As a child, Dona Luisa and Don Gabriel were worried that Gabito would blink so much. His father came to give him a few homeopathic drops, but they hardly served. Years later, when that tic seemed to have evaporated, his mother dared to ask him: "He told me he was doing it to see things better," she said. "To remember …", he pointed out Gabriel Garcia Marquez who brought him to the world in Aracataca (Colombia) during one of the visits he made Gustavo Tatis Guerra, journalist, writer, family friend and author of The yellow flower of the conjurer (Navona People).
The book is presented this Thursday at the Casa de América in Madrid with Dasso Saldivar, author of the prologue, and Juan Cruz, just when Netflix has just announced that it will roll One hundred years of loneliness. In his pages, the author reveals family secrets and hidden keys of his work: a constant juggling between reality and invention to the author's benefit to create one of the richest literary worlds of universal literature. The witnesses of all that, their parents, used to strip GarcÃa Márquez's imaginary with a stream of reality that placed magic in its proper term.
"He had an ability to invent beyond the reality he saw. I have always said that I had two brains. Nobody takes away from me the idea that Gabito is two-headed
Don Gabriel, father of Gabo
Something that, on the other hand, enhances his inventive genius on very firm foundations. "He was the greatest liar in the world," Don Gabriel Eligio García Martínez confessed to Tatis. "He had an ability to invent beyond the reality he saw. I have always said that I had two brains. Nobody takes away from me the idea that Gabito is two-headed, "the father confessed to the author of the study. He also joined his trade as a telegrapher and writer. "He always felt some competition for that towards his son," says Tatis.
At least Don Gabriel was able to verify on the works of his son the scale of his transmutation. That mechanism that led him from reality to the invention of a lie that in turn reflected a great truth. "Nothing that García Márquez tells in his novels is false, everything is taken from that world," says Tatis.
Don Gabriel read his books carefully. Not so his mother, who boasted more of having a nun daughter at home than a Nobel scion. If within his incorruptible skepticism, some benefit he wanted to get out of the award of his son was that he expected to fix the home phone. His mantra was to downplay it. So Luisa Márquez repelled the interviews, among other things, because the reporters who passed by her house were given to know more than those who had to answer.
But with Gustavo Tatis, everything was different. They treated him like someone in the family with whom he could give dinner time telling stories. One of those was the germ of Remedios the beautiful, that character of One hundred years of loneliness, which rose to heaven.
It is based, according to his mother, on a maid of the same name who escaped with her lover. When one day they asked Dona Luisa what had happened to her, she replied: "She flew away". And Gabito, present, associated the terms until converting the explanation into literature. Dona Luisa boasted of not having read the novel because all that she had lived. He was not interested in either A Chronicle of a Death Foretold, but that for a diametrically opposite reason: "Because I have suffered it."
Luisa's reasons may bother her son. But, as he had described Ursula according to his parameters, as a woman rather than in submission to God, with an attitude of combat towards him, he must have understood it. With the stories he hunted on the fly, García Márquez began to build his flag methods: "The key lies in knowing how to screw the lies", he confessed to the writer to Tatis Guerra.
The same had happened with Melquiades. He was the living portrait of his grandfather, Colonel Nicolás Márquez, a military man between alchemist and healer, fond of designing goldfish in his workshop and founding villages. Melquiades has two bases: "His grandfather and Nostradamus," says Tatis. "He told me in 1992 during the first interview I did," he adds. They had met before he went around the world with his prize in Stockholm. But then there were several who completed that first encounter. "I've given you for a book," the writer told him.
A work that Tatis has been writing since he met him the first time. Now it's done. That's The yellow flower of the conjuror. The portrait of a man who knew how to take advantage of his natural genius as a novelist between the poetic impulse and the journalist's precision. An eminent liar who upon receiving the news of his Nobel award did not hesitate to exclaim: "Shit, they believed it!".