Whoever touches this book touches a man. The man is a Colombian priest, versatile, music lover, a movie buff who squats at Mozart’s feet, drank Fellini’s metaphors as well as Pasolini’s. And a friend. It also developed the friendship of Luis Córdoba, among those who did not express any inclination towards the God to whom this character dedicated his priestly life, such as Héctor Abad Faciolince, the author of this portrait in the form of a novel. Salvo my heart, all is well (Alfaguara). Talking to him for a newspaper has always meant fulfilling his commitment to silence, because when he speaks, but also when he’s silent, it seems as if he’s looking inward, as if filming the scenes that inspired his writing. So in silence we listen to his reply, sometimes looking at an eternity passing through the books at the publishing house in Madrid. This was an interview just like we did. We start from what the book suggests, to write the book he had to relive untold chapters unless they were previously part of his own life.
How does such a book begin?
Books begin with a seed that tells you something important has been planted in you long before you write them. This person, El Gordo, expects a heart and goes to live in a house. In 96 I thought it was the seed of a story. It stayed there but I didn’t forget it. It sprouted again in the pandemic. I was more or less fine, but I started to feel some discomfort in my heart and… maybe that’s why this story came back to me. You have to be very obsessed with writing a novel because you have to put up with two or three years of work. Then the seed joins the obsession and the friends who are telling you something, and only then can you tell the story. A friend who kills himself for his love has a novel. A gay, married doctor who plans to retire in a house in the country and her husband suddenly die of covid disease and after a while kills himself… There is a novel inside the novel! ! El Gordo met these two people, and so they need to be interested in his story.
What does it take to forget for a novel with so many memories?
Everything. I was in Alicante this spring. I thought I had never been there, but someone who interviewed me said yes, we had already talked there. Oh, I forget everything, everything. But there are a few things I don’t forget: I don’t forget a priest waiting for a heart transplant. Even though I don’t remember many details of my friendship with him, people help me remember. I have always written with the memory and voice of others. A lot of the things I tell have happened to me but I forget and then people tell me and I pretend it’s a memory of mine. That’s why I call it a romance novel.
How was the friendship with the priest born?
I took the Italian Neorealism course, he translated the films because he had studied in Rome, I loved those films, and he turned out to be a very fat and burly priest. But I learned this much later. He loved movies, he loved stories… There was also a radio program, classical music. So it’s a sound. Then I went to study in Italy, came back to Colombia, and we cemented our friendship by eating around the table. eat a lot. I told him I didn’t believe in God, and he showed me through music that God exists. In the end, we didn’t argue. He was a charming man.
Does forgetting include intimate things that have happened to you, some of which are part of your books?
Yes very. And I don’t know if I put it because I remember it after I wrote it or because they told me. This is so weird. I don’t think it’s Alzheimer’s. I can study more or less well, but I forget a lot. Sometimes it’s so good to forget, huh. Sometimes I go down the street, I see someone and I know I know them, but I don’t know if we have a good relationship, if they insult me, if they love me. I don’t remember, but I greet you as maybe he is one of those who love me. And if he’s one of those who hates me… so he must be confused or I don’t know (laughs).
This book is a memory, but he says he forgot everything.
Yes, but I wanted to write something that was the furthest away from me. I’ve been anti-clerical, I don’t believe in God, in my other books the church was so bad, but my mother was half-dead in the epidemic and… Two priests raised her and it had an effect. I said: I will give him allegiance, speaking of good priests. When I got kicked out of college for writing a piece against the Pope, my mom called me and said, “Those who kicked you out are not that good. You can’t tell when I’m alive, but beware, the rector of the university would go to my uncles priest’s house and then ask me to accompany him to his house, because he lives nearby and is on the way. He used to tell me to put my hand in his pants pocket because there was sugar there. But in the pocket there was no more sugar than you imagined. I mean, they’re not that nice.” And my mother was very Catholic, huh. But she was well aware of that too. So I said: OK, I’m going to write a book about good priests.
The kindness you’re chasing is interesting. One day he told me it was his father’s kindness.
Yes, I can’t have his kindness, but I decided to at least call him and above all not be a bad father. I broke up with my wife, my children went to Italy, it was very painful, I sent money for them and all that was left was to talk to them and see them. Most families in Colombia depend almost entirely on their mothers. But I was lucky: I had a lot of dads. I’m not the social activist my father was, I don’t save lives… but at least I can pay my respects by writing.
What have your books done to improve your own life?
Well… I devoted my life to books. I started reviewing other people’s books for a magazine. Then I worked as an editor for a magazine. When I was in Italy, I started translating the stories and sent them to Mexico. Then I translated the books and started writing. Then I got a bookstore and it failed because I was a terrible salesperson. Later I worked in a library. I founded a publishing house with my wife and I have always written books. Some did well, others did not. I failed: I canceled at least three very advanced novels. I enjoy writing, but I also suffer. This is my life. I spent 50 years reading, writing, proofreading, translating, proofreading…
Do all your books force you to return to your autobiography?
Yes, like a destination. Even in this that I want to be very far from myself… I get involved. I wrote it and gave it to my agent, and before I went into the OR, I said to him: here it is, if anything happens… that’s my will. Just, look: when you have heart surgery… they kill you. They cool you, they turn you on, they stop your heart with a potassium solution. Your lungs are collapsing, you are not breathing, you are not pounding… What is that? So being dead. Let’s see: you have an extracorporeal circulation machine, but… My anesthesiologist, I don’t remember, but he said when I woke up he asked me how I was and I told him “I’m alive”. I’m alive.” Their killing you and… your resurrection.
This book is like an assisted breathing.
You’re right. It’s true. The book ends badly even though he really wants to live, but it ends badly. And when I finished writing… it made me very sad because it ended badly. Then… I wondered if it was fair for me to survive and for him not to.
Have you noticed any speed changes in your writing over the years?
Yes, now this is a much slower book. I do not hesitate to dwell on certain statements. It is almost always slow and there are many sounds. I came out of the madness of life to write this book. Twitter, the radio, the articles he wrote, many things he did…
And how does she let him write about the scars that leave scars?
Books leave me scarred, yes. I suffer while doing these because there are very difficult moments. But then I am left alone with a great peace. Because I feel like I don’t have to remember anymore. Goodbye hatred, goodbye lust for vengeance… go ahead! this book… Well… I still don’t know well. Let’s see what will happen.
His books refer to the past. How do you interpret that past?
I just don’t remember many things. I’m clumsy, for example, I couldn’t write my memoirs. My logs are yes, because I make them all the time.
He forgets things, but there is a certain rhythm, as if everything was on his mind while writing.
I don’t know why but yes. Maybe it’s the heart rate that goes from normal to fast, then quiet again. I do not know. It helps me a lot, as people explain everything to me in great detail. I wrote this in Mexico, in the house where García Márquez wrote One Hundred Years of Solitude, in his room, and there was a dog barking and barking next door. And me: damn dog! But in one of the episodes I put that there is a barking dog (laughs). But I mean, here are the memories of many of my friends who told me something, and I translated them into fiction.
One day he told me that he had written many books, but was the author of only one.
Because of the book about my father?
Yes.
Only my father’s book was a mandatory book. I had to write because otherwise this work that I am dedicating myself to would be meaningless. I had to tell that story. This is not mandatory, it suited my mood very well when my life was threatened. And that’s it. Okay, it doesn’t bother me, but it wasn’t necessary to say it. Yes, my father’s story. Anyway, I am not keen on writing masterpieces, my desire is simply vital. Not more.
Gil de Biedma has a line that evokes “dream of being good and happy”, quote.
I love him. This is a big request.
It accompanies him as he writes.
Yes, that dream. And that challenge: being good and happy in life.