The death of Pinochet brought a rush of memories from 30-odd years ago. We were living in Salisbury, Maryland, on the Eastern Shore. Happily married, I thought, though my wife must have been in turmoil inside, which later would erupt into self-realization as a lesbian. At any rate, I was ignorant of her sexual issues. Just your typical dumb guy.
We visited her cousin in Washington D.C., who worked for the state department. At a party we volunteered to "host" an elderly couple from Chile who were stranded between apartments. We let them come down and live with us for a week in the sprawling farmhouse we rented out of town. When we picked them up at the bus station soon thereafter, their largest piece of baggage was a case of Chilean wine. A fine omen.
It ends up he was the former head of the house of representatives in Allende's government. They had fled before Pinochet caught them after the overthrow of A's govt, which was helped by the CIA. They spoke little English, and we spoke no Spanish. Nonetheless it was a tremendous visit, speaking in sign language but mainly in food, wine, song and laughter. I recall strumming the guitar while they sang patriotic songs (pro-Allende) and at one point I remember him taking off his shirt to show us all his battle wounds. She was an extraordinary cook. We had several Spanish professors from the college over so they could enjoy conversation. A fine visit and memory.
We never saw them again. Of course, with Allende being assassinated in D.C. I wonder if they might have met the same fate from Pinochet's thugs. Maybe not. They were going to go to work as translators (a big irony here: we overthrow the govt, then hire the govt employees as translators) for the state department. It was a long time ago, and I hope they found a good life here.
Later Chile entered my life again. In 1996 I was playwright-in-electronic-residence at Prisma, a theater company in Santiago, with whom I developed a one-act hyperdrama called "The Last Song of Violeta Parra."
This was a very unique experience, to say the least. The play has had several productions in Spanish (the director's translation) but has never been performed in English. Now and again I think of producing and directing it myself, then I remember how much work is involved and I remember my age and my priorities.
No comments:
Post a Comment