{"id":70135,"date":"2014-04-22T11:00:28","date_gmt":"2014-04-22T15:00:28","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=70135"},"modified":"2014-04-25T10:12:30","modified_gmt":"2014-04-25T14:12:30","slug":"solitude-company-part-two","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2014\/04\/22\/solitude-company-part-two\/","title":{"rendered":"Solitude &#038; Company, Part 2"},"content":{"rendered":"<div id=\"attachment_67584\" style=\"width: 610px\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/03\/Gabriel_Garcia_Marquez_12.png\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" aria-describedby=\"caption-attachment-67584\" class=\"wp-image-67584\" src=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/03\/Gabriel_Garcia_Marquez_12.png\" alt=\"Gabriel_Garcia_Marquez_12\" width=\"600\" height=\"580\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/03\/Gabriel_Garcia_Marquez_12.png 478w, https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/03\/Gabriel_Garcia_Marquez_12-300x289.png 300w\" sizes=\"auto, (min-width: 62.5em) 67vw, 100vw\" \/><\/a><p id=\"caption-attachment-67584\" class=\"wp-caption-text\">M\u00e1rquez in 1984. Photo by F3rn4nd0, via Wikimedia Commons.<\/p><\/div>\n<p style=\"text-align: left;\"><em>In our Summer 2003 issue,<\/em> The Paris Review<em> published Silvana Paternostro\u2019s oral biography of Gabriel Garc\u00eda M\u00e1rquez, which she has recently expanded into a book. In celebration of\u00a0<em>Garc\u00eda M\u00e1rquez<\/em>\u2019s life, we\u2019re delighted to present the piece online for the first time\u2014<em>this is the second of five excerpts. <a href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/miscellaneous\/230\/solitude-company-an-oral-biography-of-gabriel-garcia-marquez-silvana-paternostro\" target=\"_blank\">Read the complete text here<\/a>. <\/em><\/em><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\">III<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: left;\">JOS\u00c9 SALGAR: Gabo came to <em>El Espectador<\/em> with a bit of fame, but when he arrived it was the same as any ordinary reporter. He was a bit uncouth; he was from the coast, a hick, and very shy. He would arrive with bags under his eyes and his hair uncombed because he had been writing that thing. I told him we couldn\u2019t work like that. I would tell him to wring the swan\u2019s neck\u2014that literature was a hobby and what he needed to do was incorporate those things that he was making up into real journalism.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: left;\">JUANCHO JINETE: He wrote something about the wreck of a ship that belonged to the navy, which was carrying smuggled goods and threw one of the young sailors overboard. He wrote an article that no one dared to write in this country, because it dealt with the armed forces.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: left;\">GUILLERMO ANGULO: It must have been around 1955, I went to <em>El Espectador<\/em> looking for him and they told me he had left to be one of their correspondents in Europe and was going to study film at Centro Sperimentale in Rome. He has always had a love affair with film. It\u2019s been disastrous. There isn\u2019t even one great film or script by Gabo. His ideas are wonderful, but his writing cannot be used to make movies. It seems to me a bit much to ask Gabo to be a great filmmaker in addition to a great author. I was going to study at the same place, so when I arrived there I went to look him up. He had left me a letter in which he explained where to get a hold of him: I should go to the second floor and I would run into a lady who sings opera wearing a towel wrapped around her head. So I went there and sure enough the lady showed up and I laughed and she got angry. I laughed because she came out singing opera with her head in a towel. Then I asked her about Gabriel Garc\u00eda M\u00e1rquez. She said, Who knows him? And she was right. Who had ever heard of him? Then Gabo sent me a letter telling me that he had left Rome for Paris. He was at 16 rue Cujas. I wrote him that I was going to be in Paris for six months and that we would see each other there. <!--more--><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: left;\">PLINIO APULEYO MENDOZA: We drove from Paris to Eastern Europe in a Renault 4. We couldn\u2019t get visas for the Soviet Union so we pretended to be part of a group of Colombian musicians playing in Moscow. We would sleep in the car. One day Gabo woke up and told me, \u201cMaestro, I am very sad. I dreamed something very sad.\u201d I asked him what that was, and he said, \u201cI dreamed that socialism didn\u2019t work.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: left;\">GUILLERMO ANGULO: I arrived at the Hotel de Flandres on rue Cujas. Across the street, there was a black Cuban poet [Nicolas] Guillen. He was exiled and living in a hotel more pathetic than mine. Every day he went out and returned with his bread under his arm. When I went to 16 rue Cujas the lady told me that Garc\u00eda M\u00e1rquez had left for a tour of the Iron Curtain. I was convinced that I would never be able to meet him. I asked for the cheapest room she had and told her that I would be staying for at least three months. She gave me a room on the top floor, which was very uncomfortable because that\u2019s where the roof was, so that every time you got up you hit your head on the ceiling. One day I got a knock on the door and here was this guy wearing a blue sweater and a very long scarf that went around several times and he said: \u201cMaestrico, what are you doing in my room?\u201d It was Gabo and that\u2019s how we met. I didn\u2019t know. And I have a photograph taken right then and there. I moved elsewhere. Gabo was very, very poor, and while I was there he came every day to have dinner with me. I used to keep five subway tickets, and he would take two on his way out and ask me what to read because his train ride was about forty-five minutes and since I\u2019ve always been an avid reader of magazines I had <em>Cahiers du cinema<\/em> and <em>Paris Match<\/em>. He would take what he wanted and bring it back the following day. And that\u2019s how we became very close friends.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: left;\">PLINIO APULEYO MENDOZA: His room had a typewriter that my sister had sold to him for forty dollars and on the wall with a thumbtack a picture of Mercedes, his girlfriend back in Colombia.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: left;\">MAR\u00cdA LUISA EL\u00cdO: Well, you know, he met Mercedes when she was a little girl. Once, when she was about eleven, she was in her father\u2019s pharmacy when Gabo walked in and told her, \u201cI\u2019m going to marry you when you\u2019re an adult.\u201d And then, when she was older, he told her: \u201cYou should marry me because I\u2019m going to be very important.\u201d I think he knew all along.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: left;\">GUILLERMO ANGULO: One day he got a postcard from his friends at La Cueva, with lots of palm trees and sunshine, in which they wrote, <em>Jackass, you\u2019re over there bearing the cold and here we are having a great time in the sunshine. Get your ass back here.<\/em> And he thought, Goddamn assholes, instead of sending me some money. And he threw out the postcard.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: left;\">ENRIQUE SCOPELL: Back then it was forbidden to send money by mail. Alvaro gave ninety dollars and I put in ten. Alvaro was more his friend than I was, because of the writing. The glue was bad and if you wet it you could unseal it, and Alvaro stuck the hundred dollars in it.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: left;\">GUILLERMO ANGULO: Shortly thereafter, Gabo received a special-delivery letter: <em>Since you\u2019re so stupid we\u2019re sure that you didn\u2019t even notice that the postcard is a sandwich with one hundred dollars in it.<\/em> Then he went down to where the hotel kept its garbage. Just imagine, condoms, all that junk, and he retrieved it. One hundred dollars. It was Saturday, and that was when changing dollars into francs at a good rate was very difficult. He was desperate because he was hungry, so he started to inquire where he could change the money. Someone told him about a friend called La Pupa who had just gotten in from Rome after getting paid her salary and should have a lot of money on her. So he went to see her\u2014he was bundled up as usual, since it was wintertime\u2014and La Pupa opened the door and a current of warm air from a well-heated room greeted him. La Pupa was naked. She was not pretty, but she had a great body and she would take her clothes off without any provocation. So La Pupa sat down\u2014 according to Gabo, what bothered him most was that she carried on as if she were fully dressed\u2014and crossed her legs, and started to talk about Colombia and the Colombians she knew. He started to tell her his problem, and she acknowledged him and went across the room to where she had a little chest. He realized that what she wanted was to have sex, but what he wanted was to eat. So he went to eat and pigged out so much that he was sick for a week with indigestion.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: left;\">JOS\u00c9 SALGAR: They closed the paper and he got stuck in Europe. Then he wrote and told me everything about his love affairs and the painful experiences that he was having in Paris. Very long letters, and he would wind up begging me to get him the check that the paper owed him, since that was his only means of income. He called me the other day and asked me if I remembered anything about those letters. My answer was very sad. \u201cWell,\u201d I said, \u201cI threw out everything that was sent to the paper and didn\u2019t get printed.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: left;\">SANTIAGO MUTIS: What was it that Paris gave him? Paris gave him a brutal confinement, and a way to ask himself who he was, what he was doing. He falls flat on his face, and it defines him as what he has always been\u2014a man from Barranquilla, from Cartagena, from Aracataca. Today\u2019s Gabo\u2014I don\u2019t know why\u2014is a Gabo who fabricates himself. Now he tells this story and it is literary, which doesn\u2019t mean it\u2019s true.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\">* * *<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\">IV<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: left;\">RAFAEL ULLOA: He had achieved a certain prestige as a journalist. But he began making a name for himself when he got the Esso Prize for <em>In Evil Hour<\/em>. That\u2019s where it all started, from that point on.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: left;\">GUILLERMO ANGULO: I\u2019m the one to blame for the first award Gabo ever received. One day I noticed that there was a contest being held, and the first prize was fifteen thousand pesos. Enough to buy a car\u2014the first Volkswagens cost three thousand eight hundred pesos. Gabo already had made a name for himself as a journalist, and although he had not done anything major in the literary sense, people knew about <em>Leaf Storm<\/em>. He was already respected, based on expectations rather than anything tangible. He sent me his novel, which came bound with a necktie. It was called <em>This Shitty Town<\/em>. I did away with the title; I told them it was untitled. With a title like <em>This Shitty Town<\/em> I knew he would never get the prize. That was <em>In Evil Hour<\/em>.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: left;\">JUANCHO JINETE: Then he won a prize in Venezuela, the Romulo Gallegos. He came to receive the prize and the news came out in the paper that he had given the award money to the revolution.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: left;\">ALBERTO ZAPALETA: I\u2019m a very good friend of the town where Garc\u00eda M\u00e1rquez was born. I got to know the house where he was born very well\u2014it was covered by vines and the patio was full of weeds; there was half a fa\u00e7ade in front. Then I found out through <em>El Espectador<\/em> that Garc\u00eda M\u00e1rquez had won the Romulo Gallegos Prize in literature for the amount of one hundred thousand dollars and that he had given it as a gift to political prisoners. Then he won another prize and he gave that money to some prisoners. However, he had seen the condition of the house where he was born was in; it was dilapidated\u2014not to mention the town, which was in need of an aqueduct and a school. And there he was, giving the money to other people. So I wrote this song:<\/p>\n<blockquote>\n<p style=\"text-align: left;\">The writer Garc\u00eda M\u00e1rquez<br \/>\nHe has to be made to know<br \/>\nThat we have to love the land<br \/>\nWhere one is born<br \/>\nAnd not dolike he did<br \/>\nHe abandoned his hometown<br \/>\nAllowing the collapse<br \/>\nOf the house where he was born.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<p style=\"text-align: left;\">I ran into him in Valledupar and he greeted me and told me that my song was very good. He told me that he was upset for three months that the song had been so popular.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: left;\">IMPERIA DACONTE DE MARCELES: He\u2019s never been back to Aracataca. He showed up one night at midnight, in a car with tinted windows, and drove around the town with some friends, but he\u2019s never gone back to Aracataca. With all he\u2019s achieved, he\u2019s done nothing for Aracataca.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: left;\"><em>Silvana Paternostro is a journalist who has written extensively on Cuba and Central and South America. She is the author of <\/em>In the Land of God and Man: Confronting Our Sexual Culture<em> and <\/em>My Colombian War: A Journey Through the Country I Left Behind.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: left;\"><em><a href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/miscellaneous\/230\/solitude-company-an-oral-biography-of-gabriel-garcia-marquez-silvana-paternostro\" target=\"_blank\">Read all of \u201cSolitude &amp; Company\u201d here.<\/a> <\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>In our Summer 2003 issue, The Paris Review published Silvana Paternostro\u2019s oral biography of Gabriel Garc\u00eda M\u00e1rquez, which she has recently expanded into a book. In celebration of\u00a0Garc\u00eda M\u00e1rquez\u2019s life, we\u2019re delighted to present the piece online for the first time\u2014this is the second of five excerpts. Read the complete text here. III JOS\u00c9 SALGAR: [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":683,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1188],"tags":[199,3071,11148,8740,13624,9459,270,13630],"class_list":["post-70135","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-from-the-archive","tag-biography","tag-gabriel-garcia-marquez","tag-newspapers","tag-one-hundred-years-of-solitude","tag-oral-biography","tag-oral-history","tag-paris","tag-reporting"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO Premium plugin v25.4 (Yoast SEO v25.4) - https:\/\/yoast.com\/wordpress\/plugins\/seo\/ -->\n<title>An Oral Biography of Garc\u00eda M\u00e1rquez, Part Two<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"In celebration of Garc\u00eda M\u00e1rquez\u2019s life, we present part two of Silvana Paternostro\u2019s oral biography of Gabriel Garc\u00eda M\u00e1rquez from our Summer 2003 issue.\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2014\/04\/22\/solitude-company-part-two\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Solitude &amp; 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