SECTION TWO
SM
COLUMN FORTY-EIGHT, AUGUST 1, 1999
(Copyright (c) 1999 Al Aronowitz)

MANUEL MENÉNDEZ

THE SAGA OF MANUEL MENÉNDEZ

PART 11: BROKE AND DEPRESSED IN LONDON

It was more than 10 years ago that I decided in retrospect that the U.S. surgeon-general's report was absolutely right.  That was some 25 years after the surgeon-general's report came out, which was the year I started smoking cigarettes.  Obviously, I should have heeded the surgeon-general's report when it came out.  Because smoking insults the body's cells.  In other words, smoke is anti-life.  I quit smoking EVERYTHING in the mid-'80s---cigarettes, cocaine freebase and marijuana.

Lately, however, I've found my own Alice B. Toklas, who keeps me supplied with an occasional pot cookie, which I eagerly devour.  Why?  First of all, I don't want any evidence lying around the house.  But mostly, because I find it helps me write.  Writers have always needed some sort of intoxicant in order to write.  Hemingway and Faulkner are the ones who immediately come to mind but there were and are so many others.  Although they weren't potheads, they were lushes.  The best writers have always had to get drunk to pour their souls out on paper.

Manuel Menédez, it turns out, is both a pothead and something of a lush, although he can ill afford either drink or dope.  So my Alice B. Toklas has taken it upon herself to send him a couple of numbers every once in a while and Manuel appeals to his readers to do the same.  Send him an e at eserista@hotmail.com to learn his postal address.  But remember.  Only one number per envelope is recommended for safety's sake.

Still crippled by his fall on the stairway and still broke and out of a job, Manuel continues to write, no matter how bad the pain from his injuries.  He's also daydreaming about winning the "Planeta" prize for Spanish literature, which may or may not be something akin to me daydreaming about winning the lotto.

You can learn more about Manuel's travails in the following email, the continuity of which was interrupted when I brought my computer to Comp USA and to Staples for repair.  Between the two of them, they managed to erase a portion of my hard disk and all of Manuel' emails between December, 1998 and April. 1999.

* * *

Subject: Keyboard
Date: Tue, 24 Nov 1998 09:36:37 PST
From: "manuel menendez" <manuel_menendez@hotmail.com>
To: info@blacklistedjournalist.com

24/11/98 

. . .I'm in pain, and when I type both of my shoulders hurt.

  Manuel.-

* * *

 

Subject: Corrections, impossible
Date: Sun, 29 Nov 1998 08:22:23 PST
From: "manuel menendez" <manuel_menendez@hotmail.com>
To: info@blacklistedjournalist.com  

29/11/98.

Maestro:

 . ..But you, see, I can't make corrections on the stuff you send me back.  The cursor won't move.  You know, I hate Bill Gates.  But if the two Steves had been less nerdy and more bussinessmanlike, the main PC in the world would be the Macintosh.  They should have given away their operative system, as IBM did.

Take care:

Manuel.-

* * *

Subject:
Date: Sun, 06 Dec 1998 03:41:06 PST
From: "manuel menendez" <manuel_menendez@hotmail.com>
To: info@blacklistedjournalist.com  

6/12/98.

Maestro:

The words in questión are "Congo Munanga," which is one of many black criminal gangs tied together by blood oaths; they evolved from the secret societies of the African slaves.  Just change that name, write instead "Efi Etete," it really doesn't matter.  That's another gang.  As for "mecagüendiez", eliminate the word altogether, it's irrelevant; leave just "two tone shoes."  I hope those are the only difficulties, the rest of the text I think it's all English.  From now on I'll try to send you the hard copy.  As for the birthday card and the 10 quid, never  received it, no matter, I appreciate it just the same.

Take care:

Manuel.-

* * *

Subject: Sunday blues
Date: Sun, 06 Dec 1998 04:01:30 PST
From: "manuel menendez" <manuel_menendez@hotmail.com>
To: info@blacklistedjournalist.com

  6/12/98.

If all the sadness I feel were equally distributed among the 59 million inhabitants of the United Kingdom, nobody would smile again in this country.

It's a beautiful Sunday, cold but sunny and a pale blue sky rare in London winters. I spent all night dreaming the surgeon was amputating my arm in cold blood, and it was the pain that penetrated the fog of my Nozinan sleeping pills.

I went for a walk, all the way to the drugstore at Upper Clapton, about 15 blocks from here.  It was a radiant morning, but the long walk didn't dissipate my sadness, on the contrary.  When I came back here to this sordid, dirty room, I tried to cry, to see if it brought some relief, but I had forgotten how, I just sounded like a dog howling.

Don't ask me why I feel this way: depression  is the cancer of the mind.

Take care you-all:

Manuel.-

* * *

Subject: The policy of bombing.
Date: Sun, 20 Dec 1998 09:46:18 PST
From: "manuel menendez" <manuel_menendez@hotmail.com>
To: andrew.hill@capgemini.uk.co
CC: RMadri7239@aol.com  

Sunday, 20/12/98.
(Before 2Kb)  

Mite:

The strikes were surgical, precise, and  there was plenty warning for people not to stay around at night.  Only 68 dead in all.  The F18-A Hornets, F-14 Tomcats and a couple B-1s that took part in the four days raid dislodged exactly aimed smart bombs, against well known Saddam's military and repressive corps facilities.  And the Tomahawk cruise missiles were used only when the targets were big enough as to not harm civilians.  It had to be done.  This maniac has a whole 2 million Iraquis hostage, under the circumstances, the attacks were if anything humanitary, to free them.  The US could have crippled Basra refinery, cutting Iraq's lifeline, the 1.3 million barrels a day allowed by the UN.  But the attacks didn't.  They were squeamish to the point of respecting Ramadan.

If Tony Blair had struck on his own, he would be now a hero.  But he hadn't the airpower---his Tornados and Harriers technological shit.  So he followed in the wake of the Yanks, so he's an imperialist tool.  How fast the Brits forget that the Yanks---alienating in the process the whole hemisphere---supported them in their just war to reclaim the Falklands-Malvinas from a despicable Argentinian junta.

Memory is brief, and certainly not a matter of alliances. I don't like Blair in particular, but I think he showed guts this time.  It had to be done.  The US simply could afford 7 billion sending, aircraft carriers every time Saddam expelled the UN observers.

It's a simplistic notion to say that Saddam is just another madman like Khadaffi.  He may be stupid in his foreign policy, like starting an unwinnable war against Iran, and later invading Kuwait.  Had he bided his time instead, by now he would have an atomic bomb, Mustard and Sarin gas, Botulism and Plague warheads, and enough Chinese and North Korean Scud missiles to wipe the whole Middle East, Israel of course the main target.  Not a madman, but a cunning, cruel, unscrupulous, politician that conducted human experiments on Iranian POWs, like Eichmann watching the Jews dying in the gas chambers.

What the Americans did was the right thing, and it was only moral for the UK to follow.  So we disagree.  Which doesn't mean I don't love you the same as Mr. Al.  Called him on the phone but was too stoned to understand me.

Take care:

Manuel

* * *



Subject: BBC test.
Date: Fri, 16 Apr 1999 15:40:20 PDT
From: "manuel menendez" <eserista@hotmail.com>
To: info@blacklistedjournalist.com  

Friday, April 16, 1999.

Mites:

I think I passed with flying colors the test, even the double handicap of using a single hand and an IBM keyboard and mouse I was unfamiliar with.  Even so, I finished before the time limit.  In normal conditions I would have done it in half the allotted time of 5 hours.  When my test is scored and I'm approved only lasts a formality, an interview in English with some honcho.  That's OK with me, for I'm more fluent right now in English than in Spanish, which feels to me like a straight jacket.

That doesn't mean I'm going to be hired, neither full nor part-time: I'll be just part of a pool of eventuals that can be called once in a while when a regular staffer misses.  But even so, it's a step forward.  The girl in the Recruitment Office told me to buy The Guardian Mondays in the next four weeks, because perhaps they'll announce a vacancy during the next month.  Let's see if luck gives me a break.  It's hard time, because I have 20 pence left in my pocket, and I don't know how I'll last until I get the dole.  And I still have to pay this month the phone bill and the bank's loan.

The key to escaping this fucking abject, degrading poverty is my book: there it is, on my bed, a big, neat package that weighs about 20 pounds, and I still have to mail it, which costs a fucking fortune.  What for?  Will I win the prize, or even be finalist, or at least get my novel published?  I just plain don't know, mites.  I did my best, and if the seven juries are so narrow-minded bigots and prudes that they discard it, at least they'll be aware that, even if they don't like it personally, it would be still the best novel in the "Planeta" contest.  Which is, by the way, the most important, or at least the best paid of the large array of Spanish literary prizes.

First thing I'll do when I get that paltry, miserable fortnightly dole, it's to post it, get it out of my system.  If they cut my phone, if my checks bounce, fuck it all.  I just had lunch and supper altogether.  You know what?  A large tomato with some onion.  It's not the Welfare system's fault.  It is my fault, 'cause I spend all my money in 9mm, high octane lager.  Nevertheless, the fact is that I'm hungry in this European Union nation, where to keep the prices stable they throw into the Atlantic Ocean the wheat, the rye, the potatoes, the eggs and milk.  So the government keeps the farmers happy with their subsidies, and keep their votes.  The dieticians talk about junk food and cholesterol, but I wish I could go down the road and buy a half pounder burger.  Perhaps them guys know about nutrition, but I know about hunger, and I know about starvation, and about hunger strikes.  I'm a PhD on unwilling fasting.

But what I really need is hard booze, and Texas Medicine, 'cause this world and age is getting so mean and obnoxious that I just want to go into cyberspace.  And write and live in a much harsher but nevertheless more satisfying times, those of my youth, when I was capable of love and sex and joy.

I just downed six big dihydrocodeins with a beer chaser, all I have at hand.  But God, let me forget about today until tomorrow.  Pass from me this cup.  Only the gaseous vertebrate works part time, and He's not available right now, or is too busy retrieving Kosovars to his ample bosom.

Take care you-all. Loves you:

Manuel.-

* * *

Subject: Novel.
Date: Mon, 17 May 1999 11:41:43 PDT
From: "manuel menendez" <eserista@hotmail.com>
To: jolyan.turrall
CC: andrew.hill  

17/5/99.

Dear Jolyan:

Did you get the 19 chapters?  How did they turn out?  You know, I'm filing for bankruptcy, and probably Cable London is going to cut next week my phone, and therefore access to the Web.  Anyway I couldn't afford it: I was paying about 50 pounds a month.

And I need to restrict myself at the maximum, because if they don't select my novel for a prize I'll have to publish it myself.  To print 500 copies cost 800 dollars.

So we won't be able to communicate, I'll be totally isolated, no e-mail, not even a phone, the last state of destitution because you can't even search for a job without having a phone.

But what I feel the most is not being able to see my own Webpage.  Well, now you have the novel, you can work at the side at leisure.  You know, it seems so good to me, but I have lost faith.  The Spanish publishers won't touch it with a ten-feet pole.

Take care:

Manuel.-

* * *

Subject: J's "
Date: Tue, 18 May 1999 10:06:58 PDT
From: "manuel menendez" <eserista@hotmail.com>
To: info@blacklistedjournalist.com  

Maestro I wait and wait and the tm don't arrive---needed desperately.

Manuel.-

* * *

Subject: Life buoy.
Date: Wed, 19 May 1999 06:25:57 PDT
From: "manuel menendez" <eserista@hotmail.com>
To: info@blacklistedjournalist.com
CC: andrew.hill  

19/5/99.

Dear Andy:

I just came from my lawyer, a great Pakistani guy, very decent, very helpful.  He gave a copy of the letters he sent already to the Midland Bank and the VISA services, telling them I'm destitute, sick, and unable to pay.  He told me not to spend 100 pounds in bankruptcy procedures, but wait till their next move.  He said that it's up to them to force me to go bankrupt, and if that's the case I have to pay nothing.  Wise guy, knows the law inside out, and speaks with an upper class accent, something rare among people of the subcontinent.

He certainly lifted a weight from my shoulders.  And his employee is going to enquire with the DSS, all papers carefully collected in his hand, to see what happened to the 40 pounds or so they cheated from me.

Everytime I hear movement I go to the slot to see if it's the tm Mr. Alice promised me.  A sacrifice for him, since he's broke too.  But mate, I'm aching for it. They say that Texas Medicine doesn't create dependency.  Bullshit.  I need it to write, to venture into the unknown, my second novel, which is progressing fast and steady.  Ahead are still the chapters about the hero in the headquarters of the Cuban KGB, the Combinado del Este penitentiary, and "Carbó Serviá," an asylum for the criminally insane.  I have to imagine nothing, because I was in the three of them.  It's just a matter of remembering the little details that give veracity to the story, that's why I need the TM for, to open my pineal gland and let the repressed memories come through in their utter brutality and squalor.  It's going be a

good book, the love story of this chap of 33 with a teenager, like "Lolita," but in the Cuban hell. Take care and don't worry, I'm Okay.  Loves you-all:

 

Manuel.-(Planeta Prize winner to be)

 

* * *

 

Subject: Johnny arrived.
Date: Fri, 21 May 1999 02:00:53 PDT
From: "manuel menendez" <eserista@hotmail.com>
To: info@blacklistedjournalist.com  

The tm just arrived.  I'll write more later on, now is too expensive.

Manuel.-

* * *

 

Subject: Promotion, Website.

Date: Fri, 21 May 1999 09:39:05 PDT

From: "manuel menendez" <eserista@hotmail.com>

To: jolyan.turrall

CC: info@blacklistedjournalist.com

 

21/05/99.

 

Dear Jolyan:

 

I 've thinking about Cable & Wireless.  You can pay the phone service by money order, but what about Virgin Net, the Internet portal?  The Internet services only accept VISA or direct debit.  And I don't have a bank account anymore.  So whichever way I try, I'll be in isolation.  I'll try to preserve the phone service at least, but I'll lose the Internet anyway.  And with it the tie to the world.

 

My main point: it's alright to advertise the novel, but the message should go straight to "Cuba Net and Links."  What I would like to say in Spanish is:

"IROKO"
Novela de la Revolución Cubana.
Autor : Manuel Menéndez (eserista@hotmail.com)
Diseño: Jolyan Turrall (rchin@iroko.free-online.co.uk)
 

Manuel Menéndez nació en La Habana en 1948, durante un huracán devastador.  Es graduado de la Escuela de Periodismo de la Universidad de La Habana.  Trabajó durante diez años en la radio cubana, nacional y de onda corta.  Sirvió un año y medio por un delito de opinión en la penitenciaría Combinado del Este, y seis meses en un asilo para criminales insanos, donde recibió dos docenas de electroshocks sin anestesia.

Fue al exilio en 1982 y desde entonces ha vivido en España, Suiza, Italia, Australia, Nueva Zelandia, los Estados Unidos, Canadá y al presente Inglaterra.  Ha publicado piezas en periódicos canadienses y norteamericanos, entre ellos The Miami Herald.

"Iroko" es su primera novela. Al principio transcurre en el GULAG cubano, los campos de concentración para homosexuales y antisociales en la provincia cubana de Camagüey en los años 60, y luego describe la fuga de la isla en una balsa, y el amargo pan del exilio.  Es sin embargo en el fondo una historia de amor: el mito de Orfeo y Eurídice en la Cuba de Castro.

Actualmente escribe otra novela: "Las fronteras son mi cárcel." Una versión cubana de Lolita en La Habana de 1990, en pleno "Período Especial," apartheid turístico y jineteo.

El siguiente libro en esta serie, sus memorias Silencio, Astucia y Exilio.  A ser también también publicados en esta Website: iroko@free-online.co.uk

* * *

Subject: Would be testament.
Date: Sat, 22 May 1999 22:01:59 PDT
From: "manuel menendez" <eserista@hotmail.com>
To: info@blacklistedjournalist.com
CC: andrew.hill  

22/5/99.

Jolyan:

Your idea is very good, but not feasible: I have only six or seven chapters in English.  How can I see the site, the little there is of it?  I have so many ideas, but don't know how to do them, how to put them in practice: even music to open the site, a song that plays a relevant part in the novel's finale: A Whiter Shade of Pale. And a counter from the start to know the hits accurately.  Photographs.  The works.

I wish it were October already, to know the result of the "Planeta" Prize.  I would like to do like Ryp van Wynkle, and go to sleep until then.  You see: when you are on trial for your life, the uncertainty kills you.  Once you got life without parole or lethal injection, you resign yourself.  I'm aware I'm making a great mistake centering so many hopes in this prize.  That maybe I get nothing at all, but I can't help but to dream.

To buy this house, have two cats and a brindle Boxer bitch.  A big screen TV with VCR and cable.  A good stereo.  To cut away the plywood division and join this room to the adjacent one, to make a bedsitter, and rent the other four rooms to cool people.  To buy all the CDs I want.  To build a wooden fence in the backyard and sow my own Texas Medicine and roses.  To take off the curtains and display in the window a human skeleton I saw in a taxidermist store.  To give every Saturday night a party in my pad, with plenty Colombian Marching Powder and TM by the ounce, and booze aplenty.

Pipe dreams, no doubt, but it's a goal worthy to fight for.  And just in case I'm going to make a will.  Me and Mr. Al will kick the bucket in a not too distant future, but you boys would live well in the 21st Century, and I'll leave you half each all my material properties and my literary rights and royalties, so you both can quit working too and pursue the ends you want.  Injun's word.  My only condition would be your moral obligation to continue keeping Mr. Al's and my own Websites.

Take care and I love you-all:

Manuel.-

* * *

Subject: Hellp!!!
Date: Tue, 25 May 1999 18:20:44 PDT
From: "manuel menendez" <eserista@hotmail.com>
To: info@blacklistedjournalist.com
CC: andrew.hil 

26/05/99.

Need TM  ASAP.  Suffering.

Manuel.-

* * *

Subject: Phone, cutting off.
Date: Thu, 27 May 1999 06:49:43 PDT
From: "manuel menendez" <eserista@hotmail.com>
To: jolyan.turrall
CC: andrew.hil 

27/05/1999.

Mates:

My phone will be disconnected on June18th.  Send me your respective addresses so we can communicate at least via snail-mail.  And Jolyan, see if you can give me phone or Wireless and cable.

Take care:

Manuel.-

* * *

Subject: Inferences, draw your own
Date: Mon, 07 Jun 1999 14:19:28 PDT
From: manuel menendez <eserista@hotmail.com>
To: info@blacklistedjournalist.com
CC: andrew.hill 

7/6/99.

Dear Sirs:

To your information, I'm still alive, but barely so.

Yours truly:

Manuel Menéndez Castellanos

* * *

Subject: How are you?
Date: Fri, 11 Jun 1999 01:30:17 PDT
From: manuel menendez <eserista@hotmail.com>
To: info@blacklistedjournalist.com  

11/6/99.

Caro Maestro:

What's going on?  Why that silence?  Is your computer broken?  Are you sick?  I'm completely broke and can't buy a phone card to call you.  If possible give me a ring, or better still, send me tm.  I haven't had a smoke for ages.  Andy and Jolyan promised to come here in this last long weekend, but didn't.  Andrew had been sick, my guess is a nervous breakdown.

I need the TM desperately because I have to go the 28th next to a trial.  I'm countersuing those Internet Pakistani bastards who ripped me off and had the gall of taking me to court, and I want to go stoned, to soothe my nerves and sharpen my mind.

Write or call, let me know how you are.  My 2nd novel was going great, but it's stalled.  I plain can't write without booze or dope, and I'm just correcting the eight chapters I have so far.

Loves you:

Manuel.

* * *

Subject: Alive!
Date: Sat, 26 Jun 1999 14:53:48 PDT
From: manuel menendez <eserista@hotmail.com>
To: blackj@bigmagic.co 

26/6/99.

Caro Maestro:

Glad to know you're alright and back to business.  After so much time without hearing from you I was worried.  Couldn't call you to check because I can't afford long distance cards.  Andrew is in Crete with his wife and children.  Of Jolyan I haven't heard in months: they both promised to come over here in Easter, none did.

Take care, loves you:

Manuel.-

* * *

Subject: S.O.S in the last stretch
Date: Sat, 03 Jul 1999 01:12:44 PDT
From: manuel menendez <eserista@hotmail.com>
To: info@blacklistedjournalist.com
CC: andrew.hill  

3/7/99.

Caro Maestro:

I need TM desperately. I'm sorry for bothering you. It's just that I'm writing one last chapter for "Iroko."  You see, there was a missing link in the second part of the novel, years unaccounted for.  So I put El Químico in the midst of Nicaragua's Civil War.  In the ranks of the Contras, of course.  So far I have written 27 pages, but I think it is the best, the most gripping chapter in the book.  El Químico goes behind the Sandinista lines and kidnaps a Cuban general.  Then the persecution when his squad tries to reach the safety of Honduras.  I tell you, I like it, sounds real, the real guerrilla warfare.

But without TM I plain can't write, I get blocked.  I hate to ask favors, and bother my only friends, but right now I'm touching button. I haven't eaten in three days, which not a bad thing; living on tea and strong lager I get on credit from the liquor store.  I owe them already 15 pounds, which I'll pay on Monday, when I get my welfare.  But it's a vicious circle.  It's impossible to drink and survive on the dole.  I had nothing more, and am taking codeine.  Yes, gives me a little high, but the secondary effects are terrible.  I developed a skin rash that doesn't let me sleep.

Counting the days until the start of October, when the winning novels are announced.  If I win, even the finalist prize, I'll never had to beg again or go without dope and beer.  Haven't read your column yet, I'll do it tomorrow.  Please help me in the last stretch on the race towards money and notoriety.

Manuel.

* * *

Subject: Phone call.
Date: Sun, 04 Jul 1999 12:47:23 PDT
From: manuel menendez <eserista@hotmail.com>
To: blackj@bigmagic.co 

4/7/99.

Sorry Maestro, I can't make long distance calls with this server, I use instead a phone card which is much cheaper.  I'm fucking, absolutely broke, and I can't stand this fucking life I'm leading any more.

Manuel.-

* * *

Subject: Nicaragua.
Date: Mon, 05 Jul 1999 23:20:10 PDT
From: manuel menendez <eserista@hotmail.com>
To: info@blacklistedjournalist.com
CC: andrew.hill 

6/7/99.

Dears Andy and Mr. Al:

If I had included the present Nicaragua chapter in the novel I sent to Spain, I have no doubt I would have gotten the prize.  It's gory, violent, but I have managed to imagine and reproduce the landscape and the combats and skirmishes in those little details that lend authenticity and realism to the story.  The acid taste of fear in your throat.  It's a shame it's in Spanish and you can't read it as it is.  I can feel it, the mosquitoes, the flies, the leeches, the weight of the knapsacks, the adrenaline of fighting, recreating it as I go.  All the years I spent in the army are giving fruit now.  I have 27 pages so far, and once finished this chapter, ahead lies the worst part: proofreading and correcting, which I hate.  See if you can spare a little TM, I wish I had some now, to feel my pineal gland opening like a lotus or the shutter of a camera.

Take care you both:

Manuel.

* * *

Subject: Back on line.
Date: Thu, 15 Jul 1999 09:44:17 PDT
From: "manuel menendez" <eserista@hotmail.com>
To: info@blacklistedjournalist.com  

Thursday 15 July, 1999.

Deah Mistah Al:

I'se back on circulation.  The powers in the Web gave me my tongue again.  And since I can't afford newspapers or magazines, at least I get on the server the sites of USA Today and NBC, so I have a size of ball of what's going on outside this dirty ghetto, and into the dirty world at large.

As soon as I finish this letter I'm going to finish the last chapter of "Iroko," about El Químico turned Contra in Nicaragua.  Thanks to the remains of your kind remittance.

This I promise, cross my heart, so help me Gawd: if I win anything at the "Planeta Prize," I'll visit you in Elizabeth and from there I'll go and see my Cuban mite in Cincinnati.

In the meantime: send me whatever you can, even half a number: I can't count anymore on Andy, and Ms. Alice is my only source.

Felt deeply offended about your phone innuendoes about Catholic priests.  Even if I don't believe in the Gaseous Vertebrate or in Ben Pantera, aka Jesus Christ, nevertheless am a sort of Catholic myself.  I like the liturgy, the ritual, even the dogma.  And I respect immensely Catholic priests.  Sure, 33% of them are buggers and child molesters.  But if I could rewind the clock 34 years, I would enter a seminary.  Maybe I will yet, who knows?  You can be admitted until 52, under the late vocation deal.

Loves you, and help finish this neverending novel and the proofreading, and continue the second one.  Depends on the supply and the flimsy credit in the liquor store.

Love:

Manuel.-  ##

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