coldhearted scientist وداد

I posted condolences to the condolence page of Carlos Monsiváis, the “eccentric and ubiquitous” intellectual and journalist, but they were generic. I did not say that I met him without knowing who he was when I was asked to give him a ride in Riverside, California, and that we got to our destination early and so went to buy records, which he was wickedly good at finding. We cracked a lot of jokes and I got an autographed book in which I am designated as his “new wonderful friend.”

Since then I’ve read him and he was so full of life that, although I knew he was in hospital, it had not occurred to me he would ever be dead. I have a book to review, a collection of essays, and I cannot come up with a good way to frame the piece because the fact is that the only really good essay in the collection is Monsiváis’. Today in the museum at Tlatelolco, we were watching him speak on film and talking about how smart he was.

As we did that, he lay dying, and we did not know it. The Republic is taking care of this matter, of course, but I have the impression of a cuenta pendiente. This is what wakes are for and had I found out about his before midnight I would have gone, as it is happening now. Axé, Carlos.

Axé.