The Savage Detectives by Roberto Bolaño

Author:Roberto Bolaño [Bolaño, Roberto]
Language: spa
Format: epub, azw3
Tags: prose_contemporary

13

Rafael Barrios, sitting in his living room, Jackson Street, San Diego, California, March 1981. Have you seen Easy Rider? That's right, the movie with Dennis Hopper, Peter Fonda, and Jack Nicholson. That was basically what we were like back then. But especially Ulises Lima and Arturo Belano, before they left for Europe. Like Dennis Hopper and his doppelgänger: two dark figures, moving fast and full of energy. And it's not that I have anything against Peter Fonda but neither of them looked like him. Müller looked like Peter Fonda. Those two, on the other hand, looked just like Dennis Hopper and that was creepy and seductive, creepy and seductive to those of us who knew them, I mean, those of us who were their friends. And this isn't a judgment of Peter Fonda. I like Peter Fonda. Whenever that movie he made with Frank Sinatra's daughter and Bruce Dern is on TV I watch it, even if I have to stay up till four in the morning. But neither of them looked like him. And they really did look like Dennis Hopper. It was as if they were consciously imitating him. Two Dennis Hoppers walking the streets of Mexico City. A Mr. Hopper spiraling from east to west, like a double black cloud, until (inevitably) they vanished without a trace on the other side of the city, the side where there was no way out. And sometimes I'd look at them and even though I liked them a lot I'd think, what kind of act is this? what kind of scam or collective suicide is this? And one night, a little before New Year's Day 1976, before they left for Sonora, I realized it was their way of playing politics, a way that isn't my way anymore and that at the time I didn't understand. Their way might have been good or bad, right or wrong, but it was their way of playing politics, of politically influencing reality. I'm sorry if what I'm saying doesn't make sense. Lately I've been feeling a little bit confused.

Barbara Patterson, in her kitchen, Jackson Street, San Diego, California, March 1981. Dennis Hopper? Politics? That son of a bitch! That piece of butt-hair-crusted shit! What does that dumbfuck know about politics? I was the one who said: take up politics, Rafael, take up some noble cause, goddamn it, you're a freaking man of the people, and the bastard would look at me like I was shit, some piece of trash, like he was looking down from some imaginary height, and he would say: cool it, Barbarita, it's not so easy, and then he'd go to sleep and I'd have to go out to work and then school, I was busy all day, basically, I'm still busy all day, back and forth from the university to work (I waitress at a burger place on Reston Avenue), and when I came home Rafael would be asleep, the dishes in the sink, the floor dirty, crumbs in the

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