Gabriel Garcia Marquez_ A Life Part 9

The first public sign of this move was an article ent.i.tled "Peggy, give me a kiss," inspired by a message scrawled on a wall in the Mexico street where he lived.38 Garcia Marquez said that he was touched by this naive appeal in a world where the news was always bad, especially the news from Colombia. But he suspected that love was making a welcome comeback. (Just four months earlier he had confided to his readers that he "never dares to write" unless there is a yellow rose on his desk-placed there, of course, by his loving spouse.) Garcia Marquez said that he was touched by this naive appeal in a world where the news was always bad, especially the news from Colombia. But he suspected that love was making a welcome comeback. (Just four months earlier he had confided to his readers that he "never dares to write" unless there is a yellow rose on his desk-placed there, of course, by his loving spouse.)39 Not that he was against s.e.x-he informed the entire world right there and then that he had lost his virginity at the precocious age of thirteen-but "s.e.x is better with all the rest, which is complete love." Novels about love were once more the ones selling best, he declared, and even the old Latin American boleros were back in fas.h.i.+on. Not that he was against s.e.x-he informed the entire world right there and then that he had lost his virginity at the precocious age of thirteen-but "s.e.x is better with all the rest, which is complete love." Novels about love were once more the ones selling best, he declared, and even the old Latin American boleros were back in fas.h.i.+on.

Perhaps it was not entirely coincidental, then, that, after many refusals, he had consented to a long-awaited interview with Playboy Playboy magazine in-naturally-Paris, the world capital of love. The magazine had sent Claudia Dreifus, who would later become one of the world's most successful interviewers, and this would be one of the best-researched and most comprehensive conversations with the writer. magazine in-naturally-Paris, the world capital of love. The magazine had sent Claudia Dreifus, who would later become one of the world's most successful interviewers, and this would be one of the best-researched and most comprehensive conversations with the writer.40 He explained his political positions for He explained his political positions for Playboy's Playboy's American readers, insisting that he and Fidel "talked more about culture than politics": theirs was really just a friends.h.i.+p! Then he moved on to matters of love and s.e.x. He said that none of us ever knows another person completely and he and Mercedes were no exception; he still had no idea how old she was. He explained that most of his relations.h.i.+ps with prost.i.tutes when he was a young man were simply a matter of finding company and escaping solitude. American readers, insisting that he and Fidel "talked more about culture than politics": theirs was really just a friends.h.i.+p! Then he moved on to matters of love and s.e.x. He said that none of us ever knows another person completely and he and Mercedes were no exception; he still had no idea how old she was. He explained that most of his relations.h.i.+ps with prost.i.tutes when he was a young man were simply a matter of finding company and escaping solitude.

I have fond memories of prost.i.tutes and I write about them for sentimental reasons ... Brothels cost money, and so they are places for older men. s.e.xual initiation actually starts with servants at home. And with cousins. And with aunts. But the prost.i.tutes were friends to me when I was a young man ... With prost.i.tutes-including some I did not go to bed with-I always had some good friends.h.i.+ps. I could sleep with them because it was horrible to sleep alone. Or I could not. I have always said, as a joke, that I married not to eat lunch alone. Of course, Mercedes says that I'm a son of a b.i.t.c.h.

He said that he envied his sons living in an age of equality between men and women: Chronicle Chronicle showed how things were when he was a young man. He finally described himself as a man who desperately needed love: "I am the shyest man in the world. I am also the kindest. On this I accept no argument or debate ... My greatest weakness? Umm. It's my heart. In the emotional-sentimental sense. If I were a woman, I would always say yes. I need to be loved a great deal. My great problem is to be loved more, and that is why I write." showed how things were when he was a young man. He finally described himself as a man who desperately needed love: "I am the shyest man in the world. I am also the kindest. On this I accept no argument or debate ... My greatest weakness? Umm. It's my heart. In the emotional-sentimental sense. If I were a woman, I would always say yes. I need to be loved a great deal. My great problem is to be loved more, and that is why I write." Playboy Playboy: "You make it sound like being a nymphomaniac." Garcia Marquez: "Well, yes-but a nymphomaniac of the heart ... If I had not become a writer, I'd want to have been a piano player in a bar. That way, I could have made a contribution to making lovers feel even more loving toward each other. If I can achieve that much as a writer-to have people love one another more because of my books-I think that's the meaning I've wanted for my life." Of course now he would try to do that for people through his love stories and for countries through his mediations.

Just before this celebrity interview-which would not appear in print for almost a year-one of the best-known books about Garcia Marquez had been published, one which would go on selling large numbers of copies down the years. The Fragrance of Guava The Fragrance of Guava was a favour to Plinio Mendoza, who had again fallen on hard times. It was an apparently frank but carefully calculated conversation-expertly staged-which surveyed the whole of Garcia Marquez's life and work and gave his opinions on everything from, again, politics to women. was a favour to Plinio Mendoza, who had again fallen on hard times. It was an apparently frank but carefully calculated conversation-expertly staged-which surveyed the whole of Garcia Marquez's life and work and gave his opinions on everything from, again, politics to women.41 It is difficult not to imagine that the sometimes startling insinuations about s.e.xual flirtations and possible extramarital affairs were not in some way the opening up of a new market for a writer for whom the literary expression of love seemed always previously to have been a.s.sociated with violence and tragedy. It is difficult not to imagine that the sometimes startling insinuations about s.e.xual flirtations and possible extramarital affairs were not in some way the opening up of a new market for a writer for whom the literary expression of love seemed always previously to have been a.s.sociated with violence and tragedy.

So Garcia Marquez confirmed his decision to go back to writing and now would never forsake it again, as long as he was capable of practising it. Until quite recently it had been a vocation, a compulsion, an ambition, sometimes a torment. Now he started to truly enjoy it. Years before, during his literary "strike," he had told an interviewer somewhat wistfully that he was coming to realize that he was never as happy as when he was writing.42 Now at last he had an idea for a new book: a book about love and reconciliation. As spring arrived in Europe he began to make notes. Now at last he had an idea for a new book: a book about love and reconciliation. As spring arrived in Europe he began to make notes.

That summer he and Mercedes travelled around the Old Continent with Colombian friends Alvaro Castano, who owned Bogota's leading cla.s.sical music radio station, HJCK, and his wife Gloria Valencia, Colombia's best-known television presenter. They took in Paris, Amsterdam, Greece and Rome. Then Gabo and Mercedes returned to Mexico. By now he had fixed on the specifics of the new novel; it would be created around, of all things, the love affair between his parents, about which he had so long been in denial.

In late August Garcia Marquez and Mercedes vacationed once more with Fidel Castro on the Cuban coastland. Rodrigo had just graduated from Harvard and accompanied them on the visit. He was now considering a career in the cinema. Their great friends the Feduchis and Carmen Balcells also spent time with them and the Comandante. Fidel not only honoured them with a cruise on his yacht Acuaramas Acuaramas but also gave them a dinner invitation to his apartment on 11th Street, where few foreigners had eaten since the death of Celia Sanchez. Castro is an enthusiastic chef and cooking is one of his favourite topics of conversation, especially at that time as he was engaged in a campaign to produce a Cuban Camembert and a Cuban Roquefort. The next night everyone ate at Antonio Nunez Jimenez's house and on this occasion conversation turned from cooking to money but also gave them a dinner invitation to his apartment on 11th Street, where few foreigners had eaten since the death of Celia Sanchez. Castro is an enthusiastic chef and cooking is one of his favourite topics of conversation, especially at that time as he was engaged in a campaign to produce a Cuban Camembert and a Cuban Roquefort. The next night everyone ate at Antonio Nunez Jimenez's house and on this occasion conversation turned from cooking to money43 Castro was considering making a visit to Colombia and said that "Gabriel," as he has always insisted on calling him, should accompany him, "unless you're afraid of being accused of being a Cuban agent." Castro was considering making a visit to Colombia and said that "Gabriel," as he has always insisted on calling him, should accompany him, "unless you're afraid of being accused of being a Cuban agent."

"It's a bit late for that," replied Garcia Marquez.

"When I hear people saying Castro pays Garcia Marquez," said Mercedes, "I say it's about time we saw some of the money."

"That would be bad, if you sent me the bill," said Castro. "But I have an unbeatable argument. 'Senores, we can't pay Garcia Marquez because he is too expensive.' Not long ago, so as not to come out with the boast that we can't be bought, I said to some Yankees: 'It's not that we won't sell ourselves, you understand, the fact is that the USA hasn't got enough money to buy us.' More modest, right? And it's the same with Garcia Marquez. We can't make him our agent. You know why? We haven't got enough money to buy him, he's too expensive."

Rodrigo, silent until then, said: "When I arrived at a North American university, they asked me how my father reconciled his political ideas with his money and his lifestyle. I answered as best I could but there's no satisfactory answer to the question."

"Look, you just say to them, 'That's a problem for my mother, not my father,'" said Castro. "You should say, 'Look, my father hasn't got a sou, my mother's the one who spends the money'"

"And she only gives me money for gasoline," said Garcia Marquez without a shadow of a smile.

Castro replied, "I'm working out a policy here for when they talk to you about your bank accounts. You must tell them that the socialist formula is from each according to his ability and to each according to his work and as Gabriel is a socialist-he's not yet a communist-he gives according to his ability and he receives according to his work. Besides, the communist formula isn't applied anywhere."

Rodrigo warmed to the topic: "Once, out of nowhere, a boy turned to me and said, 'Your father's a communist.' I asked him, 'What does that mean, that he has a party card, he lives in a communist country?'"

Castro replied, "You should tell him, 'My father is a communist only when he travels to Cuba and they pay him nothing; he gives according to his ability, they've printed about a million of his books, and he receives according to his needs.'"

"They pay me nothing. They never pay me a centavo in royalties here," said Gabo.

During this visit Garcia Marquez and Castro also talked about the implications of Betancur's election in Colombia, which, at first sight, was a considerable setback for both Garcia Marquez and the Cuban Revolution. Betancur had been inaugurated on 7 August. Although a Conservative and an ex-editor of the reactionary newspaper El Siglo El Siglo, his reputation had always been that of a "civilized" politician who was not sectarian and he was an amateur poet who counted many other poets among his personal friends. Garcia Marquez had begun flirting with the new regime in press interviews soon after the election, in addition to repeating how "homesick" he was feeling.

Despite refusing to attend Betancur's inauguration Garcia Marquez spoke well of the new President to Castro, declaring that he was "a good friend of mine." He was the son of a muleteer; they had known one another since 1954 when "Gabo" was at El Espectador El Espectador and "Belisario" at and "Belisario" at El Colombiano El Colombiano. They had always been in contact since then. Garcia Marquez explained to Castro, "In Colombia you are either Conservative or Liberal from birth, it doesn't matter what you think." Betancur, he said, was not a true ideological Conservative, and his government was full of independent people. "He's a great rhetorical speaker, he gets through to people, really gets through to them. And," and here came the payoff, "he asks my advice all the time."44 THE N n.o.bEL SEASON was approaching once more and, as in previous years, Garcia Marquez's name was being mentioned again, only this time even more insistently. All the more surprising, then, that he chose, less than a month before the award was announced, to launch a withering attack on Israeli leader Menachem Begin-and, by direct implication, the n.o.bel Foundation which had awarded him the n.o.bel Peace Prize in 1978. In early June Begin had ordered the invasion of neighbouring Lebanon and his military commander General Ariel Sharon had neglected to protect Palestinian refugees from attack, thereby enabling the ma.s.sacres in the Sabra and Chatila camps in Beirut on 18 September. Garcia Marquez suggested that Sharon and Begin should be awarded a n.o.bel Death Prize. was approaching once more and, as in previous years, Garcia Marquez's name was being mentioned again, only this time even more insistently. All the more surprising, then, that he chose, less than a month before the award was announced, to launch a withering attack on Israeli leader Menachem Begin-and, by direct implication, the n.o.bel Foundation which had awarded him the n.o.bel Peace Prize in 1978. In early June Begin had ordered the invasion of neighbouring Lebanon and his military commander General Ariel Sharon had neglected to protect Palestinian refugees from attack, thereby enabling the ma.s.sacres in the Sabra and Chatila camps in Beirut on 18 September. Garcia Marquez suggested that Sharon and Begin should be awarded a n.o.bel Death Prize.45 But there is every sign he had been working on his own candidacy, too. When his friend Alfonso Fuenmayor asked him later in the year whether he had been to Stockholm before, he replied with a grin: "Yes, I was here three years ago when I came to fix myself up with the n.o.bel Prize."46 Naturally this could just be one of his Naturally this could just be one of his boutades boutades but the truth is that he had made several visits to Stockholm in the 1970s and had gone out of his way to make contact with Artur Lundkvist, the left-wing Swedish academician and distinguished writer who had already had a strong influence on the prize going to Latin Americans Miguel Angel Asturias and Pablo Neruda. And Garcia Marquez had vacationed in Cuba with the Swedish amba.s.sador in the summer of 1981. but the truth is that he had made several visits to Stockholm in the 1970s and had gone out of his way to make contact with Artur Lundkvist, the left-wing Swedish academician and distinguished writer who had already had a strong influence on the prize going to Latin Americans Miguel Angel Asturias and Pablo Neruda. And Garcia Marquez had vacationed in Cuba with the Swedish amba.s.sador in the summer of 1981.

If he was looking for omens he couldn't have had a better one than the return to power of Olof Palme's Social Democrats in the Swedish elections of 19 September 1982. Palme had been a friend of Garcia Marquez for years and had always emphasized his personal debt to Lundkvist's literary works for opening his eyes to the wider world. Meanwhile brother Eligio, the family's literary expert, was always absolutely certain that Gabito was going to win the prize in 1982 and was sure that Gabito himself thought so too. Alvaro Mutis had said his friend's behaviour was "suspicious" at the time. And on Sat.u.r.day 16 October, when Eligio talked to him by phone and mentioned the prize, Gabito, roaring with laughter, said he was sure that if someone was going to win it, the Swedish amba.s.sador would have talked to that person a month beforehand ...47 On Wednesday 20 October the Mexican newspapers were announcing that Garcia Marquez's new novel was to be about love. As he and Mercedes sat down for lunch in the early afternoon, a friend called from Stockholm to say that all indications suggested that the prize really was in the bag but that he must keep it to himself or the academicians might change their minds. After he hung up Gabo and Mercedes looked at one another in stupefaction, unable to say a word. Finally she said, "My G.o.d, what are we in for now!" They got straight up from the table and fled to Alvaro Mutis's house for comfort, only returning to their own home in the early hours to wait for confirmation of this accolade which he at least had wanted but which was also a life sentence for them both.

Neither of them slept. At 5.59 the next morning, Mexico City time, Pierre Shori, Vice Foreign Minister of Sweden, called the house in Mexico City and confirmed the news. Garcia Marquez put down the telephone, turned to Mercedes and said: "I'm f.u.c.ked."48 They had no time to discuss it or to prepare themselves for the inevitable onslaught before the phone began to ring. The first caller, just two minutes later, was President Betancur, from Bogota. Betancur had heard the news from Francois Mitterrand who had heard it from Olof Palme, but the official version said Betancur had heard it from an RCN journalist at 7.03 a.m. Bogota time. They had no time to discuss it or to prepare themselves for the inevitable onslaught before the phone began to ring. The first caller, just two minutes later, was President Betancur, from Bogota. Betancur had heard the news from Francois Mitterrand who had heard it from Olof Palme, but the official version said Betancur had heard it from an RCN journalist at 7.03 a.m. Bogota time.49 Garcia Marquez and Mercedes got dressed as they fielded the first calls and picked at the improvised breakfast brought up by their maid Nati when she heard them moving about upstairs. Garcia Marquez and Mercedes got dressed as they fielded the first calls and picked at the improvised breakfast brought up by their maid Nati when she heard them moving about upstairs.

With the exception of the writing of One Hundred Years of Solitude One Hundred Years of Solitude, nothing in the great Garcia Marquez mythology has been discussed as much as the announcement of the n.o.bel Prize, the ensuing pandemonium, and Garcia Marquez's journey to Stockholm to receive it. If an American or an English man or woman wins the honour, it barely makes the news. (What do writers matter; and who do the Swedes think they are, anyway...) But this was not only an award to a man from Colombia, a country quite unused to international congratulations; it was-it transpired-an award to a man admired and adored throughout a vast, isolated continent, a man who millions in that continent considered their own representative and, indeed, their champion. Congratulations rained down on the house in Mexico City from around the world by telephone and telegram: Betancur, first, but also Mitterrand, Cortazar, Borges, Gregory Raba.s.sa, Juan Carlos Onetti, the Colombian Senate. Castro could not get through so sent a telegram the next day: "Justice has been done at last. Jubilation here since yesterday. Impossible to get through by phone. I congratulate both you and Mercedes with all my heart." Graham Greene also sent a telegram, "Warmest congratulations. Pity we couldn't celebrate it with Omar." Norman Mailer too: "Couldn't have gone to a better man." Above all, though, it was an opportunity for Latin America to say at last what it felt about Garcia Marquez-Colombia, Cuba and Mexico all claimed him as their own-and a vast amount of eulogistic copy was logged with newspapers there and all over the world. It was as if One Hundred Years of Solitude One Hundred Years of Solitude had just been published and a billion people had read it simultaneously, five seconds after its appearance, in some strange and magical time, and wanted to celebrate together. had just been published and a billion people had read it simultaneously, five seconds after its appearance, in some strange and magical time, and wanted to celebrate together.

Within minutes the house in Mexico City was under siege from the media, and the police set up roadblocks at either end of Calle Fuego. The first journalists invited him out into the street for a gla.s.s of champagne-with photos, of course-and the neighbours came out to applaud. When Alejandro Obregon turned up that morning to stay with his old friend and saw the chaos he thought to himself, "s.h.i.+t! Gabo's died!" (Obregon was in Mexico to restore a painting he had given Garcia Marquez, a self-portrait one of whose eyes had been shot out by the painter himself in a drunken fit.)50 Dozens of journalists thronged through the Garcia Marquez house, fetis.h.i.+stically describing every last detail outside and in-they particularly noticed the yellow roses and guavas on every table-and each clamouring for an "exclusive" interview with the man of the moment. Dozens of journalists thronged through the Garcia Marquez house, fetis.h.i.+stically describing every last detail outside and in-they particularly noticed the yellow roses and guavas on every table-and each clamouring for an "exclusive" interview with the man of the moment.

Garcia Marquez had not spoken to his mother for three weeks because her phone was down and an enterprising Bogota journalist used the wonders of technology to link them up for a public conversation. So Luisa Santiaga told the whole of Colombia that she thought the best thing about the news was that "Maybe now I'll get my phone fixed." Which she very soon did. She also said that she'd always hoped Gabito would never win the prize because she was sure he would die soon afterwards. Her son, well used to these eccentricities, said that he would be taking yellow roses to Stockholm in order to protect himself.

Garcia Marquez eventually organized an improvised press conference for the more than a hundred journalists by then swarming over his house. He announced that he would not wear evening dress at the ceremony in Stockholm but a guayabera guayabera s.h.i.+rt or even a s.h.i.+rt or even a liquiliqui liquiliqui-the white linen tunic and trousers worn by Latin American peasants in Hollywood movies-in honour of his grandfather. This topic became an obsession in cachaco cachaco Colombia, right up to the moment of the ceremony emblematic of the fear that Garcia Marquez would cause some international scandal or behave with unbearable vulgarity and let the country down. He also announced that he would use the prize money to found a newspaper to be called El Otro (The Other), in Bogota: in his opinion half of the prize had been awarded in recognition of his journalism. He would also build his dream house in Cartagena. Colombia, right up to the moment of the ceremony emblematic of the fear that Garcia Marquez would cause some international scandal or behave with unbearable vulgarity and let the country down. He also announced that he would use the prize money to found a newspaper to be called El Otro (The Other), in Bogota: in his opinion half of the prize had been awarded in recognition of his journalism. He would also build his dream house in Cartagena.

At one in the afternoon, Garcia Marquez and Mercedes left the journalists to it and fled the Calle Fuego, took a room in the Hotel Chapultepec Presidente and began to ring their closest friends. They spent the afternoon in seclusion with just eight people while their house was still in uproar. Alvaro Mutis was designated as the Garcia Barcha family chauffeur for the duration of the media furore.

Was.h.i.+ngton, meanwhile, confirmed on that same day that despite his new status Garcia Marquez would still not be given a visa to visit the United States, from which he had been banned ever since working for Cuba in 1961. (On 7 November he would write in his column in El Espectador El Espectador that he would rather "the door be closed than half open"-which was quite untrue because he was still profoundly irked by the prohibition-so on 1 December he would make another of his rash threats, vowing to ban the publication of his books in the United States since, if they were still refusing him a visa, why should they allow his books to enter?) that he would rather "the door be closed than half open"-which was quite untrue because he was still profoundly irked by the prohibition-so on 1 December he would make another of his rash threats, vowing to ban the publication of his books in the United States since, if they were still refusing him a visa, why should they allow his books to enter?)51 This happened also to be the day the dissident poet Armando Valladares was released from prison in Cuba, largely thanks to Garcia Marquez's mediation between Castro and Mitterrand. Valla dares, supposedly paralysed, according to his supporters, was accompanied by Mitterrand's adviser Regis Debray and astonished everyone by rising from his wheelchair and walking on arrival at the airport in Paris. This happened also to be the day the dissident poet Armando Valladares was released from prison in Cuba, largely thanks to Garcia Marquez's mediation between Castro and Mitterrand. Valla dares, supposedly paralysed, according to his supporters, was accompanied by Mitterrand's adviser Regis Debray and astonished everyone by rising from his wheelchair and walking on arrival at the airport in Paris.

All around the world Garcia Marquez's friends celebrated. Plinio Mendoza wept in Paris. He was not the only one. By contrast the publisher Jose Vicente Katarain, already on his way to Mexico, learned the news in the airport on arrival and began to dance; the girl at the news stand asked if he'd won the lottery. Indeed he had. Down in Cartagena, as the family celebrated, Gabriel Eligio said, to anyone who would listen, "I always knew it." No one reminded him of the prediction that Gabito would "eat paper." Luisa Santiaga said her father the Colonel must be celebrating somewhere; he had always predicted great things for Gabito. Most of the reports would present the family as eccentric inhabitants of their own little Macondo: Luisa Santiaga was Ursula and Gabriel Eligio was Jose Arcadio, though as usual he wondered aloud whether he might not be Melquiades. But little by little, despite his pride and undoubted euphoria, Gabriel Eligio began to misbehave: Gabito had got the prize through Mitterrand's influence, he said ("those things count, you know"); Gabito was just one of the many writers in his family; he couldn't think why this one got quite so much attention.

The Governor of the Department of Magdalena decided to declare 22 October a regional holiday and proposed that Colonel Marquez's old house in Aracataca should become a national monument. In Bogota the Communist Party organized street demonstrations pleading with Garcia Marquez to return to the country as a spokesman for the oppressed, to save Colombia. A reporter asked a prost.i.tute in the street if she'd heard the news and she said a client had just told her about it in bed; this was thought to be the best homage Garcia Marquez could receive. In Barranquilla the taxi drivers on the Pas...o...b..livar heard the news on their radios and all sounded their horns in unison: after all, Gabito was one of them.

Newspapers began to call Garcia Marquez "the new Cervantes," echoing an idea which Pablo Neruda had been one of the first to suggest when he read One Hundred Years of Solitude One Hundred Years of Solitude in 1967. in 1967.52 This comparison would be made many times down the years from this moment on. This comparison would be made many times down the years from this moment on. Newsweek Newsweek, which also had Garcia Marquez on the cover, called him "a spellbinding storyteller."53 Perhaps Salman Rushdie, writing from London, best summed up the opinion that prevailed both then and thereafter. His piece was ent.i.tled "Marquez the Magician": "He is one of the n.o.bel judges' most popular choices for years, one of the few true magicians in contemporary literature, an artist with the rare quality of producing work of the highest order that reaches and bewitches a ma.s.s audience. Marquez's masterpiece, Perhaps Salman Rushdie, writing from London, best summed up the opinion that prevailed both then and thereafter. His piece was ent.i.tled "Marquez the Magician": "He is one of the n.o.bel judges' most popular choices for years, one of the few true magicians in contemporary literature, an artist with the rare quality of producing work of the highest order that reaches and bewitches a ma.s.s audience. Marquez's masterpiece, One Hundred Years of Solitude One Hundred Years of Solitude, is, I believe, one of the two or three most important and most completely achieved works of fiction to be published anywhere since the war."54 Meanwhile, just a week after the announcement of the prize, one of his good friends, Felipe Gonzalez, leader of the Spanish Socialist Party, was elected Prime Minister of his country, yet another cause for celebration and political euphoria. Last year Mitterrand; now Gonzalez. Was the prize somehow a sign that everything was beginning to change? Garcia Marquez told Gente Gente of Buenos Aires, "I can die happy because now I am immortal." Perhaps he was joking. of Buenos Aires, "I can die happy because now I am immortal." Perhaps he was joking.

On 1 December Miguel de la Madrid was inaugurated as the President of Mexico for the next six years. He and Garcia Marquez would never be close but Garcia Marquez attended the ceremony. That same day Felipe Gonzalez was inaugurated as Prime Minister of the new Spanish government in Madrid. In the first days of December, after visiting Cuba, Garcia Marquez flew on to Madrid to salute Gonzalez-and be saluted. He let it be known that he had talked to Castro for eleven hours in Havana and that the Reagan government had refused him an unconditional visa to touch down in New York. Meanwhile, in Paris, Mercedes met up with Gonzalo. But not Rodrigo. The only disappointing note for Garcia Marquez was that his elder son, filming in the north of Mexico, was too busy working to travel to Stockholm, the undoubted high point of his distinguished father's career. The two had met up in Zacatecas the previous month and no one knows what transpired. Neither man has ever been prepared to say more about the matter.

At seven in the evening on Monday 6 December a government-chartered Avianca jumbo jet took off on a twenty-two-hour journey from Bogota to Stockholm, carrying the official delegation led by Minister of Education Jaime Arias Ramirez, together with Garcia Marquez's twelve closest friends chosen by Guillermo Angulo-Garcia Marquez had pleaded with his old friend Angulo to save him from this invidious task-plus their spouses, a large number of people invited by Oveja Negra, and seventy musicians from various ethnic groups organized by the Minister of Culture with the advice and a.s.sistance of an anthropologist, Gloria Triana.

When Garcia Marquez's guests finally arrived in Stockholm the temperature had just fallen to freezing point. Hundreds of Europe-based Colombians and other Latin Americans were waiting at the airport. As the night wore on the temperature would fall to minus ten degrees but the Swedes told them they were lucky it wasn't colder and that it hadn't snowed.55 Groups of friends and family from Spain and Paris had arrived earlier in the afternoon: Carmen Balcells and Magdalena Oliver from Barcelona, together with the Feduchis and journalist Ramon Chao; Mercedes and Gonzalo, Tachia and Charles, and Plinio Mendoza, from Paris, together with Regis Debray and Mitterrand's wife Danielle, though without Culture Minister Jack Lang, another friend, who had to cancel at the last moment. The Colombian amba.s.sador was also there, plus the Cuban amba.s.sador and the Mexican charge d'affaires, all waiting in the Arctic cold. Groups of friends and family from Spain and Paris had arrived earlier in the afternoon: Carmen Balcells and Magdalena Oliver from Barcelona, together with the Feduchis and journalist Ramon Chao; Mercedes and Gonzalo, Tachia and Charles, and Plinio Mendoza, from Paris, together with Regis Debray and Mitterrand's wife Danielle, though without Culture Minister Jack Lang, another friend, who had to cancel at the last moment. The Colombian amba.s.sador was also there, plus the Cuban amba.s.sador and the Mexican charge d'affaires, all waiting in the Arctic cold.56 Tachia appointed herself official photographer to Garcia Marquez and his friends and she even managed to get herself a press pa.s.s. As her old flame advanced from the plane to the waiting room she thrust herself forward and took the first photo of the conquering hero, and then she photographed the wildly enthusiastic Colombians trying to touch Garcia Marquez through the airport's steel barriers in the Northern darkness. Gabo and Mercedes went on to the Grand Hotel, where an opulent suite of three rooms awaited them and where they would spend the next few nights.57 Exhausted, jet-lagged, over-excited and overwhelmed, Garcia Marquez fell asleep. Then, "I suddenly woke up in bed, and I remembered that they always give the same room in the same hotel to the n.o.bel winner. And I thought, 'Rudyard Kipling has slept in this bed, Thomas Mann, Neruda, Asturias, Faulkner.' It terrified me, and finally I went out to sleep on the sofa." Exhausted, jet-lagged, over-excited and overwhelmed, Garcia Marquez fell asleep. Then, "I suddenly woke up in bed, and I remembered that they always give the same room in the same hotel to the n.o.bel winner. And I thought, 'Rudyard Kipling has slept in this bed, Thomas Mann, Neruda, Asturias, Faulkner.' It terrified me, and finally I went out to sleep on the sofa."58 The next morning Garcia Marquez had breakfast in the hotel with a huge group of friends representing his entire past, including Carmen Balcells and Katarain. Such a group of people had never been brought together before. Some didn't even know one another, some probably didn't like one another. Plinio Mendoza said that Garcia Marquez had behaved at the airport like a visiting bullfighter saluting his fans and that he got dressed every day in his suite, again like a bullfighter, with all his friends around him. On one occasion he took Alfonso Fuenmayor from "the suite of the happy few" into the solitary bedroom and showed him his speech: "Take a look at that, Maestro, and tell me what you think." Fuenmayor read the piece with admiration and said at last he understood Garcia Marquez's political position. His friend replied, "What you've just read is One Hundred Years of Solitude One Hundred Years of Solitude, no more, no less."59 As the hour approached, Mendoza recalls, "In the middle of the lounge I saw Gabo and Mercedes, placid, untroubled, talking, completely oblivious to the coronation ceremony advancing upon them, as if they were still, thirty years ago, in Sucre or Magangue, in the house of Aunt Petra or Aunt Juana some Sat.u.r.day evening."60 The literature prize winner's speech was to be given at 5 p.m. in the theatre of the Swedish Academy of Literature situated in the Stock Exchange, with 200 specially invited guests and a total audience of 400, followed at 6.30 by a dinner in honour of all the prize winners in the house of the Academy Secretary. The literature prize winner's speech was to be given at 5 p.m. in the theatre of the Swedish Academy of Literature situated in the Stock Exchange, with 200 specially invited guests and a total audience of 400, followed at 6.30 by a dinner in honour of all the prize winners in the house of the Academy Secretary.

At 5 p.m. Garcia Marquez, wearing his trademark hound's-tooth jacket, dark trousers, a white s.h.i.+rt and a red polka-dot tie, was introduced by the lanky Lars Gyllensten, Permanent Secretary of the Academy and himself a well-known novelist, who had written the communique announcing the award of the prize. Gyllensten, who was speaking in Swedish, could barely be heard because the Colombian radio commentators present at the ceremony sounded as if they were doing a football match and Garcia Marquez had to make a "turn it down" gesture with his fingers before he started his own speech, ent.i.tled "The Solitude of Latin America." It was delivered by its author in an aggressive, defiant, almost incantatory style. Combining a deconstructed magical realism with politics, the speech was an undisguised attack on the inability or unwillingness of Europeans to understand Latin America's historical problems and their reluctance to give the continent the time to mature and develop that Europe itself had required. It restated his lifelong objection to "Europeans" (including North Americans), whether capitalists or communists, imposing their "schemes" on Latin America's living realities. Garcia Marquez claimed that the prize had been awarded in part for his political activism and not only his literature. He finished at 5.35 and received an ovation for several minutes.61 On the evening of Thursday the 9th Garcia Marquez and Mercedes travelled out to the Prime Minister's residence at Harpsund for a private dinner with Palme and eleven other special guests, including Danielle Mitterrand, Regis Debray, Pierre Schori, Gunter Gra.s.s, Turkish poet-politician Bulent Ecevit, and Artur Lundkvist. The Swedish Foreign Office said this invitation was a special distinction, rarely given before. Garcia Marquez had been introduced to Palme by Francois Mitterrand in his Rue de Bievre home years before. Now, although he was absolutely exhausted, he found himself talking for another two hours about the situation in Central America in a conversation which would be influential in proposing a peace process to be brokered by the six presidents of the isthmus, what would later be known as the Contadora Process.62 All of this was but a series of hors d'oeuvres to the main course on 10 December, the day of the "n.o.bel Festival": in the morning the rehearsal in the Konserthus, in the afternoon the great event, the presentation of the n.o.bel Prizes by the King of Sweden at four o'clock before an audience of 1,700 people. That day Mercedes, "the wife of the n.o.bel," appeared in Colombia on the cover of Carrusel, an El Tiempo supplement. The article inside was by her sister-in-law, Beatriz Lopez de Barcha, ent.i.tled "Gabito Waited for Me to Grow Up."63 One can imagine Mercedes's sister-in-law having said to her, "OK, you want to wipe out that piece by Consuelo Mendoza last year, why not let me do a really favourable interview, with flattering pictures?" Mercedes: "OK, but just this once." One can imagine Mercedes's sister-in-law having said to her, "OK, you want to wipe out that piece by Consuelo Mendoza last year, why not let me do a really favourable interview, with flattering pictures?" Mercedes: "OK, but just this once."

Soon after lunch the man of the hour got dressed. He had been talking about his liquiliqui liquiliqui since the day he heard the news. Sometimes he declared that it was to honour his grandfather the Colonel, sometimes, less modestly, that it was to honour his own most famous creation, Colonel Aureliano Buendia. since the day he heard the news. Sometimes he declared that it was to honour his grandfather the Colonel, sometimes, less modestly, that it was to honour his own most famous creation, Colonel Aureliano Buendia. El Espectador El Espectador carried a letter the day after the ceremony from Don Aristides Gomez Aviles in Monteria, Colombia, who remembered Colonel Marquez well and said he would never have been seen dead in a carried a letter the day after the ceremony from Don Aristides Gomez Aviles in Monteria, Colombia, who remembered Colonel Marquez well and said he would never have been seen dead in a liquiliqui liquiliqui: he was far too posh for that and would never have been caught out in the street without a jacket on, still less at a n.o.bel Prize ceremony.64 In these discussions a man who really had worn a In these discussions a man who really had worn a liquiliqui liquiliqui in his youth, Gabriel Eligio Garcia, never got a mention. in his youth, Gabriel Eligio Garcia, never got a mention.

Suite 208, Grand Hotel Stockholm, 10 December 1982, 3 p.m. Before travelling from Paris Tachia had bought Garcia Marquez the Damart thermal underwear which appears in a famous photograph of the great writer standing in his intimate apparel, surrounded by his male friends in the dinner jackets which they had all rented for 200 krona apiece. Mercedes handed them yellow roses, one by one, to ward off la pava, as bad luck is called in the Spanish Caribbean, and helped fix them to lapels: "Now then, compadre, let me see...." Then she organized the photographs.65 Then out came the Then out came the liquiliqui liquiliqui which, Ana Maria Cano in which, Ana Maria Cano in El Espectador El Espectador cattily observed three days later, meant that Garcia Marquez arrived at the ceremony looking "as wrinkled as an accordion." cattily observed three days later, meant that Garcia Marquez arrived at the ceremony looking "as wrinkled as an accordion."66 All this was later. Now, dressed defiantly in his liquiliqui liquiliqui-the closest thing when all is said and done to a recognizably Latin American lower-cla.s.s uniform-with, oh horror, black boots, Garcia Marquez prepared himself for the moment of truth. If the liquiliqui liquiliqui was wrinkled, no doubt those of Nicaragua's Augusto Sandino and Cuba's Jose Marti and other heroes of Latin American resistance had been wrinkled, not to mention that of Aureliano Buendia. He covered himself with an overcoat against the Nordic elements. Plinio Mendoza recalls the moment: "We all crowded tightly together and went down the steps to accompany Gabo for the most memorable moment of his life." was wrinkled, no doubt those of Nicaragua's Augusto Sandino and Cuba's Jose Marti and other heroes of Latin American resistance had been wrinkled, not to mention that of Aureliano Buendia. He covered himself with an overcoat against the Nordic elements. Plinio Mendoza recalls the moment: "We all crowded tightly together and went down the steps to accompany Gabo for the most memorable moment of his life."67 Then Mendoza switches to the eternal present: "The streets are covered in snow, photographers everywhere. By Gabo's side, I see his face tighten for a moment. I can feel, with the antennae of my Pisces ascendant, the sudden tension. The flowers, the flashes, the figures in black, the red carpet: perhaps from the remote deserts where they lie buried his Guajiro ancestors are talking to him. Perhaps they're telling him that the pomp and ceremony of glory is the same as the pomp and ceremony of death. Something like that is going on because as he pushes on through the magnesium glow and the figures in formal dress I hear him mutter in a low voice in which there is a note of sudden, alarmed, pained astonishment: 's.h.i.+t, this is like turning up at my own funeral!'" Then Mendoza switches to the eternal present: "The streets are covered in snow, photographers everywhere. By Gabo's side, I see his face tighten for a moment. I can feel, with the antennae of my Pisces ascendant, the sudden tension. The flowers, the flashes, the figures in black, the red carpet: perhaps from the remote deserts where they lie buried his Guajiro ancestors are talking to him. Perhaps they're telling him that the pomp and ceremony of glory is the same as the pomp and ceremony of death. Something like that is going on because as he pushes on through the magnesium glow and the figures in formal dress I hear him mutter in a low voice in which there is a note of sudden, alarmed, pained astonishment: 's.h.i.+t, this is like turning up at my own funeral!'"68 Into the grand ballroom of the Konserthus, designed to evoke a Greek temple, they stride. One thousand seven hundred people including three hundred Colombians. A gasp when Garcia Marquez appears in his all-white outfit: he looks as if he is still in his thermal underwear! To the right of the stage, which is covered in yellow flowers, sitting in blue and gold armchairs, are the royal family: King Carl Gustav the Sixteenth, Queen Silvia, the beautiful half-Brazilian who spent her childhood in So Paulo, Princess Lilian and Prince Bertil, who all just arrived as the national anthem was played. Beside them is a podium from which Permanent Secretary Gyllensten will speak. The laureates are all to the left, on red seats: Swedes Sune Bergstrom, Bengt Samuelsson and Briton John Vane for medicine, American Kenneth Wilson for physics, South African Aron Klug for chemistry and American George Stigler for economics. Behind are two further rows of seats in which the academicians, the Swedish cabinet and other notables are seated. Garcia Marquez alone in his liquiliqui liquiliqui surrounded by dress suits, stoles, furs, pearl necklaces. Between him and the King the huge N for n.o.bel inscribed in the circle-painted or chalked?-that awaits him. surrounded by dress suits, stoles, furs, pearl necklaces. Between him and the King the huge N for n.o.bel inscribed in the circle-painted or chalked?-that awaits him.

He was visibly nervous when Professor Gyllensten of the Swedish Academy started to speak. When it came to Garcia Marquez's moment, last but one, Gyllensten spoke in Swedish, then turned to the Colombian costeno costeno, who stood, with glittering eyes, looking for all the world like the hapless little boy in the Colegio San Jose de Barranquilla, and switched to French, summarizing what he had said and inviting the Colombian to approach the King to receive the prize. Garcia Marquez, who had chosen Bartok's Intermezzo Intermezzo as his accompanying piece of music, left his yellow rose on his seat as he moved to receive the award, exposed for a moment to unimaginable misfortune without that totemic flower as he walked across the immense stage with his fists clenched and the trumpets sounding, then stopped inside the painted circle to await the King. Now, as he shook hands with the medal-bedecked monarch he looked like Chaplin's tramp ingratiating himself with some toff. After receiving the medal and parchment, he bowed stiffly to the King, then to the guests of honour and then the audience, whereupon he received what was generally agreed to have been the longest standing ovation in the history of those august ceremonies: several minutes. as his accompanying piece of music, left his yellow rose on his seat as he moved to receive the award, exposed for a moment to unimaginable misfortune without that totemic flower as he walked across the immense stage with his fists clenched and the trumpets sounding, then stopped inside the painted circle to await the King. Now, as he shook hands with the medal-bedecked monarch he looked like Chaplin's tramp ingratiating himself with some toff. After receiving the medal and parchment, he bowed stiffly to the King, then to the guests of honour and then the audience, whereupon he received what was generally agreed to have been the longest standing ovation in the history of those august ceremonies: several minutes.69 The ceremony finished at 5.45 p.m. and as Garcia Marquez filed out with the other winners he raised his hands above his head like a champion boxer, a gesture he would henceforth be making many times in his life to come. Those fortunate enough to be invited had forty-five minutes to get themselves across to the vast blue hall of the Stadhus (Stockholm Town Hall) for the grand Swedish Academy banquet. The menu had been prepared by Johnny Johanssen, Sweden's top chef, and was a "typically Swedish" affair. Reindeer fillets, trout and sorbet, with banana and almonds. Champagne, sherry and port.70 Garcia Marquez, defiantly, lit a Havana cigar. The highlight of the proceedings-as everyone would agree-was the arrival of the seventy Colombian musicians. Garcia Marquez's friend Nereo Lopez had been following their adventures and misadventures in Stockholm with his camera. Garcia Marquez, defiantly, lit a Havana cigar. The highlight of the proceedings-as everyone would agree-was the arrival of the seventy Colombian musicians. Garcia Marquez's friend Nereo Lopez had been following their adventures and misadventures in Stockholm with his camera.71 He had watched Gloria Triana anxiously chaperoning all the women: "They're all virgins and I've promised their mothers." On arrival in the Town Hall, which was draped in monarchical tapestries, one of the group from Riosucio had knelt and prayed, thinking he was in a church. Lopez wondered how the Swedes felt when they saw "that heterogeneous group from Macondo coming down the stairs, that amalgam of Indian, Black, Carib and Spanish which makes up the mix of Colombian ident.i.ty." Up to then, according to him, the great ice cream known as the He had watched Gloria Triana anxiously chaperoning all the women: "They're all virgins and I've promised their mothers." On arrival in the Town Hall, which was draped in monarchical tapestries, one of the group from Riosucio had knelt and prayed, thinking he was in a church. Lopez wondered how the Swedes felt when they saw "that heterogeneous group from Macondo coming down the stairs, that amalgam of Indian, Black, Carib and Spanish which makes up the mix of Colombian ident.i.ty." Up to then, according to him, the great ice cream known as the n.o.bel Flambe n.o.bel Flambe had been the main attraction at these ceremonies. Now life itself was flooding in. The entire performance, led by Toto la Momposina and Leonor la Negra Grande de Colombia, was a triumph and the applause encouraged them to go on for thirty minutes instead of fifteen. had been the main attraction at these ceremonies. Now life itself was flooding in. The entire performance, led by Toto la Momposina and Leonor la Negra Grande de Colombia, was a triumph and the applause encouraged them to go on for thirty minutes instead of fifteen.72 Each laureate read a three-minute speech followed by a toast. Garcia Marquez went first with a piece ent.i.tled "In Praise of Poetry," which claimed that poetry was "the most definite proof of the existence of man."73 What no one knew at the time was that he had more than just a little help from his friend Alvaro Mutis, as anyone, reading the speech and then thinking about it, might have deduced. Two of the other laureates asked him to sign copies of What no one knew at the time was that he had more than just a little help from his friend Alvaro Mutis, as anyone, reading the speech and then thinking about it, might have deduced. Two of the other laureates asked him to sign copies of One Hundred Years of Solitude One Hundred Years of Solitude. After the toasts everyone filed up to the first floor to the "Great Gold Room" for dancing. This started with a waltz followed by sundry North European dances, then, unexpectedly, "Besame mucho," "Perfidia" and other boleros boleros, followed by foxtrots and rumbas.

Late that evening, after everyone got back to the hotel, there was a phone call from Rodrigo, up in the northern desert of Mexico. The new laureate was with twenty of his friends, still drinking champagne. Everything went quiet and Garcia Marquez, with s.h.i.+ning eyes, went over to the phone. Later he would proudly tell journalists that his sons had "the flavour of their mother and their father's business sense."74 By then, thousands of miles away in the small Caribbean town of Aracataca, Colombia, where of course it was still light, an even more vibrant and enthusiastic celebration was under way. There had been a Te Deum in the church where Gabito was baptized at nine in the morning, followed by a pilgrimage to the house where he had been born. A campaign was proposed to make Aracataca a historic tourist town on the model of Proust's Illiers-Combray Then the Governing Council of the Magdalena Department a.s.sembled in the House of Culture, chaired by the energetic Governor Sara Valencia Abdala, her-self an Aracataca native.75 Garcia Marquez's sister Rita recalled: "The day the prize was presented there was a celebration in Aracataca organized by the Magdalena government. The Governor hired a train to take all the guests; it picked up all the family on the way, cousins, uncles, aunts and nephews, and so we all arrived in Aracataca, where there were more cousins, more uncles and aunts, more family. A lot of people. It was a wonderful day, there were fireworks, a ma.s.s, a side of beef roasted in the open air and drinks for the whole town. Our cousin Carlos Martinez Simahan, the Minister of Mines, was there. That day they inaugurated the Telecom building which our brother Jaime had built. Though the best thing of all was when they released the yellow b.u.t.terflies." Garcia Marquez's sister Rita recalled: "The day the prize was presented there was a celebration in Aracataca organized by the Magdalena government. The Governor hired a train to take all the guests; it picked up all the family on the way, cousins, uncles, aunts and nephews, and so we all arrived in Aracataca, where there were more cousins, more uncles and aunts, more family. A lot of people. It was a wonderful day, there were fireworks, a ma.s.s, a side of beef roasted in the open air and drinks for the whole town. Our cousin Carlos Martinez Simahan, the Minister of Mines, was there. That day they inaugurated the Telecom building which our brother Jaime had built. Though the best thing of all was when they released the yellow b.u.t.terflies."76 Back in Stockholm the man of the hour was beginning to relax. He had felt responsible for communicating a positive image of Latin America to the world, knowing that in Colombia, above all, his enemies could hardly wait for him to make a mistake because their view of what might be a "good image" of the country was entirely different from what he was trying to do. He would later say: "No one ever suspected how unhappy I was during those three days, attending to the minutest detail so that everything would turn out well. I could not afford any mistakes because the smallest error, however insignificant, would have been catastrophic in those circ.u.mstances."77 (Later, when they were both back in Mexico City, the new laureate would say to Alvaro Mutis: "Tell me about that Stockholm business, I can't remember a thing. I just see the photographers' flashes and see myself enduring the journalists' questions, always the same questions. Tell me what you remember.") (Later, when they were both back in Mexico City, the new laureate would say to Alvaro Mutis: "Tell me about that Stockholm business, I can't remember a thing. I just see the photographers' flashes and see myself enduring the journalists' questions, always the same questions. Tell me what you remember.")78 Yet so stunningly successful was he that even El Tiempo El Tiempo, with which his relations.h.i.+p would never be easy, gave him an almost unqualified thumbs up in an editorial. It congratulated Garcia Marquez, acknowledging that his life had been hard and he had earned every last ounce of his glory. It ended: "After the euphoria involved in the n.o.bel ceremony, the country must return to reality, face up to its problems and go back to its routine. But there is something that will not be the same as before: the conviction that our potentialities are still an unexplored richness and that we have barely begun to emerge on the world stage. And there to prove it is Garcia Marquez, so that we will never forget this invaluable lesson."79

21.

The Frenzy of Renown and the Fragrance of Guava: Love in the Time of Cholera 19821985 THE NEXT MORNING, the morning after, Gabo and Mercedes flew to Barcelona, accompanied by Carmen Balcells. There they checked into the Princesa Sofia Hotel to sleep it all off until the New Year. They did, however, make another visit to the new Spanish Prime Minister. Garcia Marquez would dutifully record in his weekly column-not interrupted for anyone or anything-that he had visited the Moncloa Palace twice in the last two weeks to chat to the youthful "Felipe," who had looked "more like a university student" than a president, and to his wife Carmen, accompanied by Mercedes and Gonzalo.1 It was clear that the new n.o.bel Prize winner was going to be less discreet and more b.u.mptious than ever. In his next article he remarked, "I consider myself, and I take pride in it, the human being most allergic to formality ... and I still can't get used to the idea that my friends become presidents nor have I yet overcome my susceptibility to being impressed by government palaces." The international jet-setter was convinced that Felipe, who understood Latin America "better than any other non-Latin American," was going to have "a decisive influence on Latin American-European relations." Whether Felipe himself saw things the same way we cannot know but clearly Garcia Marquez was hoping to bounce him into supporting his long-term strategy for Cuba, the Caribbean and Latin America, and had no compunction in letting the world know about it. It was clear that the new n.o.bel Prize winner was going to be less discreet and more b.u.mptious than ever. In his next article he remarked, "I consider myself, and I take pride in it, the human being most allergic to formality ... and I still can't get used to the idea that my friends become presidents nor have I yet overcome my susceptibility to being impressed by government palaces." The international jet-setter was convinced that Felipe, who understood Latin America "better than any other non-Latin American," was going to have "a decisive influence on Latin American-European relations." Whether Felipe himself saw things the same way we cannot know but clearly Garcia Marquez was hoping to bounce him into supporting his long-term strategy for Cuba, the Caribbean and Latin America, and had no compunction in letting the world know about it.

Nevertheless at their informal exchange with the press, the first thing Gonzalez mentioned was "the status of Cuba within the region and the need for a security agreement for all," not necessarily what Garcia Marquez had in mind. Garcia Marquez declared that love would solve all the world's problems and said he wanted to get back to his latest novel on that very subject: he'd really rather have won the prize next year so that he could have finished the book.2 On 29 December the new laureate left for Havana, having declared that he still wanted to found his own newspaper to enjoy "the old dignity of bearing news," which perhaps sounded uneasily like the instinct of the go-between, which in Spanish has a less agreeable word, correveidile correveidile: "run-see-and-tell-him." The Madrid-Havana axis would be a crucial concern of Garcia Marquez's over the coming years, though even he would not be able to reconcile the differences between Castro and Gonzalez.

Two oft-repeated general truths about the n.o.bel Prize for Literature are that it is usually given to writers who have completed their creative cycle and no longer have any worthwhile works left inside them; and that, even in the case of younger writers, the prize is a distraction which robs them of time, concentration and ambition. The first was clearly not true of Garcia Marquez: he was one of the youngest of all n.o.bel Prize winners as well as one of the best-known and most popular. The second was predicted by those who resented his success, or were jealous of it, but the fact is that Garcia Marquez had already experienced celebrity on a scale that even n.o.bel Prize winners rarely encounter. Not only was he not the kind of man to rest on his laurels but he had already been through this kind of experience in the years after One Hundred Years of Solitude One Hundred Years of Solitude was published: it had been like winning a first n.o.bel Prize. Alternatively, then, one might expect him to be newly galvanized: to write more, travel more, find new things to do. And so it turned out. He was more than ready for his new status. And yet... was published: it had been like winning a first n.o.bel Prize. Alternatively, then, one might expect him to be newly galvanized: to write more, travel more, find new things to do. And so it turned out. He was more than ready for his new status. And yet...

And yet ... he had already decided in 1980 on a new way of life appropriate to his new position of authority and respectability. He was already a friend of presidents: to the not very respectable relation with Fidel, the pirate captain, he had added Lopez Portillo of Mexico, Carlos Andres Perez of Venezuela, Lopez Michelsen and Betancur of Colombia, Mitterrand of France and lastly Gonzalez of Spain. He had now increased his own vast celebrity by acquiring a kind of roving presidential status. (Fidel Castro would say, "Yes, of course Garcia Marquez is like a head of state. The only question is, which state?") He told journalists he was taking a sabbatical, but clearly he was also hoping to use his new influence to mediate more effectively with his new presidential allies. One might say that his openly political period lasted from about 1959 to 1979, and most intensively from 1971 to 1979. Thereafter followed a more "diplomatic" period. The question was whether he would merely be concealing his real politics during this diplomatic period whilst remaining a well-meaning fellow traveller, as in the period 195079, or whether he would gradually adjust his political position behind the cover of his mediations, clandestine negotiations and cultural enterprises.

As he flew back across the Atlantic in all his glory, even Garcia Marquez, who planned so very much in his life, whether consciously or unconsciously, must have felt the weight of celebrity and awesome responsibility settling on his shoulders. He had got what he wanted but sometimes, as Marilyn Monroe had famously sung, after you get what you want you don't want it. For some time now he had been forced to adjust to levels of adulation that, unless one has witnessed them, are almost unimaginable for a serious writer: nothing less than the "frenzy of renown."3 Now he would have to turn his entire life into a carefully organized spectacle. Now he would have to turn his entire life into a carefully organized spectacle.

People who had known him most of his life would say that he became much more cautious after winning the prize. Some of his friends were grateful that he continued to attend to them at all, others resented a process of perceived neglect. Many people said his vanity increased exponentially, others that it was extraordinary how normal he managed to remain; his cousin Gog said he had always been like a "new-born n.o.bel Prize winner."4 Carmen Balcells, who was able to view literary celebrity more coolly than most, said that the extent of his success and fame was "unrepeatable." Carmen Balcells, who was able to view literary celebrity more coolly than most, said that the extent of his success and fame was "unrepeatable."5 ("When you have an author like Gabriel Garcia Marquez you can set up a political party, inst.i.tute a religion or organize a revolution.") Garcia Marquez himself would later say that he tried everything possible to "stay the same" but that no one viewed him as the same after the journey to Stockholm. Fame, he would say, was "like having the lights on all the time." People tell you what they think you want to hear; the prize requires dignity, you can no longer just tell people to "f.u.c.k off." You are required always to be amusing and intelligent. If you start talking at a party, even with old friends, everyone else stops speaking and listens to you. Ironically, "as you're surrounded by more and more people, you feel smaller and smaller and smaller." ("When you have an author like Gabriel Garcia Marquez you can set up a political party, inst.i.tute a religion or organize a revolution.") Garcia Marquez himself would later say that he tried everything possible to "stay the same" but that no one viewed him as the same after the journey to Stoc