallo, she
arrived to Chile with my mother still a child. Both
were widowed two days apart. First my mother,
then my grandmother. It was a short summer
holiday. In 1986 my grandmother died. I survived
a dictatorship, but not the shame. Many years later,
when it was my turn, her face came down upon me
like a white mountain of salt. I wanted to write it,
but the words, like smoldering entrails arrived
dead to my fingers. My name: Akira Kurosawa.

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Veo de nuevo los mundos. En el sueo digo los
mundos, pero eran todos los pases dibujados en
el cielo y vea; yo nunca haba soado tan feliz.
Estaba en una pradera y senta el pasto bajo mis
pies, pero una voz me dijo que me fuera a la
playa y yo sin pensarlo me largaba a correr hasta
que llegaba. La playa se alargaba perdindose y
al frente el mar era negro, encrespado de olas, y
yo senta una gran angustia, un miedo que me
apretaba el estmago, pero de pronto sus aguas
comenzaron a aclararse, a hacerse cada vez ms
luminosas y calmas y al final hasta se podan ver
los granitos de arena del fondo. Entonces sent el
impulso de alzar la vista y fue como si me dieran
con un mazo en la cabeza: sobre el cielo estaban
todos los pases del mundo pintados con distintos
colores, como en el mapamundi que haba en la
escuela, cada uno con los tonos ms relucientes
y hasta los puntitos de las islas se vean. Eran
todos los pases del mundo tendidos en el cielo,
brillando como si los hubieran recin mojados,
con gotitas de agua resbalndoseles encima. Fue
eso. A m me apresaron los de la brigada Arauco y
antes de morir me acord de los mundos. So
este sueo para mi padre Akira Kurosawa. Me
apellido Mora, pero todos me conocen por Ziley.

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4

2
Once again I see the worlds. In the dream I say
the worlds, but it was every country drawn
out through the sky and you see; never before
had I been so happy dreaming. I was in a meadow
and felt the grass beneath my feet, but a voice told
me to go toward the shore and without a thought
I made my way as far as arriving. The shore
stretched out vanishing and in the foreground
the sea was black, seething with waves, and I
felt a profound anguish, a fear that gripped my
stomach, but just then the waters grew transparent,
ever more luminous and still and in time I could
even see the grains of sand below. Then I felt the
urge to look up and it was as if someone pounded
my head with a mallet: above the sky each and
every country was distinctly painted, like a world
map at school, each one a hue of such lustrous
colors and I could even make out the small dots
that were islands. They were all the countries of
the world hanging in the sky, surfaces shimmering
as if theyd just been soaked, with droplets of
water all sliding down. This is what I saw. I
was seized by the Arauco brigade and before
dying I remembered the worlds. This dream I
dreamed for my father Akira Kurosawa. My
surname is Mora, but everyone calls me Ziley.

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5

3
Me reporto. Soy estudiante de Ingeniera Civil
de la Universidad Tcnica Federico Santa Mara.
Valparaso, Chile. Tengo 23 aos y estoy en el
ltimo curso. Entr en marzo del 67 y han pasado
desde entonces siete aos. Estoy tendido en la
parte trasera de un camin militar que salta con
los baches del camino. Vamos boca abajo, en filas
cruzadas unas sobre otras como esos lotes de tablas
que se amontonan en las barracas y siento el peso
de los que han quedado encima mo. En cada bache
nuestros cuerpos tambin saltan. Al amanecer haba
niebla, pero ya debe haberse despejado. El taco de
mi zapato est clavado en la cara de uno de los que
estn abajo y el peso de los que tengo encima hace
que se lo entierre an ms. Siento que grita, pero
tal vez lo imagino. Es posible que sea alguien que
conozca, pero tambin puede que no. Hace un ao
se instal una constructora sovitica que levanta
edificios prefabricados y quizs trabaja all.
Imagino sus dientes rotos enterrados contra su
boca y pienso en el cogulo de sangre resbalndose
sobre el taco de mi zapato. En un momento sent
que giraba su cara como si intentara zafarse. Ya
no. El camin vuelve a saltar y mientras caigo
recuerdo el tnel que forman las rompientes un
segundo antes de reventarse. Hay un desierto y me
escucho rebotar en la arena. El viaje ha terminado.

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6

3
I check in. Im a Civil Engineering student at
Federico Santa Mara Tech, Valparaso, Chile.
Im 23 and this is my last year. Its been seven
years since I began in March, 1967. Im tied up
at the back of a military truck that jolts each
time it hits a pothole in the road. Were face
down, crisscrossed one on top of the other like
those board fences stacked up around barracks
and I feel the weight of the ones that ended up
on top of me. At each pothole our bodies jolt
too. It was foggy at dawn, but its probably
cleared up by now. The heel of my shoe is
rammed up against the face of someone who
ended up below me and the weight of the ones
on top ends up ramming it in even further. I hear
him scream or maybe I imagine it. Maybe hes
someone I know, or maybe not. A year ago a
Soviet contractor came to put up prefabricated
buildings and it could be one of the people who
works there. I imagine his teeth broken digging
into his mouth and I think of the drop of blood
sliding down the heel of my shoe. At one point I
felt him turn his head like he was trying to shake
free. Not anymore. The truck jolts again and as I
fall I remember the tunnel that waves form the
moment before they break. Theres a desert and
I hear myself drop on the sand. The journeys over.

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7

4
Eran cientos de cascadas como las del Tamasopo y
eran tan padres, s tan bonitas. Pap me haba
dicho que no hiciera caso si las cascadas me
hablaban porque era un sueo. Al despertar
empec a soar otro sueo donde una multitud de
mujeres se me acercaban. Juan me decannosotras somos ahora tu mam porque la tuya se
ha vuelto loca, pero acordndome de pap les
respond que estaba soando. Me di cuenta de
que haba cambiado de nombre, tambin que las
cascadas estaban cerca de Ciudad Valles donde
vivimos antes de que pap cruzara la frontera con
los coyotes. Lo ltimo que se supo es que estaba
de bracero en Chicago. ramos siete hermanos,
pero slo quedan dos: el segundo que vive en
Texas y Coral que nunca recuper el juicio
desde que se le ahog su nico hijo en los saltos
del Tamasopo. Yo era el menor y este sueo es
el nico recuerdo que tengo de mi padre Juan
Preciado. Ahora, mientras las cascadas
resplandecan, vi que todas las mujeres que me
rodeaban eran mi hermana Coral y que yo era su
hijo ahogado. Cuando la primera me abraz sent
el torrente del agua correr bajo su vestido y luego
el fro. Al abrir los ojos mi cuerpito flotaba en el
fondo de la cascada, y no fue un sueo Kurosawa
porque yo estaba muerto y las aguas me rompan.

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8

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They were hundreds of waterfalls like the ones
in Tamasopo and they were awesome, yes so
lovely. Papa had told me to ignore the falls if
they spoke to me because it was a dream. As I
woke up I began to dream another dream in
which a crowd of women gathered around me.
Juantheyd saywere your mother now
because yours has lost her mind, but remembering
papa I told them it was a dream. I realized my name
had changed, whats more the falls were not far
from Ciudad Valles where we lived before papa
made his way across the border with coyotes.
The last we heard of him he was a day laborer in
Chicago. Of seven siblings, only two are left:
the second who lives in Texas and Coral who
went crazy after her only son drowned in the
falls of Tamasopo. I was the youngest and this
dream is the only memory I have of my father
Juan Preciado. Now, as the waterfalls glistened,
I saw that all the women surrounding me were
my sister Coral and that I was her drowned son.
When the first one embraced me I felt water rush
beneath her dress and then the cold. As I opened
my eyes my small body floated at the base of
the falls, and it wasnt a dream Kurosawa because
I was dead and the waters were tearing me apart.

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9

5
Vi las primeras ciudades de agua camino al norte,
en Atacama. Estaban suspendidas en el cielo,
como gigantescos acuarios transparentes, y las
lneas de luz de sus reflejos se mecan sobre el
suelo cubriendo la inmensa planicie ocre. Era el
ao 1975, a fines del verano, y por entonces yo
sufra. Fue la primera vez tambin que conoc un
desierto. No me sorprendi verlas, incluso dira
que me dio una cierta paz. Haba abandonado a
mis hijos, el mayor de cuatro, una de tres y el
menor que no cumpla el ao, y por primera vez
pude pensar en ellos sin tanta angustia. A lo
lejos se vean los dos volcanes y los reflejos de
la primera de ellas les impriman a sus cumbres
nevadas un tono verdoso como el del mar. La
segunda la vi al atardecer y pareca ms lejana,
ms remota e inabarcable. Esa noche volv a
soar con mis hijos y despert bajo el fro que
cae en la noche en los desiertos. Me saqu de encima
la frazada que me dieron en el albergue y me
levant por un caf. Las infinitas lneas de luz
seguan entrecruzndose como si la tierra entera
fuese el fondo de una piscina. Al final, ondeando
bajo esos mismos reflejos, los conos blancos de
los volcanes fosforescan en el azul de la noche.
Kurosawa, volv a decirle, entonces yo sufra.

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10

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I saw the first cities of water heading north, in
Atacama. They were suspended in the sky, like
gigantic transparent aquariums, and the luminous
reflecting lines swayed on the ground covering
the immense ocher plane. It was 1975, the end of
summer, and I suffered then. It was also the first
time I encountered the desert. It didnt surprise me
to see them, I would even say it gave me a certain
peace. I had abandoned my children, the eldest
four, a little three-year-old girl and the youngest
who wasnt even a year old, and for the first time
I could think of them without so much anguish. In
the distance you could see the two volcanoes and
reflections of the first of them imprinted a greenish
hue like the sea upon the snowy peaks. I saw the
second one that afternoon and it seemed further away,
more remote and unreachable. That night I dreamed
again of my children and woke up beneath the cold
desert night. I threw off the blanket theyd given
me in the motel and got up for coffee. The infinite
luminous lines continued crisscrossing themselves as
if the whole earth were the bottom of a pool. At the
end, undulating below those same reflections, were the
white cones of the volcanoes phosphorescing in the blue
night. Kurosawa, I turned to tell him, I suffered then.

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6
Joder venir a soar con Beethoven en la mitad del
desierto de Atacama. No escuchaba ni una puta
nota me entiende usted? Ni una puta nota.
Cmo lo hara el tipo? Tener toda la msica
adentro y no or ni po. Yo digo que para eso
hay que tener a Dios o si no cmo? A los
muchachos no les gusta esa msica, no es que no
les guste, es que no tienen nada adentro o si no
cmo no podra gustarles. Dicen que son cosas de
viejos, pero yo pienso que ellos estn equivocados
no le parece a usted? No se puede andar por la
vida sin msica, eso es lo que yo pienso. Ni una
puta nota cmo lo hara el cabrn? Cmo no
qued como cabra el muy hijo de puta. Joder
con Beethoven, tenerlo todo all dentro y no
poder escucharlo. Pero sin Dios cmo? le
pregunto a usted. Yo creo que Dios tiene msica,
yo creo que estos cerros tienen msica, las
piedras, las nubes, el cielo
El tipo hablaba y hablaba Kurosawa. Yo estaba
partiendo y haba ido a la cocina del albergue por
si me topaba con un caf. All estaba. Cuando le
contest algo me di cuenta de que me segua los
labios porque era sordo, sordo como una tapia.
Atardeca y las ciudades de agua flotaban en el
silencio infinito del cielo. Escuche, sigui an
dicindome mientras me alejaba, escuche, escuche

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What the fuck dream of Beethoven in the middle
of the desert of Atacama. He couldnt hear a fucking
note. Do you understand me? Not a fucking note.
How did the guy do it? Have all that music inside
and not hear shit. You need God to do that is what
I say. If not, then how? The boys dont like that
music, its not that they dont like it, its that they
dont have anything inside or if they did how could
they not like it? They say its for old people, but I
think theyre wrong. Whats your take? You cant
go through life without music, thats what I think.
Not a goddamned note. How did the motherfucker
do it? How didnt he go ape shit that son of a bitch.
Fuck Beethoven, to have it all there and then not
hear it. But without God, how? I ask you. I think
God has music, I think these hills have music, the
rocks, the clouds, the sky
The guy went on and on Kurosawa. I was
leaving and had made my way to the motel
kitchen to try to find some coffee. There he was.
When I answered him I realized he was reading
my lips because he was deaf, deaf as a post. It
was getting late and the cities of water floated in
the infinite silence of the sky. Listen, he continued
saying to me as I walked away, listen, listen

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Eran toneladas de cuadernillos amontonados sobre
las piedras. Por ahora no hay viento, le dije al
hombre que estaba sentado en un pupitre en medio
del descampado. Los convoyes militares haban
pasado unas horas antes. Las trazas de sus orugas
marcaban la tierra y al fondo se vean los restos
humeantes de la destruccin. Me mir sin
responderme y me pregunt que qu haca alguien
como l all. Una leve brisa haba empezado a
mover las hojas de los cuadernillos y me acord de
las ltimas lecturas de mi madre. Pens que sus
gustos se haban vuelto miserables. Volv entonces
a preguntarme que qu poda estar haciendo un tipo
como l all. El viento se hizo ms fuerte batiendo
las pginas. Atrs los muros en ruinas humeaban y
los restos del puente emergan del ro como si
fueran las espinas de un pescado. Ya no podr
regresar, le dije a mi madre, pero ella no estaba,
slo el hombre sentado en el pupitre y los
cuadernillos que volaban ahora por todas partes.
Muchos me golpeaban dndome en la cara y
alcanc a ver algunos. Eran partituras. Montaas
y montaas de partituras encumbrndose como
torbellinos en la furia huracanada del viento. Me
volv a decir entonces que era demasiado cruel,
demasiado desquiciante, demasiado luminoso,
que exactamente alguien como l estuviese all.

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They were tons of booklets mounded over the rocks.
For now theres no wind, I said to the man sitting at
a desk in the middle of the clearing. The military
convoys had passed some hours before. Traces of its
caterpillars marked the soil and below you could see
fuming remains of the destruction. He looked at me
without responding and I asked myself what
someone like him was doing there. A light breeze had
begun to move the pages in the booklets and
I remembered what my mother had been reading
lately. I thought her taste had become miserable,
and I asked myself again what the hell a guy like
that could be doing there. The wind became stronger
knocking the pages around. Behind the walls in
ruins fumed and the remains of the bridge emerged
from the river like fish bones. I can no longer return,
I said to my mother, but she wasnt there, only the
man sitting at the desk and booklets that now blew
all over the place. Many hit me striking my face
and I managed to see some of them. They were
musical scores. Mountains and mountains of
scores lifting themselves up like whirlwinds in
the huricaining fury of the wind. I turned around to
say then that it was too cruel, too disturbing, too
luminous, that someone just like him would be there.

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8
La pareja del cuarto del lado par de gritar y me
di vuelta para encender de nuevo la radio. Estaban
transmitiendo un concierto, pero ahora slo se
escucha un pitido. Cuando el bus par era de
noche y di con el motel por casualidad. Allanaron
la casa donde paraba. Yo vena llegando y alcanc
a girar, pero uno me vio. Los elud cambiando
varias veces de micro y llegu al terminal de
buses. Me sub al que estaba partiendo y al
preguntarme, dije que llegaba al final y pagu.
Debo haber dormido horas porque despert
cuando todos se estaban bajando. La pareja del
lado lleg al rato y el estrpito de los gritos y
golpes empez de inmediato. Al parecer ella lo
haba dejado y l la oblig a ir. No los sent
cuando se fueron. Al otro da la puerta de su
pieza estaba abierta y vi la cama deshecha y vaca.
Entr a un boliche por un caf y all me enter de
que estaba en Copiap, en pleno desierto. Supe al
instante que los tipos que se recortaron en la
entrada eran de la CNI y me entregu sin resistir.
Ms tarde, o las notas del primer movimiento de
la Quinta y mientras vomitaba mis propios dientes,
record que esa ltima vez la que fue mi mujer
gritaba pidindome que no la golpeara. Alcanzo a
darme cuenta de que alguien en la pieza del lado
ha apagado la radio para escuchar los gritos y s
entonces que la vergenza habr de sobrevivirme.

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8
The couple in the room next door stopped yelling
and I shifted to turn the radio back on. They were
broadcasting a concert, but now you could only
hear shrill whistling. When the bus stopped it
was nighttime and by chance I found the motel.
They leveled the house where I used to stay. I
was just getting there and managed to turn back,
but one of them saw me. To avoid them I took
different buses and finally made it to the terminal.
I got on one leaving and when asked, I said I
was going to the last stop and paid. I mustve
slept for hours because I woke up as everyone
was getting off. The couple next door arrived
soon after and the screaming and banging set
in right away. Apparently shed broken up with
him and he forced her to go. I didnt hear them
leave. The next day their door was open and I saw
the unmade and empty bed. I went to a bar for
coffee and found out I was in Copiap, in the
middle of the desert. I knew right away the guys
blocking off the entrance were from the CNI and
voluntarily turned myself in. Later on, I heard the
first notes of the Fifth symphony, and as I spit up
my own teeth, I remembered the last time the
woman who was my wife asking me not to hit her.
I manage to make out that someone in the room
next door has turned off the radio to listen to the
screams and then I know shame would outlive me.

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9
Como un tajo, la lnea de asfalto parta en dos la
llanura interminable y el conductor puso la radio
ms fuerte para no quedarse dormido. Me haba
recogido a la salida de Iquique, en pleno desierto de
Atacama, y me dijo que a veces tomaba gente que
haca dedo para evitar la modorra hablando. No
creo haberle servido de mucho porque a pesar del
estruendo de la msica en seguida empec a
cabecear. Cuando abr los ojos el camin estaba
detenido y me sorprendi estarlo mirando de reojo
desde el suelo. Tambin que estuviera boca abajo.
Los primeros puntapis me paralogizaron y sent
mi cara clavarse contra los granos del pavimento.
Tena las manos en la nuca y cuando a culatazos
me obligaron a ponerme de pie, mis piernas no
me obedecieron. Un ltimo culatazo me dio de
lleno en la boca y mientras escupa un cogulo de
dientes y sangre, vi la interminable planicie ocre
y al fondo los conos nevados de los dos volcanes.
El sonido de los Pink Floyd envolva ahora por
completo la redondez de la tierra y de pronto sent
su mano remecindome el hombro. Te gusta
Mother? me pregunt. Pero faltan aos para que
ese disco salga, trat de decirle, mientras l le
segua el comps tamborileando sobre el volante.
Al fondo, las delgadas nubes muy altas parecan
peces blancos e imagin que Kurosawa lo filmara.

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9
Like a cut, the asphalt line sliced through the endless
plain of the desert and the driver turned up the radio
to stay awake. He had picked me up at the Iquique
exit, right in the middle of the desert of Atacama,
and told me that sometimes he gave rides to
hitchhikers to keep him from falling asleep talking.
I dont think I was very helpful to him because even
with the music blaring I started dosing off. When
I opened my eyes the truck was detained and it
surprised me to be looking up at it from the ground
through the corner of my eye. Also that Id be face
down. The first kicks stunned me and I felt my face
shoved against the rough concrete. My hands were
at the nape of my neck and when they forced me to
my feet with butt strokes, my legs wouldnt comply.
One last blow struck me square in the mouth and
as I spit out a clot of teeth and blood, I saw the
endless ochre plain backed by the snowy cones
of the volcanoes. The sound of Pink Floyd
completely enveloped the earths roundness and
soon I felt his hand rubbing my shoulder. Do you
like Mother? he asked. But that record wont come
out for years, I tried to tell him, as he followed the
beat drumming on the steering wheel. In the
background, the thin high clouds looked like white
fishes and I imagined that Kurosawa would film this.

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Como inmensas pirmides de vidrio las montaas
se tendan transparentndose mientras el campo
intensamente rojo que llegaba hasta sus faldeos
tena la consistencia dudosa de la sangre o del
atardecer. Me di cuenta de que me haba quedado
dormido mientras escriba el guin -me ganaba la
vida en eso- y que la imagen no era seguramente
ms que una entre las millones que se suceden en
esos cabeceos casi instantneos. La pantalla del
computador se haba ido a negro y al intentar
mover el mouse para reanudar el trabajo advert
que ltimamente los temblores de mi lado derecho
haban recrudecido y que los dedos se negaban a
obedecerme. Nevaba. La deslumbrante blancura
hera mis ojos y el fro haca que caminara con
torpeza, con pasos muy cortos. Recordaba haber
estado en mi infancia en ese mismo lugar y que la
nieve me haba cegado mientras los otros nios
me llamaban para que los alcanzara. De pronto me
sorprendi que nevara en primavera. Al abrir los
ojos vi las montaas transparentes y ms ac,
infinidades de flores rojas emergiendo de la nieve
como si fueran vsceras sangrantes. Mis dedos
corran deslizndose por el teclado. Entend tus
pelculas, alcanc todava a gritarle a Kurosawa,
entend tus guiones: hay nieve, hay un hombre
con Parkinson que acaba de caer sobre la nieve.

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10
Like immense glass pyramids they hung becoming
transparent as the intensely red countryside that
reached the base of the slope had the uncertain
consistency of blood or dusk. I realized that Id
fallen asleep while writing the scriptthats how
I earned a livingand that the image was surely
not more than one among millions that happen at
those almost instantaneous moments of nodding off.
The computer screen had gone black and as I tried
to move the mouse to begin working again, I
noticed that lately the tremors on my right side had
worsened and that my fingers wouldnt obey me. It
snowed. The blinding whiteness stung my eyes and
the cold made me walk awkwardly, with very short
steps. I remembered having been in that same place
during my childhood and that the snow had blinded
me while other children would call out for me to
catch up to them. Suddenly it surprised me that it
snowed for the first time. As I opened my eyes I
saw the transparent mountains and closer yet,
infinite red flowers emerging from the snow as if
they were bloody entrails. My fingers ran letting
themselves go on the keyboard. I understood your
movies, I still managed to cry out to Kurosawa, I
understood your scripts: theres snow, theres a
man with Parkinsons that just fell in the snow.

! / almost island, winter 2014

21

11
Las imgenes en blanco y negro muestran un cielo
encapotado, luego a Pinochet avanzando con su
squito en medio de pobladoras que lo avivan y
abajo, los charcos de agua y barro que se alargan
reflejando las arrasadas casuchas. Los temporales
del 74 han sido especialmente crudos y miro la
televisin entre la somnolencia. Hace meses que
me levanto apenas unas horas. Oigo el estruendo
de la lluvia golpear la ventana e intento dormirme
nuevamente. He logrado conseguir una buena dosis
de pastillas, unos Valium 10 que me tomo apenas
despierto para seguir durmiendo. No siempre da
resultados y entonces me quedo horas inmvil,
temblando, hasta que nuevamente vuelvo a
sumirme en un sopor pastoso y sin sueos. Mi
madre trabaja como secretaria y sale temprano.
Entra a mi cuarto y me deja un caf que es lo
primero que veo cuando abro los ojos. Es un
departamento duplex y las piezas que sobran se
las arrienda a estudiantes. Cuando logro despertar
escudrio las piezas por si encuentro algn
dinero para comprar ms pastillas. Salgo. Camino
a trastabillones entre las pozas de agua y las casas
de cartn y plstico se trizan bajo mis zapatos.
Arriba las nubes han comenzado a abrirse. Un
rostro luminoso, muy blanco, me contempla
mientras caigo como si an fuera posible el amor.

! / almost island, winter 2014

22

11
The black and white images show an overcast sky,
then Pinochet coming forward with his entourage
in the midst of a crowd that cheers him on and
below, the puddles of water and mud widen
reflecting the razed shacks. The storms of 74
have been especially cruel and I watch television
through the lethargy. For months now I get up for
only a few hours. I hear the racket of rain hitting
the window and try to fall asleep again. Ive
managed to get a good dose of pills, some Valium
10s that I take as soon as I wake up to keep on
sleeping. It doesnt always work and then Im up
motionless, trembling, for hours until again I fall
back into a heavy stupor of pills and without dreams.
My mother works as a secretary and leaves early.
She comes into my room and the cup of coffee she
sets down is what I first see when I open my eyes.
The apartment is a duplex and she rents the extra
rooms to students. When I manage to wake up I
go through them to see if I can find some money
to buy more pills. I go out. I walk stumbling
through the puddles and the plastic and cardboard
houses crush under my shoes. Above the clouds
have begun to break. A luminous face, very white,
contemplates me as I fall as if love were still possible.

! / almost island, winter 2014

23

12
Papa ha vuelto

La cumbre de la montaa se alejaba perdindose

cielo adentro y definitivamente supe que pap iba
a morir. Record que haca mucho tiempo que no
nevaba sobre Santiago y me dije que yo ya haba
vivido lo suficiente, que ya era mucho mayor que
l y que estaba bien. Le agradec que hubiese vuelto
a esperar 50 aos porque yo a los 52 poda
entenderlo. Le escog la ropa y empec a vestirlo.
Mis camisas le quedaban algo grandes y al
levantarle la cabeza para ponerle la que me pareci
mejor, sent el primer golpe de las lgrimas detrs
de los prpados pugnando por salir. Me volv a
decir que pap muri el 16 de febrero de 1952, a los
31 aos exactamente, y que debe haberme hecho
falta, pero no es algo en lo que hubiese pensado
mucho. No supe en qu instante regres. Se
instal en mi pieza y durante los ltimos aos
alcanzamos a hablar algo. Ahora se haba muerto
y yo lo vesta mientras mi madre y mi hermana
esperaban en el living. Al abrir la puerta para
avisarles que ya podan entrar, la furia del viento
y del granizo me azot aturdindome y ciego corr
a campo traviesa. Kurosawa, le grit entonces, el
volvi para morirse de nuevo conmigo. Cuando
abr los ojos vi encima mo la blancura delirante
de la cumbre y muy abajo las primeras luces de
la ciudad encendindose. Slo entonces pude llorar

! / almost island, winter 2014

24

12
Papa Has Returned

The mountain summit retreated vanishing the

sky within and I knew without a doubt that papa
would die. I remembered that for some time it
hadnt snowed in Santiago and I told myself Id
already lived enough, that already I was much
older than he and that I was fine. I thanked him for
having waited 50 years to come back because at 52
I could understand him. I picked out his clothes
and began to dress him. My shirts were a little big
for him and as I lifted his head to put on the one
that seemed best I felt the first jolt of tears behind
my eyelids struggling to get out. I told myself
again that papa died the 16th of February, 1952, at
exactly 31 years of age, and that I must have
missed him, but its not something I wouldve
thought much about. I didnt know exactly when he
came back. He moved into my room and for the
last years weve been able to speak some. Now he
had died and I dressed him while my mother and
sister waited in the living room. As I opened the
door to tell them they could come in the fury of
the wind and hail thrashed me stunning me and
blind I ran across the field. Kurosawa, I cried out
then, he returned to die again with me. As I opened
my eyes above me I saw the dizzying white of the
summit and much further below the first lights
of the city illuminating. Only then could I cry.

! / almost island, winter 2014

25

13
Las lluvias de los das anteriores haban acabado
de despejar el cielo y las montaas haban
amanecido encima, completamente nevadas. Los
termmetros marcaban bajo cero y sent el golpe
del fro polar al abrir la ventana. Una jaura de
perros salvajes bajaban por la calle escarchada
que se abra hacia el mar y los segu con la
mirada. Abr el cuaderno y anot primero el
nmero y luego el sueo. Anot que la calle se
llamaba Almirante algo. Anot que me recordaba
la calle donde viva Bruno. Anot que a Bruno
lo haban sacado de su casa de madrugada y que
desde entonces no se haba sabido nunca ms de
l. Anot que su novia y su madre lo haban
buscado desesperadamente, qu haban
golpeado en vano todas las puertas y que en
todas les negaron que hubiese sido detenido. La
jaura de perros trotaba ladrando por el medio
de la calle y el vaho de sus alientos se abra
nublando los colores de las casas del frente, las
cortinas cerradas de los pequeos emporios y ms
all las tiendas de objetos nuticos, los carteles
del cine, las primeras gras de los malecones.
Atrs las montaas emergan completamente
blancas despejndose de las brumas del amanecer
y adelante la jaura aullaba detenida por el mar.
Son fras esas cumbres Bruno? Es fro el mar?

! / almost island, winter 2014

26

13
The rainfall of previous days had finally cleared
the sky and the mountains appeared above,
completely snowed over. Thermometers registered
below zero and I felt the shock of bitter cold as
I opened the window. A pack of wild dogs went
down the icy street that led to the sea and I
followed them with my eyes. I opened the
notebook and wrote first the number and then
the dream. I wrote that the street was called
Almirante something. I wrote that I remembered
the street where Bruno lived. I wrote that theyd
taken Bruno from his house in the middle
of the night and that from then on no one had heard
from him. I wrote that his girlfriend and
his mother had looked desperately for him, that
in vain theyd knocked on every door and every
one denied that hed been detained. The pack of
dogs trotted barking in the middle of the street
and the haze of their breath expanded clouding
the colors of houses out front, the drawn curtains
of small stores and further down nautical shops,
movie posters, the first cranes on the piers.
Behind the mountains emerged completely white
clearing themselves of the morning fog and up
front the pack howled held back by the sea.
Are those peaks cold Bruno? Is the sea cold?

! / almost island, winter 2014

27

14
Dej de quejarse y permaneci inmvil. Ignoraba
el tiempo que haba durado su desvanecimiento.
De sbito advirti que estaba vivo y que un dolor
violento le parta la cabeza. Dnde est ese cielo
alto que hoy vi por primera vez? Fue lo primero
que pens. No conoca tampoco ese dolor. S,
hasta ahora no saba nada de nada Pero dnde
estoy? Se puso entonces a escuchar; primero oy
el trote de unos caballos aproximndose y luego
las voces de los jinetes hablando en francs. Abri
los ojos. Arriba estaba de nuevo el cielo, todava
ms alto, entre las huidizas nubes. No gir la
cabeza ni vio a los que se le acercaban...
Est vivo! exclam Napolon viendo que se
mova, lleven a ese joven a un puesto de socorro.
Se haba desmayado nuevamente y al volver a
abrir los ojos vio que atardeca. El carromato
cargaba otros bultos como l. Los saltos en los
baches le retumbaban en la cabeza vendada y
record que su abuela lea ese libro. De pronto
los tumbos cesaron y se dio cuenta de que los
caballos que tiraban el carro haban desaparecido.
Mientras lo bajaban a toda velocidad de la
ambulancia alcanz a ver los inverosmiles
rascacielos y arriba, muy alta, la larga estela del
cazabombardero marcando el cielo. Kurosawa,
le dije entonces: por qu me fue tan difcil vivir?

! / almost island, winter 2014

28

14
He stopped complaining and didnt move anymore.
Overlooking how long hed been unconscious, he
quickly realized he was alive and that an agonizing
pain split his head. Where is that sky high above that
I saw today for the first time? This was his initial
thought. He didnt known that pain either. Yes, he
didnt know a thing until nowBut where am I?
Then he began to listen; first he heard the trot
of some horses drawing near and then the voices
of horsemen speaking French. He opened his eyes.
Once more the sky was above, even higher, between
the gauzy clouds. He didnt turn his head nor did
he notice those getting closer Hes alive!
shouted Napoleon seeing that he was moving,
take that kid to triage. Hed fainted again and as
he opened his eyes he saw that it was getting late.
The wagon carried other sacks like him. Jolts from
potholes boomed in his bandaged head and he
recalled how his grandmother used to read that
book. All of a sudden the knocking ceased and he
realized that the horses drawing the carriage had
disappeared. Fast they bore him down from the
ambulance as he managed to see unbelievable
skyscrapers and above, soaring, the long smoke trail
of a fighter-bomber marking the sky. Kurosawa,
I said then, why was it so hard for me to live?

! / almost island, winter 2014

29

15
Abajo el mar entraba con furia entre los cortes de
las rocas y yo le estiraba la mano para que ella
pudiera subir. Me deca que las aristas le heran
los pies y que volvera por sus zapatos. El
salpique de las olas transparentaban su blusa de
nia y yo tema que se resbalase y cayera. El sol
me hizo apretar los ojos y sent que el mar se
cerraba. Ella se haba ido y abajo las olas seguan
rompindose. Me volv entonces a buscarla.
Caminaba por una calle atestada de puestos y
vendedores que ofrecan videos de pornografa
dura a viva voz. Estaba en el DF, a dos cuadras
del Zcalo, y apenas poda avanzar. De pronto
estaba nuevamente frente al roquero. En la
fotografa unas morochitas de no ms de ocho
aos se la chupaban a un gringo y al mirar atrs
vi que ella me segua. Las rocas le heran los pies y
cuando me estir su mano para que le ayudara, yo
se la tom subindola hasta m y luego se la puse
en mi palo ya duro. Al fondo las espumas blancas
estallaban hacindose aicos contra el negro de las
rocas y arriba su pequea mano me masturbaba con
prisa. Entonces le empuj la cabeza hacia
abajo y cuando finalmente mi hija toc con
su boca mi glande el ocano se termin de cerrar
sobre ella. La ciudad de Mxico atardeca y era
un atardecer violeta Kurosawa. Inmenso, infinito.

! / almost island, winter 2014

30

15
Down below the sea rushed furious through the
jagged rocks and I extended my hand so she
could step up. She said the sharp ridges hurt
her feet and that shed go back to get her shoes.
The spraying surf dampened her girlish blouse
and I was afraid shed slip and fall. The sun
made me squint and I felt the sea closing in.
Shed left and below the waves continued
breaking. Then I went back to look for her.
I walked through a street filled with shops
and vendors blaring their hard porn videos.
I was in the DF, two blocks from Zcalo
Square, and could barely go on. Suddenly I
found myself in front of the boulders again. In
the photograph some little dark girls of no more
than eight years old were sucking some gringos
cock and as I looked back I saw she was following
me. The rocks hurt her feet and when she extended
her hand so I could help, I took hold of it lifting
her toward me, then put it on my already hard
dick. Below the white foam thrashed shattering
against the black rocks and above her small
hand jacked me off fast. Then I pushed her head
down and when finally my daughter touched my
glans with her mouth the ocean finished closing
in over her. It was nightfall in Mexico City, a
violet nightfall Kurosawa. Immense, infinite.

! / almost island, winter 2014

31

16
Me despierto en la playa con fro y veo que est
amaneciendo. En algn momento debo haberme
metido al mar vestido porque tengo la ropa
empapada. Como si llegasen desde hace miles de
aos, recuerdo fragmentos de una vida: cuatro
matrimonios, hijos, nietos ya grandes, y luego los
restos de la noche a la que he llegado (Valparaso,
una borrachera de estudiantes, una pelea, y de
golpe, al lado mo, el chirrido del mar estallando
en la oscuridad). Me saco los zapatos y empiezo a
cruzar la playa saliendo. Poco a poco la arena se
va rigidizando bajo mis pies y al inclinarme, veo
el pavimento del andn y luego siento la mano de
mam empujndome hacia mi padre que se ha
bajado de uno de los vagones del tren. Hace un
rato, al cruzar el puente Aioi, su kimono brill un
instante contra el cielo an negro, pero al llegar a
la estacin haba aclarado. La figura de mi padre
acercndose me inspira reverencia y temor. Nia
Yazuhiko, repite saludndome, nia Yazuhiko.
Empiezo a inclinar la cabeza ante l y al terminar,
el pavimento del andn se abre bajo mis ojos e
inmediatamente despus estalla desintegrndose
en el resplandor de infinitos soles. Alzo los ojos.
Ha anochecido y en la playa hay viento. Mientras
me alejo un compaero me grita que lo espere.
Hiroshima ha desaparecido de la faz de la tierra.

! / almost island, winter 2014

32

16
I wake up on the beach cold and see that its
sunrise. At some point I must have gone into the
sea fully dressed because my clothes are soaked.
As if theyd arrived from thousands of years ago,
I remember fragments of a life: four marriages,
children, grandchildren already grown, and then
the rest of this night (Valparaso, a bunch of drunk
students, a fight, and right then and there, next to
me, the shrill of the sea thrashing in the darkness).
I take off my shoes and make my way across the
beach leaving. Little by little the sand stiffens under
my feet and as I bend over, I see the pavement and
then feel mamas hand pushing me toward my
father whos gotten off the train. A while ago,
crossing the Aioi bridge, his kimono shimmered for
an instant against the still black sky, but as he
arrived to the station, it got brighter. My fathers
figure moving closer inspires reverence and fear.
Yazuhiko girl, he goes on greeting me, Yazuhiko
girl. I begin to bow my head before him and as
I finish, the pavement opens wide beneath my
eyes then immediately explodes disintegrating
in the resplendence of infinite suns. I lift my eyes.
Its gotten dark and the beach is windy. As I
walk away a friend calls out to me to wait for him.
Hiroshima has disappeared from the face of the earth.

! / almost island, winter 2014

33

17
Hace un rato par de nevar y la luz cortante de la
helada ilumina el anuncio de una pelcula que no
alcanzaron a exhibir. Es un pequeo cine donde
daban viejos films en reposicin y sus mamparas
abiertas dejan ver un boquern negro. Meses
atrs vi La Strada y al final, cuando Anthony
Quinn llora arrojado de bruces sobre la playa, me
di cuenta que esa haba sido la primera pelcula
que vi en mi vida y que ese fue el primer hombre
que vi llorar. Lo record de golpe, tena cinco
aos y es otra historia. Ahora espero. Mi ltima
pareja pas a dejarme algunas provisiones y se
ha ido. Tal vez me am. Tambin am a otras
tipas o, al menos, lo cre en su minuto. A ratos
siento nostalgia, pero he aprendido a combatirla.
Hasta hace unos das se alzaba al frente la cresta
nevada de la cordillera, pero ahora slo se ve
un inmenso vaco y arriba un cielo azul intenso
que oscurece por unas pocas horas. El resplandor
del cielo me ciega e intento hablar. Me las apa
un tiempo vendiendo libros robados, pero me
pillaron y fue una joda. Record la ventana de
una pensin de Valparaso y que yo vea al fondo
el mar, pero ya dije que no puedo ceder a la
nostalgia. Mientras me tomaban se me vino la
escena del llanto sobre la playa. Despus se me
congelaron los prpados, vi el azul oscuro del
cielo abrirse encima mo, trat de decrselos y mor.

! / almost island, winter 2014

34

17
It stopped snowing a while ago and the cutting light
of ice illuminates the ad of a movie they didnt
manage to run. Its a small theater where they show
old films and its open screens lay bare a wide black
hole. Months ago I saw La Strada and at the end,
when Anthony Quinn cries throwing himself on the
beach, I realized that it was the first movie Id ever
seen and that he was the first man Id ever seen cry. I
remembered it suddenly, I was five years old but
thats another story. Now I wait. My last girlfriend
stopped by to leave me some provisions and has
left. Maybe she loved me. I also loved other girls
or at least thought so at the moment. Sometimes
I feel nostalgia, but Ive learned to resist it. Until a
few days ago the snowy crest of the cordillera rose
up out front, but now you can only see an immense
emptiness and above an intense blue sky that
darkens for a few hours. The resplendence of the
sky blinds me and I try to speak. I got by for a while
selling stolen books, but they caught me and it was
bitch. I remembered the window of a boarding
house in Valparaso and that in the background I
could see the ocean, but Ive already said that I
cant give in to nostalgia. As they took me away
that crying scene on the beach came back to me.
Then my eyelids froze, I saw the dark blue of the
sky open up above me, I tried to tell them and died.

! / almost island, winter 2014

35

18
Nieva. Hace ya meses que slo duermo de da,
en medio de torbellinos de imgenes y sueos
extenuantes de los que despierto con sobresalto.
El enorme farelln de hielo deja ver detrs
infinidades de rostros que mueven los labios
como si cantaran o intentaran decir algo. Uno de
ellos es el cantautor Vctor Jara y me sorprende
verlo all porque ya se sabe que lo han matado en
un estadio chileno. Cuando despierto, en la radio
estn tocando La plegaria del labrador y el
instinto de sobrevivencia hace que me levante
de un salto para apagarla. La cancin no viene
de all porque hace mucho que la radio est
estropeada, pero sigo escuchndola. Me visto de
prisa y salgo a la calle. Ahora la cancin parece
surgir de todas partes y al bajar los ojos veo la
cadena de las otras montaas emergiendo entre
la nevada y el atardecer. La voz de Vctor Jara
cubre ahora por completo las cumbres de los
Andes y siento el pujo de las lgrimas tratando
de salir. Estoy tendido en una saliente y, salvo
los labios, el hielo me aprisiona impidindome
todo movimiento. Levntate y mrate las manos
comienzo a cantar en susurros mientras poco a
poco la nieve me va sellando la boca. Ya no
siento temor. Muy lejos, se escucha an el mar.

! / almost island, winter 2014

36

18
It snows. For months now Ive only slept by
day, in the midst of a torrent of images and
exhausting dreams from which I awake startled.
The immense ice precipice reveals infinities of
faces moving their lips as if they were singing
or trying to say something. One of them is the
songwriter Vctor Jara and it surprises me to see
him there because we already know theyve
killed him in a Chilean stadium. When I awake,
theyre playing La plegaria del labrador on the
radio and my survival instincts make me get up
right away to turn it off. The song doesnt come
from there because the radio broke a long time
ago, but I keep on hearing it. I dress quickly and
go out. Now the song seems to come forth
from everywhere and as I lower my eyes I see
the chain of other mountains emerging amid the
snow and sunset. The voice of Vctor Jara now
completely covers the summits of the Andes and
I feel the tears trying to get out. Im dangling
from a ledge and, except for my lips, the ice
imprisons me impeding any movement. Wake up
and look at your hands, I begin to sing softly as
the snow goes on sealing my mouth shut. I am no
longer afraid. Far away, you can still hear the sea.

! / almost island, winter 2014

37

19
Ha llegado el fin. Los huecos blancos del horizonte
han comenzado a crecer y al despertar supe que yo
haba estado antes en la cordillera. Me prepar
un caf y me decid a esperar. Tiempo atrs
vend mquinas de escribir de la Olivetti y no
me sorprendi encontrarme con la cuadrilla de
ventas nuevamente. ramos un grupo de doce y
Dezerega reparta los territorios. Era nuestro jefe.
El que muchos ya se hubieran muerto, incluido
Dezerega tampoco me llam la atencin. Termin
mi caf y record que trat de defenderme cuando
me echaron. La sala en que nos reunamos por la
maana era como una sala de clases, con unos
escritorios en fila y el de Dezerega al frente. Creo
que llegu a estimar a Dezerega, tambin a Luis
Cerda, el tipo me tapaba los atrasos y me esperaba
para meternos a un boliche a tomar caf. Vi a Luis
Cerda hace poco. Haba decenas de mquinas de
escribir arrumbadas en su cuarto, unas Lettera 32
de color gris. Me dijo que haban sobrado y que
no importaba porque ya nadie usa mquinas de
escribir. Hoy ya es tarde. La represin ha sido
feroz y han arrojado los cuerpos sobre el mar y las
montaas. Al levantarme observ que no poda
mover mis brazos encostrados bajo la nieve.
Kurosawa, le dije, yo era un simple vendedor de
mquinas de escribir y ahora estoy muerto y nieva.

! / almost island, winter 2014

38

19
The end has come. The white holes have begun to
extend themselves in the horizon and as I awake I
know that Id been in the cordillera. I made coffee
and decided to wait. Some time ago I sold Olivetti
typewriters and it didnt surprise me to come across
the sales team again. We were a group of twelve
and Dezerega assigned territories. He was our boss.
The fact that several had already died, including
Dezerega, didnt surprise me either. I finished my
coffee and remembered how he tried to defend me
when they threw me out. The room where we met in
the mornings was like a classroom, with lined up
desks and Dezeregas in the front. I think I ended up
respecting Dezerega, also Luis Cerda, when I was
late he covered for me and hed hang around so we
could head to a bar for coffee. I saw Luis Cerda not
long ago. There were dozens of typewriters dumped
in his room, some gray Lettera 32s. He said they
were leftovers and that it didnt matter because no
one uses typewriters anymore. Today is already too
late. The repression has been ferocious and theyve
thrown the bodies over the sea and mountains. As I
got up I noticed I couldnt move my arms frozen
beneath the snow. Kurosawa, I said, I was just a
typewriter salesman and now Im dead and it snows.

! / almost island, winter 2014

39

20
Hoy ha desaparecido Buenos Aires. En unas horas
ms caern todas las ciudades cordilleranas y antes
de que termine el da el alud de cuerpos blancos
desbordar los Andes y desaparecer Santiago. Es
inevitable y pap ha vuelto para esperar junto a
nosotros. Su cara tiene las marcas del cansancio y
representa muchos ms aos de los 31 que debera
tener. Nos dijo que haba vuelto y nada ms. Unos
das antes haban regresado mis abuelos, los padres
de mi madre. Los he estado observando, no hablan
entre ellos y simplemente han vuelto. A diferencia
de pap, se ven ms jvenes, pero tienen la misma
expresin cansada. Es bueno que se rena la
familia, nos dijo mam que ahora se ha apartado
con pap. Siento que llora. Ella o l que ha vuelto,
no lo s. Mis abuelos tambin se han apartado y
de tanto en tanto me miran. Mi abuela no es la
misma que recordaba y de mi abuelo no tena
recuerdos. Lleva puesto un gastado uniforme azul
de aviador de la primera guerra que es el mismo
que mi abuela guardaba en casa. Ha comenzado a
nevar. Desde hace das la televisin slo muestra
imgenes de multitudes cada vez ms grandes
acoplndose sobre las cumbres de los Andes. El fin
es inminente y enciendo la luz del velador. Hace
fro. Alguien me estaba diciendo que Kurosawa
es una palabra escrita con letras de nieve y de fin.

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40

20
Today Buenos Aires has disappeared. In a few more
hours all the cordillera cities will fall and before the
end of the day the avalanche of white bodies will
overcome the Andes and Santiago will disappear.
Its inevitable and papa has come back to wait with
us. His face shows signs of fatigue and he looks
much older than he should at 31. He told us hed
come back and nothing more. Some days earlier,
my grandparents had returned, my mothers parents.
Ive been watching them, they dont talk to one
another and have merely returned. Unlike papa,
they look younger, but have the same tired
expression. Its good that the family reunites,
mama told us whos now alone with papa. I hear
her cry. Her or my papa whos come back, I dont
know. My grandparents are also alone and once in
a while they look at me. My grandmother isnt who
I remembered her to be and I have no memories
of my grandfather. He wears a worn blue World
War I aviator uniform and I know its the one my
grandmother kept at home. Its begun to snow. For
many days now the television shows only images
of the multitudes each time greater coupling with
one another over the summits of the Andes. The
end is imminent and I turn on my bedside lamp.
Its cold. Someone was telling me that Kurosawa
is a word written with letters of snow and of the end.

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41

21
Era un ocano de tipos que llenaban de lado a
lado la Alameda. Miles y miles de fascistas que
bajaban desfilando desde los barrios altos hasta
el Diego Portales, mientras que a unas pocas
cuadras, interminables filas de buses esperaban el
final del acto para llevar de vuelta a los acarreados
desde las poblaciones. Yo me apost en una vereda
para mirarlos. Me dije que nunca hubiese credo
que los fachos fueran tantos. Tal vez no era el
nico que lo pensaba porque cada cierto rato,
otros se quedaban mirando en silencio y luego se
iban. O quizs eran militares de civil rastreando a
los tipos como yo. La idea me hizo temblar. Al
darme vuelta para alejarme, o el estrpito de las
rompientes y la voz chillona de Pinochet que se
iba apagando en el sonido del mar. Se haba
levantado un fuerte viento y los torbellinos de
arena dificultaban la caminata. La marea estaba
subiendo y muy pronto alcanzara el pie de los
acantilados. Sub de prisa por los escalones
tallados en la piedra y cuando llegu arriba el
pueblo desierto se me abri como una inmensa
fauce vaca. Trat con desesperacin de zafarme
de los brazos que me atenazaban y alcanc a or
las rompientes. El primer aniversario del golpe
se apaga en la noche. Ms all, todava el mar.

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42

21
It was the sort of ocean that would altogether
overrun the Alameda. From their neighborhoods
thousands upon thousands of fascists came
parading down to Diego Portales, while
a couple blocks away endless lines of buses
waited for the act to end, to take those whod
been rounded up back to their slums. I stopped
on the sidewalk to watch them. I never wouldve
believed there were so many fascists, I thought to
myself. Maybe I wasnt the only one thinking this
because, once in a while, others would stare at
them in silence then leave. Or maybe they were
military civilians rooting out guys like me.
The thought made me shudder. As I turned to
move away, I heard the pounding breakers and
Pinochets shrill voice gradually drowned out
by the ocean sound. A strong wind began to
blow and the whirls of sand made it hard to
walk. Before long the rising tide would reach
the base of the cliffs. I quickly went up the stone
steps, and when I reached the top, the deserted
town opened up to me like a vast empty jaw.
I tried desperately to shake loose from the arms
that restrained me and managed to hear the
breakers. The first anniversary of the coup is put
out in the night. Further away, the sea goes on.

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43

22
Eras t pap?

Despus de cinco das esperando que se despejara

la neblina sobre la costa norte pude ver los
acantilados. Kilmetros y kilmetros de paredes
de granito cortndose a pique y mil metros ms
abajo el Pacfico. Haba imaginado unas frases
escritas sobre esos murallones, veintids
exactamente, de amor, de locura y de muerte
recortndose sobre ellos. Me las imagin en un
sueo. La llanura del desierto de Atacama que se
interrumpa de golpe, luego el abismo y al
fondo el mar. Aos despus mor. Eran millones y
millones de hombres y mujeres arrojndose,
muchedumbres inacabables que se detenan por
un instante en el borde de los paredones y luego
se lanzaban. Algunos lo hacan tomados de la
mano, se miraban a los ojos y daban el ltimo
paso, otros sostenan nios en sus brazos, algunos
lloraban quedamente mientras el viento del
desierto haca flamear sus ropas. Sent un brazo
posarse en mi hombro, eras t pap? y el vaco
se abri bajo mis pies sin estruendo, igual que
una boca muda y dulce. Al frente, el azul del
inmenso amanecer se iba fundiendo con el
Pacfico y las frases de amor, de locura y de
muerte, se me pegaron en los labios tambin sin
estruendo, suavemente, como un ltimo silencio.

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44

22
Was It You Papa?

After five days of waiting for the fog to clear

over the northern coast I could see the cliffs.
Kilometers upon kilometers of jagging granite
walls and a thousand meters below, the Pacific.
I had imagined lines written upon those massive
walls, exactly twenty-two of love, of madness
and death incising into them. I imagined them
in a dream. The plain of the desert of Atacama
suddenly interrupted, then the abyss and then to
the bottom of the sea. I died years later. They
were millions upon millions of women and men
throwing themselves, interminable crowds of
people that held back for a moment at the edge
of the vast walls and then cast themselves down.
Some did it holding hands, they looked into
one anothers eyes and took the last step, others
held children in their arms, some cried steadily
while the desert wind flailed their clothes about.
I felt an arm rest on my shoulder. Was it you
papa? and the emptiness opened beneath my
feet without a sound, just like a sweet mute
mouth. Before me, the blue of the immense
sunrise merged with the Pacific and the lines of
love, of madness and death, stuck to my lips also
without a sound, softly, like an irrevocable silence.

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45

Para Kurosawa/ El Mar

Los farellones recortaban abajo la herradura del
mar y en lugar de las casas playeras edificadas
en las terrazas de los acantilados, se erguan arcos
y columnatas de una antigedad indescifrable que
descendan escalonadamente hasta el comienzo
de la playa. El sol todava alto le imprima al mar
una solidez radiante y cuando finalmente llegu
a su orilla, la intensidad de sus tonos se abri de
golpe inundndome los ojos. Las rompientes se
hacan cada vez ms altas, ms resplandecientes
y luminosas, y sin emitir un sonido sus resacas
iban y venan cubriendo la arena con infinitas
lneas de colores. Hund entonces y vi que el
mar eran llanuras y llanuras de cuerpos muertos,
extensiones interminables torsos y espaldas
exnimes, de vientres que ondeaban igual que
paos extendindose hasta el horizonte,
mientras ms ac, siguiendo la curvatura de las
rompientes, los cadveres ascendan doblndose
hasta aparecer por un segundo transparentados
en la cumbre de la ola para luego derrumbarse.
Eran millones de millones de caras con las bocas
abiertas, infinidades de caderas, de brazos y
piernas barriendo una y otra vez la playa como
si fueran cuerdas pintadas. Kurosawa, alcanc
an a gritarle, este no es un sueo, este es el mar.

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46

For Kurosawa/ The Sea

Below the bluffs sliced into the horseshoe bend
of the sea and instead of beach houses built upon
cliff terraces, rising arches and columns of an
indecipherable antiquity descended step by step
down to where the beach begins. Still high, the
sun imprinted a solid radiance upon the sea and
when I finally arrived to its edge, the tonal
intensity opened up suddenly flooding my
eyes. The breakers steadily rising, becoming
more brilliant and luminous, and without a sound
its undertows came and went covering the sand
with infinite lines of color. Then I plunged in
and saw that the sea was endless plains of
torsos and backs exhumed, of stomachs that
waved like rags extending themselves to the
horizon, while further over here, following the
curvature of the breakers, the cadavers rose
folding themselves until appearing for a
second becoming transparent at the peak of the
wave to then break apart. They were millions
upon millions of faces with their mouths open,
infinite hips, arms and legs sweeping again and
again the beach as if painted ropes. Kurosawa, I
managed to cry out, this isnt a dream, this is the sea.

_____________________________________________________

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47

Love in the First Person

In On Love, Suffering, and the New Millennium, Ral Zurita suggests not
that we speak of the dead, but that we simply speak the dead: Each one of us
is more than an I, each one is a torrent of the deceased that ends in our life
just as we end in our descendents. This is whats meant by a tradition and
culture: that all those who have preceded us return to speak when we speak,
they return to see when we see, feel when we feel. Each one of us is the
resurrection of the dead and that miracle is achieved in each second of our
lives.1 But what does this mean, for the deadthe absentto speak when we
speak, see when we see, and feel when we feel? How do we return the
impossible distance of other voices and senses into the presence that is each
one of us? And for Zurita what is the poetic nature of such a return?
An imagined or absent person is voiced into being through the figure of
speech called prosopopeia. Paul De Man writes that this figure is the fiction
of an apostrophe to an absent, voiceless entity, which posits the possibility of
the latters reply and confers upon it the power of speech. Voice assumes
mouth, eye, and finally face, a chain that is manifest in the etymology of the
tropes name, prosopon poein, to confer a mask or a face (prosopon).2 A voice
that speaks and addresses requires the imagination of a face that listens.
Implicit to that face that listens is the power of speech, of a voice that in turn
calls for a face to listen. For De Man, this process levels the living with the
dead because it underscores the ultimate absence of the former in an
unending process of figuration and disfiguration, the creation of a face and
defacement. De Man considers prosopopeia the master trope of poetic
discourse because it evidences as much that fiction of an apostrophe to the
absent as the fiction of any apostrophe.3 This is a poignant statethe
madness of wordsfor De Man because prosopopeia continuously
emphasizes and elaborates the illusion of intelligibility.4
We attempt to speak, to represent our thoughts and feelings, and if we are
heard and understood, we hope to be spoken to in return. We yearn for an
unbroken and reciprocal circle of figuration between the self and other.
Instead, what we experience is the madness of our everyday attempts to
address and understand one another because this back and forth
fundamentally impedes any type of stable subjectivity and intelligibility. What

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48

De Man suggests is that this process is as creative as it is corrosive because it

emphasizes our own death as well as our inability to locate a point of origin
for the self. Thus, as we attempt to represent the unbearable distance of the
dead through poetry, what we also convey is the equally unbearable distance
of the living. While prosopopeia initially directs our gaze to the ability of
poetry to figure the voices of the absent, like De Man, Zuritas attention is
paid to the living. He fuses together what the critic had so painfully observed
and distilled, namely, prosopopeia as the exemplar of presence.
Dreams for Kurosawa are derived from three separate booksLas ciudades
de agua, Zurita / in memoriampublished in Mexico and Chile respectively
in 2007, and Zurita, the poets most recent poetic tour-de-force of over 600
pages.5 In Dreams for Kurosawa, Akira Kurosawa (19101998), the Japanese
film director and his series of short films, Akira Kurosawas Dreams (1990)
become a mnemonic, thematic, aesthetic, and personal point of reference for
the poet. Zurita explains:
The film Akira Kurosawas Dreams was shocking for me, most of all
because of the dream of the Japanese soldiers that come out of a
tunnel unaware of the fact that theyre still dead. What occurred was
an error in perspective. This doesnt happen to me very often. I
thought Id seen the film around 1973, before the coup dtat in Chile,
when in fact the film had been released recently in 1990. Ive tried to
understand the reasons for this error of more than 17 years and cant.
When I began to write Las ciudades de agua . . . in 2006, the
memory of that movie came back as something very old, and I wrote
the first dreams, they are the ten that appear in the book Las ciudades
de agua.6
In Akira Kurosawas Dreams, fantastical memories of childhood experiences
coalesce with those of others who freeze beneath the snow or the ghosts of
soldiers whounknowing and then unwilling to accept their own deaths
march through a tunnel to face their surviving commanding officer. Zurita,
like Kurosawa, fuses life with art. The poet uses his own name, dreams and
experiences throughout his work, and has referred to Kurosawa as a father
figure. Both engage the problem of what to do with a collective experience of
extraordinary violence, post-war ruins, and, most importantly, the state of the

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49

livingwhat we believe to be the nature of our presencelike the tragically

confused soldiers.
In these Dreams for Kurosawa the poetic voice moves us in a thick fluid
between the living and the dead, mountain summit and city street, masculine
and feminine, temporal moments, geographies and national affiliations. This
merge, a trademark of Zuritas craft, pivots upon the permeability of poetic
voice and is signaled by the continuously shifting first person singular. For
example, between My Name: Akira Kurosawa and poem 19, Kurosawa
shares the same I as Zurita and the typewriter salesman who speaks frozen
beneath the snow. I is Kurosawa, the film director and I, the typewriter
salesman. In other poems the poetic voice addresses Kurosawa directly as
Papa, or identifies, in the third person singular, a man with Parkinsons
that just fell in the snow. Zurita himself suffers from this disease. Consider
also poem 2 in which the Arauco War is recalled along with Ziley Mora
Penroz, the Mapuche writer dedicated to disseminating the Mapuche
language and cultural ethos. At once alive with eyes open, at once
dismembered by the waterfalls of Tamasopo in Ciudad Valle, Mexico, in poem
4, the permeable voice is not limited to the experience of a nation (Chile) or to
a specific historical or chronological moment (the dictatorship), but literally
spills out to imagine multiple proximities, affiliations, and points of reference
brother, mother, son, sister, sisters, above, below, man, child, speaking,
breaking.
Instead of being something of madness that alerts us to the drag of our own
death in language through the fiction of intelligibility, for Zurita prosopopeia
holds the possibility of something that is greater than death. Each shifting I
is a resounding yes to the othera return to the other that is simultaneously a
return to the selfrather than a corrosion of the possibility of fully
representing any type of stable subjectivity. Prosopopeia marks the ultimate
limit of the self that is death at the same time that it imposes a greater
concern for the limit of the other, that is, the others death. This concern for
the others death as greater than ones own constitutes Zuritas idea of love in
the new millennium. Language holds the infinite capacitythe infinite yesto
sustain and convey the simultaneity and multiplicity of our presence,
grounded as much in this that I speak and this that I write as in the body from
which I do such miraculous things. Its objective is not completion, or finitude,

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50

and it does not pretend to locate an origin in any given moment or body. It is
simply an effort of singularitythe singularity of a facethat is infinite.
Anna Deeny Morales
Boston, 2011

1 Ral Zurita, Dos anotaciones sobre el amor, el sufrimiento y el nuevo milenio in

Sobre el amor, el sufrimiento y el nuevo milenio (Editorial Andrs Bello: San<ago de

Chile, 2000) 1213. Cada uno de nosotros es ms que un yo, es un torrente de
difuntos que termina en nuestra vida tal como nosotros terminamos en los que nos
descienden. Eso es lo que se en<ende por una tradicin y una cultura: que todos
aquellos seres que nos han precedido vuelven a tomar la palabra cuando nosotros
hablamos, vuelven a mirar cuando miramos, vuelven a sen<r cuando sen<mos. Cada
uno de nosotros es la resurreccin de los muertos y ese milagro se va cumpliendo en
cada segundo de nuestras vidas.
2 Paul De Man, Autobiography as De-Facement MLN, Vol. 94, No. 5, Compara<ve

Literature (Dec., 1979) 926.

3 De Man, The Resistance to Theory (Manchester: Manchester University Press,

1986) 48.
4 De Man, The Rhetoric of Roman=cism (New York: Columbia University Press, 1984)

122.
5 Las ciudades de agua was published by Ediciones Era. Zurita / in memoriam was

published by Ediciones Tcitas. Zurita was published by Ediciones Universidad Diego

Portales in 2011. Sueos para Kurosawa was also published as a collec<on in Spanish
in New York City by Pen Press in 2010.
6 Zurita, e-mail to Anna Deeny. March 15, 2011. El lm Sueos de Akira Kurosawa

fue un verdadero golpe, sobre todo el sueo de los soldados japoneses que salen de
un tnel y no saben an que estn muertos, se me produjo adems un error de
perspec<va que no me sucede tan a menudo, cre hasta hace poco que haba visto el
lm a mediados del 73, antes del golpe de estado en Chile, cuando la pelcula se
estren recin en el 90. He tratado de pensar por qu ese error de ms de 17 aos y
no doy con la razn, cuando comenc a escribir Las ciudades de agua, la serie que
lleva ese nombre, el 2006 se me vino el recuerdo de esa pelcula como algo muy
an<guo y escrib los primeros sueos, son los diez que aparecen en el libro Las
ciudades de agua.

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51