Carlos Rojas: The Ingenious Gentleman and Poet Federico García Lorca Ascends to Hell

Dióscoro Galindo González must now be in a theater along this spiral if he hasn’t been acquitted and sleeps in peace in nothingness because the kingdom of heaven must be made up of people like him However and even though he figures in the cast of the drama you watch from your orchestra seat it is yours and has you as an obligatory protagonist I too would have liked to ask you at this precise moment as I see you again with your hands tied in the Buick between Cabezas and the teacher from Pulianas while Galadí darkens in his self-absorption Trescastro hides his face from all your eyes and the two Assault Guards make an effort to repair the car all beneath the same distant moon what you are thinking my man of flesh the one they killed at a dawn more distant than this moon whose fictitious image is represented on your stage Ask you man to man very privately and just between us whether you really imagine that all this is the parody of a crime devised by Valdés or whether in some remote chamber deep inside you that you share with me you didn’t realize without admitting it to yourself that before you knew it they would slaughter all of you as if you were cattle For my part and in retrospect I’m certain that if you insist on believing that all of it is the mockery of a murderer determined to be thought of as crazy your deception is nothing but a desperate means of freeing yourself from madness and safeguarding the privilege of dying honorably and in accordance with reason instead of giving in to the contained panic that would drive you insane Dying like an enlightened man who would climb up to the gallows indifferent to his fate and convinced the same lucid laws will one day govern the history of men and the stars in the sky Dying as a Lavoisier would for example even though you were the surrealist poet who spoke of the frozen honey spilled by the moon of fever of the sea with its immense face of a sky turned into an elephant of swallows that soak in blood of a heart in the shape of a shoe and a glove of smoke in a landscape of rusted keys And now one of the Guards not the driver the other one with the Mauser picks up his rifle distractedly and with lowered head approaches Trescastro who is still testing the ground with his foot as if preparing to run from all of you “It’s no use” he tells him “We can’t fix the car” “What does that mean? Why can’t you fix it?” Trescastro asks impatiently “You need a mechanic here and my friend and I aren’t mechanics” “Try again” “I already told you it was no use” The police officer wipes his palm on his hip “It could be a minor thing or something very serious Whatever it is we don’t know about it” “What do I do now?” “That’s up to you You give the orders” Exasperated Trescastro gets out of the car You think or want to believe that he would like to prolong the farce In a moment you tell yourself everything will have ended shamefully for those pretending to be our executioners Trescastro will give the order to return on foot to the Colony Down the highway and following the course of the irrigation channel you’ll retrace your steps in single file like a chain gang One police officer at the head and the other behind you with Trescastro rounding out the party Or perhaps there is another variant at the end of this incomplete monstrous tragedy Perhaps he orders one of the Guards probably the driver to return to the Colony and have them send another car that will take us to Granada (“The mercy of the governor is infinite and this time he decided to give you the gift of life”) Meanwhile day will have dawned and the night sounds will cease What chirps what warbles what sips nectar will follow what slithers what gnaws and what ambushes Only the sound of the irrigation channel from Ainadamar will remain identical to itself disregarded by men and their crimes or perhaps the moon similarly detached transformed into the hazy image of itself will contemplate you from the blue sky Now Trescastro turns around and grasps the pistol in his shaking hand He hurries to the open car door with wide open eyes and quivering lips to shout at Galadí “Get out right now!” Galadí’s voice after his silence of the last few hours or for the agonizing eternity we have just lived through sounds very different Heartrending it roughens breaks or sinks into the chasms of his panic “Me? Are you calling me?” “Who else you bastard? Get out now! That’s an order!” Galadí shrinks into his seat and gradually seems to hide his head between his shoulders His teeth chatter and he trembles like quicksilver “Out! Out!” barks Trescastro “Paco! Paco! At least let them see us die like men! Let them see us die the way we always lived!” shouts Cabezas Dióscoro Galindo González closes his eyes and murmurs something no one understands A prayer or a blasphemy Perhaps both things at the same time “Paco! Paco! Don’t let them ever make fun of how we died! Paco my brother Paco of my soul! Don’t give in now! Don’t give up!” Cabezas’s efforts are so great the veins in his throat swell up so much one would say he’s about to break the cords that secure his arms In despair over the complete surrender of Galadí who does not even seem to hear him he confronts Trescastro “You son of a bitch kill me first and I’ll show you how to die when it’s your turn! Kill me first! I beg you!” “This isn’t the time for shouting Cabezas” Dióscoro Galindo González says suddenly not opening his eyes and Cabezas in his excitement is not able to hear him “Dying like men isn’t doing it with shouts but with self-respect” “Out! Out! Out for the last fucking time!” Tres-castro is still bellowing bouncing up and down like one possessed holding the pistol in his hand Shaped like a hook Galadí keeps shrinking in his seat not saying a word In the moonlight his eyes blaze just above his chest When Trescastro tries to grab him by the shirt he kicks out and forces him to retreat “Paco! Paco! Don’t give in don’t surrender! Don’t let them ever say we were afraid when it was time to die!” “Dying like men isn’t doing it with shouts but with self-respect” “Shove self-respect up your ass” replies Cabezas sobbing openly “We were like brothers! We were like brothers!” You man of flesh my other self inside me you feel an absolute serenity that confuses and disconcerts you Everything was theater as you foresaw but in the end it was reduced to a drama where you really die as you do in the bullring (“Do you know what Pepe-Hillo replied when he was fat, old, and suffering from gout and was advised to stop fighting the bulls: I’LL LEAVE HERE ON FOOT, OUT THE MAIN GATE, HOLDING MY GUTS IN MY HANDS”) Death is the final demand of a completed performance Its unexpected presence and the barbarity of the killing about to happen terrify and astonish you less than your own insensitivity bordering on indifference Upon seeing yourself on the stage in hell when your ghost returned to the night of the crime you don’t understand the reasons for your inertia at the most irrevocable of moments Perhaps you decided that everything was nothing and nothing is known about nothing Perhaps as the man of the theater you were you thought any role has unexpected demands in rehearsals that become unavoidable at the moment of the definitive performance Perhaps you eventually had a presentiment that immortality was nothing but another drama the one of the staging of all memories in anticipation of the end of your insomnia Suddenly Trescastro signals to the driver The Assault Guard takes Galadí by the knees and drags him out of the car “Kill me first! Kill me first!” the other banderillero’s shouting persists Dióscoro Galindo González gives up trying to persuade him and shakes his head again taking refuge in himself while he mumbles the prayers of a non-believer “Never Paco! Never never never!” (I’LL WALK OUT OF HERE, THROUGH THE MAIN GATE, HOLDING MY GUTS IN MY HANDS) Galadí his hands tied rolls on the ground to Trescastro’s feet For a moment his screams silence all of you and drown out the sound of the irrigation channel “Encarna! Encarnita my daughter! Encarna my love don’t abandon me! Encarna baby don’t leave your father! Give me some of the life I gave you when you were conceived!” Then the other police officer (“We’re not volunteers and we never would have offered to do this”) puts the butt of the Mauser to his shoulder and fires