“It
was as if the prince, he thought, journeying through vast, lonely
regions, had at last found himself before the cavern where the beauty is
sleeping guarded by the dragon. And as if, moreover, he had become
aware that the dragon was not a menacing creature there at her side
watching over her, as we imagine him in the myths of our childhood, but
instead, and much more frighteningly, a creature inside of her: as if
she were a dragon-princess, an unfathomable monster, at once chaste and
breathing fire, at once innocent and revolting: an absolutely
purehearted child in a communion dress, possessed by the nightmares of a
reptile or a bat.”
A young man by the name of Martín reflects thusly on the lovely lady at the center of Sabato's extraordinary tale - Alejandra.
It's
a Saturday in May, 1953, and Alejandra makes her presence felt to
seventeen-year-old Martín for the first time when he was sitting on a
bench near the statue of Ceres in Parque Lezama in downtown Buenos
Aires. Martín was reflecting on what his mother told him, that he
existed only because she was careless; that if only she had the courage,
he would have ended up in the sewer. Ever since, he has always thought
of her as the “sewer mother.” Martín continued reflecting on how he sees
himself as awkward, ugly, dull-witted, and that he is terrified of
human beings since they are all perverse and filthy.
Just then,
Martín senses someone standing behind him, attempting to communicate.
The voice belongs to a woman. "But what if none of that is true?" When
Martín turns, he sees her carefully scrutinizing him, like a painter
observing his model. A short dialogue follows. She tells him he's more
than just a young kid; he's an individual with depth and a rare physical
type - tall with a very narrow build, reminiscent of an El Greco
figure. She continues and at one point says, "I know you're an angelic
being. Besides, as I've already said, I don't know whether that's what
pleases me about you or whether it's what I hate most."
After a
few more words are exchanged, she walks away. Martín takes a good look
at her: tall, long black hair, a book in her left hand, and walking with
a certain nervous energy. Martín realizes the profundity of this
meeting. He will never be the same person again.
The section of Parque Lezama where Martín first meets Alejandra
Martín
was excited for many days afterward. Each afternoon Martín waited for
her with the mixed feelings of fear and hope. Then, finally, one day she
appeared by the same bench in Parque Lezama, wearing all black. And it
seemed to Martín even her eyes were black, although afterwards he
could see they were dark green. Her smile was cruel and sarcastic and
her laughter and all her movements violent. Martín tells his friend
Bruno, “She fascinated me like a dark abyss.”
Martín is
completely infatuated. He eagerly anticipates a third meeting with
beautiful Alejandra. However, days, weeks, even months go by, and no
Alejandra. Martín sinks into a deep despair. Alejandra does eventually
appear and she invites Martín to join her on a trip to her family's
mansion on the outskirts of the city.
Oh, Martín, now you're
really in for it. As soon as they enter, the sound of a clarinet can be
heard. “What's that?” Martín asks. “Uncle Bebe, the madman,” Alejandra
explained. Martín is treated to more episodes from the family history,
including a Major Bonifacio who was beheaded in 1852 where the head was
thrown into the parlor, whereupon Bonifiacio's wife died of the shock
and and another member of the household went mad. It's with good reason
Alejandra tells Martín directly, “Don't you realize? This is a family of
crazy people.” More craziness spills forth. Alejandra leads Martín to
the room where her great grandfather, age ninety-five, relates a
detailed account of 19th century history, events the ancient geezer has
been continually replaying in his mind for many years. And, by the way,
her great grandfather's room is where the head of Bonifiacio is still
kept in a box on a shelf.
Alejandra belongs to an old aristocratic family and lives in the crumbling family mansion on the outskirts of Buenos Aires
Craziness
and mind-bending wildness is ratcheted up even more when Alejandra
speaks of her own past, beginning when she, at age eleven, found her
father sleeping with a woman some years after her mother died, a
traumatic experience that propelled her to run away from home. What
follows is for each reader to explore but I will share a quote from the
text: That freckled-faced little girl is Alejandra: she is eleven and
her hair has reddish glints in it. She is a thin, pensive child, but a
violently and cruelly pensive one, as though her thoughts were not
abstract, but crazed, burning-hot serpents. It is that child who has
remained intact in some obscure region of her self. (author's italic).
While
reading Sabato's novel, I had to ask myself: Who from the world of
literature does Alejandra remind me of? The only person I could think of
was Ms. Nicola Six from Martin Amis' London Fields, where I
describe Nicola as “a modern day Helen of Troy, X-rated femme fatale and
manifestation of goddess Kali all rolled up into one – everything you
always wanted and everything you never wanted, your most cherished dream
and your most dreaded nightmare, complete with Eastern European accent,
mysterious Middle Eastern origins, Ms. World face and figure, shiny
dark hair and even shinier dark eyes.” However, unlike thirty-something
Nicola, Alejandra is only eighteen. But, and this proves a critical
point, a part of Alejandra possesses, as Sabato puts it, “the frightful
wisdom of an old man.”
Alejandra leaves Martín hanging when it
comes to two murky, untouchable subjects: Fernando and The Blind.
There's also a question Alejandra poses to Martín, a question that is
foreshadowing with a cruel vengeance: “Don't you think there's something
uncanny, something sacred about fire?”
On Heroes and Tombs
fulfills Sabato's vision of what authentic literature should be: deep,
profound, "created with blood," a work addressing the big questions of
life and death within our intense, immediate, all too human existential
condition.
The novel also features many reflections on Argentine
literature, especially those tales written by Jorge Luis Borges.
Actually, Borges himself makes a cameo appearance out on a city street.
"The features of the man's face seemed to have been sketched in and then
to have been half rubbed out with an eraser." Any guesses as to
Sabato's opinion on his illustrious contemporary?
Lastly, I would be remiss if I didn't mention the famous section of Sabato's masterpiece: REPORT ON THE BLIND (all caps for emphasis). I urge you to read On Heroes and Tombs
to discover how this diabolical report ties with Alejandra, Fernando,
and...fire. One of the most gripping novels I've ever encountered.
Argentine author Ernesto Sabato, 1911-2011
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