Three jolts from Chile |
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Seattle Gay News
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posted Friday, June 25, 2010 - Volume 38 Issue 26 Three jolts from ChileChilean earthquake sets search for long-lost friends in motion by John Griffin - SGN Contributing Writer The recent earthquake in Chile shook me, here in Seattle. Thirty years have passed since I was there, and I wondered about the friends I had made during my short stay in Santiago de Chile. What happened next prompted me to write this for Gay Pride, I hope everyone can find some pride in it. I had hitchhiked the length of the Atacama Desert from the more traditionally Hispanic Peru, through the bleak, arid landscape, interrupted by the rural modernity of the oasis surrounding Antofagasta and natural wonders like the distant view of Aconcagua and the startling buna (mirage) of seemingly solid and towering stone cliffs I saw at dawn that developed holes in them, and dissolved completely under the rising sun. My last ride left me in Valparaíso, which reminded me of a city on the central California coast that had hung on tight to variations on the Spanish Colonial style. Finally a luxury bus ride, replete with comforts, including lunch served in your seat by the stewardess, and a lucky ticket drawing, left me in central Santiago. Although cold, gray and forbidding under the cloudy winter sky of August, my first impression was swept away in the bustling atmosphere of a great city at work. After settling in, I set out to explore the city. Much to my surprise, one of the first things that happened was being approached by a very attractive young man who was distributing a Gay newsletter. (Keep in mind that this was during the most solid period of power for Augusto Pinochet.) Was it my imagination, or was there an immediate connection on a deeper level? I took the single-sided photocopy from his hand and looked it over. "This doesn't tell me anything," I complained. He took exception to what I said and started to explain the social importance of the movement for Gay equality, and how the brief articles on the page addressed the issues involved. "But it doesn't tell me where I can meet other Gay people," I said. A smile appeared on his beautiful face and he answered, "I can take care of that." That was my introduction to Gay life in Chile, my position assisting in the publication of the first Gay newsletter there, and an unforgettable romance. It also led to memories of brief friendships that still bring me warmth and joy after three decades of separation. Carlos gave me the address of a club called Fausto, and told me he would be distributing his literature there. It took a while to find the place on foot, and it wasn't open when I got there (though I was at a loss to be sure which door it might be). I got dinner and went back a couple more times. On closer inspection one door started looking right, and finally, around 10:00 p.m., a bit of activity removed any remaining doubt. It was a dreadful place; crushed velvet on the walls with knotty pine trim, black glass bar with padded vinyl face, orange carpet, and other similar decor. My drink cost $6.50 (a small fortune at the time) - at least it was a double. For the longest time I was the only single person there and one of three obviously Gay people (obvious to me). Many straight people came in, in twos and fours, at a slow pace. I took a peek in the disco (mirrors, strobe lights, lighted floor) and sought refuge in the bar again. I finally attracted the attention of this nelly fag (another Carlos). We didn't exactly hit it off, and a little after 1 o'clock, he left. I found the other Carlos at the door and we made a date for the next day. Carlos and I couldn't be together at my hotel, so our rendezvous point was the room of his friend, Andrés. It was a very Bohemian abode near my hotel, which was also the main office of the Gay newsletter, which carried the name Alegría, but was more familiarly known (and now remembered by history) as "La Hojita Gay." There were roughly eight to a dozen guys that contributed to getting the work done; typing, cutting, pasting, laughing, joking, snacking, and smoking a variety of substances. It soon became clear that my spelling ability vastly overshadowed the others'. In Spanish, it isn't easy to misspell words, and nearly impossible to spell a word so badly that it can't be understood. Therefore spelling isn't emphasized in school, and these guys made every mistake imaginable. Since professional publications do try to have everything as perfect as possible, and because they wanted their effort to look as professional as they could, they soon had me reading everything that went into it before the master copy was made. In the meantime, Carlos and I would grab the occasional opportunity for a romantic interlude, or just a fun outing together. Andrés would sometimes accompany us, and made it clear that he also shared the attraction Carlos had for me. Carlos looked on our relationship very casually, and did nothing to discourage him; I always took things much more seriously. I remember one day when they were whispering between themselves, but not quietly enough. Andrés was asking about my physical attributes. Carlos reacted more loudly, "Ay, brazo de reina!" (Brazo de reina is a pastry, it literally means "queen's arm," and before being cut into individual portions resembles the forearm of a very dainty woman.) I laughed out loud; it was an extreme exaggeration, but I still love him for it, and for being who he was. I made use of Andrés' crude kitchen facilities to prepare some comfort foods for the whole group, who said I had "the hand of a nun." At the end of one publication cycle, the three of us took a short trip to the rustic seaside resort (for the upper-lower and lower-middle class) of Llolleo. We stayed in a dormitory-style pension and seduced the local boys, many of whom were quite willing to be seduced (since good girls and prostitutes were both out of reach, for different reasons). Andrés caused quite a ruckus when he bedded the landlady's son, but she managed to get over it. The rest of the time was spent on the beach or walking in the woods, bundled up against the blustery winter winds. So the reader can plainly understand why those halcyon days were brought to mind by the devastating temblor in Chile. I began to search for my long-lost friends the way we always do these days: on the internet. With the help of Victor Hugo Robles, a well-known author and Gay activist known as the Che Guevara of the Gay rights movement in Chile, I found out about my friends. Andrés Pávez became very well-known in live theater in Chile, and died of AIDS several years ago. Carlos Muñoz remained active in the Gay rights movement; he was killed in a hate crime and his body was dumped, like garbage, beside the Mapocho River. Goodbye, my dear friend Andrés and my darling Carlos, you will both live in my heart for as long as I live. |
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