Iquique, war Pacific and ghost towns (3 / 3)
In Los Pintados
Past the small church, we came to a place. Some carob trees had taken root there without any organization. One of them even contrived to push through the carcass of what was burned was a limousine. there, other shrubs were undermining the foundations of a bandstand. The most notable building, however, this theater was preceded by an elegant shopping arcades well drawn.
What parts we had played on his plates? Who were these unfortunate artists who once had to happen on this stage in the heart of the desert?
I tried to imagine the sound of pianos that could have silted up, or the timbre of the violins split the soul too dry, one of these trumpets consistently seized pistons.
Maybe we produced here burlesque shows, entertainers to Ahura jokes as outdated as those made a specialty of the ineffable Hector "Comebomba. An artist of music hall which was produced in 1900 in the mining towns of the North and whose only issue was to chew with the teeth of a light bulb then swallowed it without, say, the slightest grimace.
After all, rather eat glass the stone was not worse. At least, this guy saw the country and would feel more free than all those "broken" before which he performed in exchange for a mattress, a little food and alcohol.
Among the legendary figures who tirelessly traveled the desert at the beginning of the century, there were however some whose reputation far beyond the Salpetriere North to become true emblems of the working class struggle in Chile. Luis Emilio Recabarren was them. A holy man who had built a solid reputation for having agitator made up his mind to awaken the consciences of the workers dazed by the infernal production rates but also alcohol. In a speech given as usual in a tavern infamous, he said in particular that the release of the working class would rise by culture. At the end of his speech, he also persuaded his audience to break all the bottles of alcohol and asked everyone to cast his glass on the ground. Against all expectations, everyone agreed, and after the speech, a procession of workers was organized to head to the headquarters of the company that occupied them. The slogan was rather revolutionary Recabarren asked everyone to hold up a book during the procession, and for those who did not, a newspaper ...
The movement had such an impact that, to the coast and in ports, workers busy unloading ships crossed arms when it was a cargo of liquor! If this period of self deprivation lasted only a short time (the then President Allesandra pretext of freedom of trade, sent the army to unload boats and persuaded the workers that beer and alcohol does were that refresh without consequence) Recabarren had still been very good at persuading the convicts from the desert to abstinence ethyl!
Outside, a light breeze had risen and formed here and there small clouds of dust that fell apart almost immediately. About to come off a sheet insecure had begun to beat a random measure. A dog fawn appeared, peeling knotty, covered with scabs and glassy eyes. He stopped a few meters from us and we looked without flinching. In the distance, a human figure approaching slowly. The man was advancing in the middle of the rails, as a hauler whose burdens have been abandoned this train that was visible in the background.
"Do not stay in the sun," cried the man in rags, you'll go crazy! "
It beckoned us to follow him and we encouraged the dog with lots of shots of truffle in the folding of the knees.
It took a few minutes to get used to the darkness of the room where the man had made us enter. There was little: a bed, a crate serving as a back table at night, a hurricane lamp and a wall covered with pictures of girls naked.
"Ah, the visits are rare these days," sighed the unexpected guest. It's been a while since I watched with my binoculars. When I saw you leave the theater, I am afraid for a moment that you are returning to the road. That's why I dropped Pinocho to attract your attention. The man spoke without looking at us too, too busy to prepare an omelet gargantuan. He took a moment to go and fill a jug of water he was then boiled on a small bill for camping.
"That's for tea! he says with an air rejoiced. With the omelet and bread 'house "It will make you a nice dinner table, right? "
The only inhabitant of Los Pintados" named Ramon Cabrera. It was a strange character. It would have been impossible to give an age. Although quite bare, it reminded me a little Leo Ferré. Especially his eyes and he had this habit of nervously eye squint. And then that look. That of a hunted animal or a predator to prey? Maybe just a man alone in a city forgotten by all.
During the meal, Ramon told us the reasons which had lead austere in this country.
He had once been an active campaigner in an underground trade union in the shipyard. A membership that had earned him in big trouble at the time of the dictatorship: in addition to numerous arrests "administrative" and bullying that he had been, his boss had dismissed arbitrarily. It 'is that there are two or three years he had been able to find a job in Railways. The job was not very well paid but did not require any special knowledge or effort intensive and, at his age, he said, it mattered. It was when his employer took him to his affection for Los Pintados he thought at first it was a joke. There was certainly a track that crossed the place but no station.
There were a village ... but not people! As for work, it came down to little things in fact: Once or twice a week, freight trains were traveling to Iquique by separating a part of their convoy because the slope accessing the port was too steep overloaded and trains were running the risk of derailing. While Ramon was just watch the cars that remained on hold until a locomotive just take them in turn.
- At first, I thought I could not take more than fifteen days in this atmosphere. Imagine, the only thing you see moving around you these are the big black birds that will not stop spinning in the sky. And the noise! Saltpeter, it keeps "working" you know, even at night it cracks! As it gets colder, the ore, it shrinks, and again "it sings," you can not imagine!
And then, after a time, s'habitude, there are occupations, I get stuff left to right, and little I just got my nest! I even on TV now, I picked up an old post, and I tinkered with my generator, I can receive full programming. Well, almost, because there is no image. I just sound. Then at night I listen to movies, but always with the same images before me, smiled Ramon: dunes, stars, and the ruins in the distance, the headlights of trucks crossing the Pan American ... But
-j 've of the imagination, I can transform the elements of my decor at the mercy of movies and sometimes it fits rather well. Consider, for example the other day he spent "Lawrence of Arabia" j'vous not tell the mood.
The hardest thing with the American series. Here, I can not quite imagine Miami or Beverly Hills amidst all these ruins.
-though one night, it has nevertheless taken on a so realistic that I was scared. I was listening to a spy movie when suddenly, right in the middle of the film, I hear a car approaching. This time, it was not in the position. It was for real. There was a huge tray, such as "Buick" with chrome everywhere who had stopped at a few tens of meters from my hut and then ... nothing for almost an hour. There were two guys in the car, but they did not move. I just saw the glow of their cigarette butts. I was terrified. I cut the TV on and off the lantern and had squatted here, just where there is this gap in the wall. Suddenly it happened something extraordinary. First a loud noise and then the impression that a storm was rising sharply by raising of enormous clouds of dust. A helicopter had to lead from behind the dunes and posed a few meters from the car. Then it just went in a few seconds: the two types of the Buick came out of the car, opened the trunk and extracted two cases obviously very heavy for the lift to board the aircraft. Then, just before climbing turn in the helicopter, they doused the car with petrol and have done flaming. It has scorched much of the night! "Besides, you missed the carcass while ago, nothing has changed and since nobody ever came to ask me anything about this story that I'm the only witness, then, what do you, I do not say anything to anybody ....
We finished our meal
Outside, the sun and the heat became unbearable. The dog was cowering at my feet and smell the tea invaded the home of strange vigil "Los Pintados".
Through the cracks of the roof could still guess the relentless round of large black birds in the sky. It was time to move on. (after "travel diary of November 91")
(Ramon Cabrera, Los Pintados vigil and sole inhabitant of the village)
In addition to this ticket, a rare document filmed in 1924 during funeral of Luis Emilio Recabarren (mentioned in this post), father Movement Chilean worker, founder of the Chilean Communist Party. Note, this film illustrating the song performed and composed by Victor Jara
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