My Final Embrace to Francisco Lopez Sacha
HAVANA TIMES – I almost never watch the main Cuban television news program that’s broadcast at 8 pm. When I do, I put the sound on mute, occasionally turning it up to catch something that interests me. Last night, I saw images of Francisco Lopez Sacha on the screen and feared it was bad news. It was, indeed, news of his death. I sat immobile, stunned, as it took me by surprise. I felt sad and incapable of reacting. I didn’t believe it.
I admired Sacha as writer, but when I got to know him personally, I discovered a person of great erudition. Just listening to him you learned many things, since he was knowledgeable about cultural issues, and had read so much that he led you to explore different books and authors. He always said that reading was key to being able to write. To me it’s a matter of liberating the stories and at the same time being part of them.
The first time I spoke with him was when I was working as assistant director of a TV program and our team went to his apartment to tape an interview with him. It was a program about The Beatles, a group Sacha had always been a fan of. He viewed the English music as connected to literature. One of his last works was entitled: Prisionera del rock and roll.
I told him I wrote poetry, and right away he wanted to read my work. Then he offered to help me put together my first book. He wanted me to enter it for the David Prize that the UNEAC [National Union of Writers and Artists of Cuba] held for unpublished authors. Several times a week, I’d visit his house. He’d make coffee and we’d sit down to talk about a variety of topics. He’d put on records of The Beatles and tell me anecdotes about them. After that, we’d spend the rest of the afternoon analyzing the best order for my poems and discarding the least noteworthy. That task was a pleasant one, and his critiques were extremely useful to me.
I learned a lot from him; his way of speaking left anyone spellbound. I could spend hours listening to him and never feel bored. I think I came to fall in love with his personality. In addition, he was charming, with a very biting sense of humor.
Although I didn’t win the prize, or even qualify as a finalist, my book Los signos y los cantos [“The signs and the songs”] was published by the Extramuros publishing house. Sacha delivered a beautiful presentation, and also wrote the inside cover notes.
Sacha was multifaceted – not only was he a writer and essayist, but also an Art professor. Several years ago he worked at the San Antonio de los Baños Film School, teaching a screenwriting class.
He was ill with cancer during one period, and I visited him several times. I felt he needed cheering up, so I brought him a DVD of concerts and chatted with him for a while.
Later, he recovered and went into remission. He flourished and regained his health. It was something of a miracle, and made me very happy, since his illness had depressed him. I imagine that the treatment worked, because he went back to writing with more energy than before. One curious thing I recall is that he didn’t like to use the computer but preferred to write the old way on his portable typewriter, using white-out to correct.
The last time I visited his apartment was with a friend and colleague who wanted to ask him some questions as part of her thesis. That afternoon he invited us to share some chicken soup he had made himself.
Despite being a decorated author and an essential figure in Cuban narrative, he lacked the airs of the famous – rather, he was just the opposite. He exuded cordiality and served as mentor to many budding writers, including myself.
We never stopped communicating. We promised to give each other our books, but later we never set a date. Still, we spoke on the phone every so often and exchanged greetings.
From where I sit here, I can see one of his books on my bookshelf: El arte de la fuga [“The art of escape”]. My memory flashes on a time when he was creating those stories of an erotic nature. He wanted to call it “Gallant stories,” but later decided on that other title.
I thank him now for all the moments when he offered me his kindness and patience, and I offer this last embrace to his spirit.