Several days have passed, and in general I can say that apart from the bitterness at not being able to study anything but medicine during the day, I’ve managed to achieve some things. On Monday I’ll see about a medical position, on Wednesday one of the others; in the meantime I’ll continue with photography and getting to know people.
Francisco Petrone is by no means a communist, but he is sincere and convinced that his position is correct. He’s not what you might call a cultured type, but he comes into his own when in the right role. I observed his management style and found it pretty good. The great god Brown, on the other hand, was assassinated by the academics. Petit and I have clashed to the point of a total split; at least he won’t give me any more grief. It seems Hilda and I have reached a status quo, we’ll see…
I am still working discreetly at photography, but you need to be fit and always on the go. I’m establishing myself at the hospitals and I think I might have work, although not in the Institute of Nutrition. I’ve moved to a decent room in the center of the city, costing me 100 pesos a month. It has a bathroom for both of us (El Patojo) and access to a kitchen. The landlady is fat and ugly with a face that says she likes to gossip.
The photography isn’t going badly, and medicine looks promising. I’m earning a living […]. Right now my intellectual life is nonexistent, except for some reading at night and a tiny bit of daily study. I still haven’t seen the González Casanovas and don’t know when I will. I’ll see Hilda tomorrow.
A bit of water has passed under the bridge. In general, things are as follows: To survive, I really have nothing but photography, and it doesn’t pay enough. This week I took roughly 60 photos, meaning a similar number of pesos (not inconsiderable), but half of them failed because of a blurred roll of film. In the medical arena, I’m working three days at each of the hospitals: the Children’s and the General. At the General hospital I’m working on Pisani’s food digestion, and the Children’s hospital asked me to present a work plan, of which I already have an outline. I saw Icharti, the APRA doctor, and have arranged to meet him again tomorrow. I can hardly say anything about Mexico, because I haven’t seen much new.
I haven’t seen Petit, Petrone or Piaza for quite a while.
I still haven’t met the people upstairs, although my life is more organized and there would be no great problem in visiting them. I’m busy at the hospital in the mornings, although I don’t do anything, and there’s not enough time in the evening to deliver the photos, so I’m in debt.
[Approximately early November 1954]
Vieja, my vieja,
(I confused you with the date)
[…]
Even Beatriz is engaging in reprisals, and those telegrams she used to send no longer come.
To tell you about my life is to repeat myself because I’m not doing anything new. Photography is bringing in enough to live on and there is really no basis for believing I might be able to give it up anytime soon, although I’m working every morning as a researcher in two hospitals. I think the best thing for me would be to slip into an unofficial job as a country doctor, somewhere near the capital. This would make it easier to devote my time to medicine for a few months. I’m doing this because I’m perfectly aware of how much I learned about allergies with Pisani. Now I have compared notes with people who’ve studied in the United States, and who are no fools with regard to orthodox knowledge, I think that Pisani’s method is light years ahead. I want to get practical experience with the nuts and bolts of his systems so that I can land on my feet wherever that might be […].
I’m slaving away here, busy every morning in the hospital and in the afternoons and Sundays I work as a photographer, while at night I study a bit. I think I mentioned I’m in a good apartment, I cook my own food and do everything myself, as well as bathing every day thanks to the unlimited supply of hot water.
As you can see, I’m changing in this aspect, but otherwise I’m the same because I don’t wash my clothes very often, and wash them badly when I do, and I still don’t earn enough to pay a laundry.
The scholarship is a dream I’ve given up on, as I had thought that in such a large country all you had to do was ask for something and it was done. You know that I have always been inclined to make drastic decisions, and here the pay is great. Everyone is lazy, but they don’t get in the way when other people get things done, so I’ve got a free rein either here or in the country where I might go next. Naturally, this doesn’t make me lose sight of my goal, which is Europe, where I’m planning to go no matter what happens.
As for the United States, I haven’t lost an ounce of hostility, but I do want to check out New York, at least. I’m not in the least worried about what might happen and know that I’ll leave just as anti-Yankee as when I arrive (that’s if I do get in).
I’m happy that people are waking up a bit, although I don’t know what direction they are moving in. Anyway, the truth is that Argentina is as insular as you can get even though in general terms the picture we get from here seems to suggest that they are taking important steps forward and that the country will be perfectly able to defend itself from the crisis the Yankees are about to set off by dumping their surplus food […].
Communists don’t have your sense of friendship but, among themselves, it is the same or better than yours. I have seen this very clearly and, in the chaos of Guatemala after the government was overthrown and it was every man for himself, the communists maintained their faith and comradeship and they constitute the only group that continued to work there.
I think they deserve respect and sooner or later I’ll join the party. What mainly holds me back from doing so, for the moment, is that I’m desperate to travel around Europe and I couldn’t do this if I submitted to a rigid discipline.
Vieja, till Paris
The gas is out here and the old woman doesn’t really want them to bring more, so my fat gut is vanishing. Now we’re also working as photographers for the Agencia Latina,84 but my first assignment turned out badly. They had me planted all afternoon at the airport waiting for some Argentine aviators, so I wasn’t able to take any pictures in the park and the day was a write-off.
I’ve met no one new, except for some guys from the Honduran Democratic Revolutionary Party who seemed very right wing. Helenita defends them for no reason; the only proletarian traces in them are being replaced with something profoundly petit bourgeois.
Nothing new to relate now that everything is calmly on track. Piaza says “perhaps” he will get me a job selling books on the OAS stand at the book fair, as I really can’t live off the photography. Otherwise, nothing new, except the news that the Guatemalan leftists are all under arrest; Celia is getting married and Hercilia is marrying an old guy with money […]. I haven’t met anyone interesting lately, and I don’t think I ever will if things continue like this. It looks like I’ll have the bicycle in a few days.
Some fairly important things have happened over the last few days. Out in the street one day I met the head of the Agencia Latina,85 a doctor, who took a liking to me and gave me a provisional job as a correspondent.86 I dug out the things from Panamá-América and got a bit of money for them, not much, but probably enough to get by. The photography is a slow road. I am falling into debt, but I’m also owed money. I’m working at the hospital with no idea where it will get me.
The days have gone by with the usual chain of hopes and disappointments that characterize my proletarian life. The stand at the book fair was a dream that is now over, but now I have something new and nicer, although equally insecure: The boss of the Agencia Latina offered me a job for 500 pesos a month working three times a week writing up journalistic summaries of events in Mexico. For the moment I’m continuing as a photographer but I’m increasingly less motivated. The idea of going it alone is floating in the air but we need the cash […].
The days follow one another in rapid succession. I’m doing a lot of work on allergies and I’m in close contact with the doctors.
In general I think I’ll keep at it, in the full knowledge that triumphs come hand in hand with hard knocks. On Monday I have a test at the Agencia Latina to see if I can get work there. I’m doing less and less photography because traveling all over the city for nothing is exhausting. My new salary is 700 pesos for only a few hours’ work a day, but I’m still taking some photos and got 150 pesos from the OAS for some pretty crude stuff. The criticism of Petit’s work seems quite harsh, but I’m thinking of going to the function in a day or two to see how things are going.
Work at the hospital goes well, although every day I realize that outside of allergies, I don’t know the first thing about medicine. I’m treating two patients at each hospital. My hands are tied at the Children’s hospital and I can’t really do anything, but at the General I have a lot of freedom. I’d quite like to do some electrophoresis87 experiments but don’t know what results I’ll get. On Sunday I went to the Virgin of Guadalupe Day, which apparently wasn’t as crowded as usual. As always, it was a mixture of pagan festivities with a bit of religion: a lot of Indians dressed up to look even more like Indians, dancing to simple rhythmic music that sounds Peruvian or Bolivian.
[no date, probably around the end of 1954]
Vieja, my vieja,
It’s true, I’ve been too lazy, but the real guilty party, as always, is Don Dinero [Mr. Money]. Anyway, the end of this wretched financial year of 1954—part of which has treated me beautifully (like your face)—coincides with the end of my chronic hunger. I’m working as an editor at the Agencia Latina for 700 Mexican pesos a month (equivalent to 700 Argentine pesos), enough to live on with the added bonus that I work for only three hours, three days a week. I can therefore spend whole mornings at the hospital, where I am creating swellings using Pisani’s method. […]
I’m still working as a photographer, but also spending time on more important things, like “studying,” and some strange little things that pop up around the place. There’s not much left over, but this December I hope to round it out to 1,000 and with a bit of luck, we’ll do a bit of photography at the end of the coming year (at the beginning, I meant to write). Contrary to what you might think, I’m no worse than the majority of photographers here, and the best among my compañeros, although yes, in this group you only need one eye to win the crown.
My immediate plans involve staying some six months or so in Mexico, which I find interesting and like a lot, and in this time apply, by the way, for a visa to visit “the children of the super power,” as Arévalo calls them. If I get it, I’ll go. If not, I’ll see what other concrete plans I can make. I haven’t abandoned the idea of slipping behind the Iron Curtain to see what’s happening there. As you see, there’s nothing new since earlier reports.
I’m very enthusiastic about the scientific research, which I’m capitalizing on because it won’t last. I have two research projects on the run and may start on a third—all related to allergies—and very slowly I’m collecting material for a little book that will come to light (if ever) in a couple of years with the pretentious title, The Role of the Doctor in Latin America. I can speak with some authority on the subject, considering that, although I don’t know much about medicine, I do have Latin America sized up. Of course, apart from a general plan and three or four chapters, I’ve written nothing, but time is on my side.
With regard to the changes in my thinking, which is becoming sharper, I promise you that it will only be for a short time. What you are so afraid of can be reached in two ways: the positive one, when you convince someone directly, or the negative one, through a disillusionment with everything. I came along the second path, only to be immediately convinced that it is essential to follow the first. The way that the gringos treat Latin America (remember that the gringos are Yankees) was making me feel increasingly indignant, but at the same time I studied the reasons for their actions and found a scientific explanation.
Then came Guatemala and everything that is difficult to recount. I saw how the object of one’s enthusiasm was diluted by what those gentlemen decided, how a new tale of red guilt and criminality was concocted, and how the same treacherous Guatemalans set about propagating the story to get a few crumbs from the table of the new order. I can’t tell you the precise moment I put reasoning aside and acquired something like faith, not even approximately, as the journey was long and there were many backward steps. […]
September 24, 1955
Dear vieja,
This time it seems my fears have come true, and the enemy you’ve despised for so many years has fallen. The reaction here did not take long to register: all the daily papers and foreign dispatches jubilantly announced the fall of a sinister dictator; the North Americans breathed a sigh of relief for the $425 million they can now extract from Argentina; the bishop of Mexico City was gloating at Perón’s downfall; and all the Catholic right wingers I’ve met in this country were visibly overjoyed. My friends and I, no. With natural anxiety we followed the fate of Perón’s government and the navy’s threats to shell Buenos Aires. Perón fell as people of his stripe fall, without Vargas’s posthumous dignity or Árbenz’s energetic denunciations, when he named in minute detail those guilty of aggression.
Progressives here have defined the denoement that has occurred in Argentina as “another victory for the dollar, the sword and the cross.”
I know that today you will be happy and breathing the air of freedom. […]
Not long ago, I suggested in another letter to you that the military would never hand power over to civilians without a guarantee of its caste’s domination. As things stand today, it will only hand over power to a government springing from the Democratic Party, which is to say, one of the recently founded Social-Christian parties, where I imagine […]88 is active, a future honorable member of the Chamber of Deputies and perhaps, in the course of time, leader of the Argentinist Party, yet to be founded.
Wherever you are, you’ll be able to say whatever you feel like saying, with the absolute impunity that comes from belonging to the ruling class, although for your sake I hope you are the black sheep in the fold. In all honesty I confess that Perón’s fall has left me deeply embittered, not on his account but because of what it means for the Americas. However much it pains you, and apart from the forced capitulations of recent times, Argentina was a champion for all of us who believe that the enemy lies to the north. To me, having lived through Guatemala’s bitter hours, Argentina was a distant mirror image. When I saw that, together with the loyalist news (strange to call it that), Córdoba’s voice was to be heard—theoretically an occupied city—I began to lose any clear picture of the situation. But afterwards, everything developed along exactly the same pattern: the president resigned, a junta, posing as the resistance, began to negotiate but then collapsed, superseded by a military man with a little sailor by his side (the only variation with respect to Guatemala). Then Cardinal Copello proudly addressed the nation, calculating ss would fare under the new junta. The worldwide press—in this hemisphere—launched its well-rehearsed lines; the junta refused to give Perón a passport but declared freedom for everyone. People like you will believe this is the dawning of a new day; I assure you that Frondizi89 no longer does, since in the possible event that the Radicals come out on top, he won’t be the one who achieves it but rather it will be Yadarola, Santander or someone else with the blessing of the military serving the interests of the Yankees and the clergy. Perhaps there won’t be any violence at first, because it will be exercised in a circle far removed from your own. […]
The Communist Party will, in time, be put out of commission, and perhaps the day will come when even Papa might feel he made a mistake. Who knows what will have become of your wandering son in the meanwhile. Perhaps he will have come back to earth on his native soil (the only one possible), or have begun a life of true struggle […].
Perhaps one of the bullets so common in the Caribbean will shorten my life (this is neither idle talk nor a concrete possibility, as there are pl
enty of bullets flying around here). Perhaps I’ll just continue to wander around for long enough to gain a thorough education and take the pleasures I have assigned to myself for this life, before seriously devoting myself to pursuing my ideal. Life travels at a tremendous speed, and no one can predict where they will be next year or why.
I don’t know if you’ve received the formal news of my marriage and the arrival of an heir—from Beatriz’s letter it would seem not. In that case, let me tell you officially, so you can let other people know: I married Hilda Gadea and we will soon be having a child. I received the newspapers from Beatriz, which I’m very interested in. I’d like some kind of analysis about recent events, and above all a weekly copy of Nuestra Palabra.90
Chau
A kiss to the all family, and Hilda sends her regards.
The year is coming to an end and a change in my economic prospects seems certain. Science-wise I continue as before, working on food digestion and preparing to work on blood electrophoresis with Urbach equipment. At the Children’s hospital, they want me to do some experimental work, with a wage and everything. I’m still working at the Agencia Latina, but I haven’t been paid anything yet. My studies are at a standstill: I read very little medicine, a little more literature, but hardly ever write. Public relations progress more or less along the same road; I haven’t made any new worthwhile friendships, either intellectual or sexual. Christmas Eve I’ll spend snug in my sleeping bag, keeping guard over a bunch of toys. I’ve quit photography and at times regret it, as I’m earning nothing and that always brought in a little. Now, however, I have time to spend on other things and in the New Year I’ll be a bit more disciplined. On the educational front (sic), I feel like a little old grandfather now that El Patojo, reacting to some criticism I made about his life, has decided to return to Guatemala to help his mother.
On the political plane, it is worth noting the change in the fortune of Don Edelberto Torres and his son, one released and expelled, the other a fugitive.