Obituary of María Codama, widow of Jorge Luis Borges: so fragile, it seemed immortal

Matt Kodama Mary Kodama, a large part of the life of Jorge Luis Borges, whom he cared for as if he had every kinship with him, as well as that rare kinship, not yet named, which he might have found to define. It was like scared, white, scared, Sensitive and delicate womanHe also has an inner order capable of destroying certainty at a glance, if he refers to the life of Borges, or to her personal life with Borges. The one time I was fortunate enough to meet her without Borges already there, connected to her memory and the reality she wanted for her autobiography, as lifeguard to the most important Spanish-language writer of the twentieth century, I I’m drunkAnd it was forever. Although she was not right.

It was for a variety of reasons. Mary Kodama He had many friends in Spain, Madrid and Cordoba as well. Here the error occurred that now, after so many years, I can say, Oh, without getting angry. Borges was in Madrid at the invitation of his publishers at the time Liberation Alliance. And the publishing house, whose director was Javier Pradera, found that the brilliant blind man did not have the company to walk around the city to dinner, for example. and to Pradera, who was also of high rank Country, It occurred to him that I should play the king myself.

Kodama editor asked. Kodama in Cordoba & rdquor;. So we replaced it, we replaced it, because even my daughter, who is six years old, accompanied that wonderful guy to a restaurant where, in addition, they served a dish forbidden to a blind person: Fishesoise. In the car he was singing Icelandic tunes, asking for each one’s nicknames (he liked my mother, Calzadilla, because sometime in Your genealogy journey There was one like him), and, of course, for everything that happened to him. He was as funny as he was unreserved, so at one point he even asked me to iron his underwear and shirt so they would be thoroughly cleaned when he left the next day.

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Anyway, it’s time for lunch, dinner. He has to be frugal because he can’t hold food. But what he asked for was the most dangerous thing for the blind man: Damned Fishesoise. This French terry food could only be eaten if someone had the dexterity with a spoon, and was forbidden to do so. So this historian was playing around with that wit, while interrupting whatever he was up to Tell it happened.

The next day I was still with him, and had the best impression of a person who, on account of his quality and length, could have sent me off to leave as soon as I had left him in the room. What happened to Mario Vargas Llosa did not occur to me that I had asked him in Lima to take him to urinate. (“You will be my leader”) to tell him afterwards that, since he had spoken to him of the affairs of the house, he ought to have been, in addition to the novelist, “an estate agent ”

There were many anecdotes from those hours with Borges. And since we, as journalists, are curious, I wanted to tell Kodama about them on the day we met at the palace in Madrid. I started by saying:

– Once I was in Cordoba and Borges was alone in Madrid and mldr;

He stopped me in my tracks (in my tracks) and gave me this warning:

Borges was not left alone anywhere.

It was true. Those words were true. In front of her, anything that would stop her relationship with Borges must be part of her determination, and immediately, forever, I never told her again what happened to the Committee, on the other hand, very nice, unforgettable, by Javier Pradera.

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Now that she is dead Tough and wonderful woman, which seemed so fragile and immortal, I remember it in other happy states, though that did not cease to make me happy either, for Kodama later took me into pleasant hours of reasonable confidence. Once he returned to Madrid, years after his death Jorge Luis Borges, was to present a Spanish version of that book that looks like the artwork of a blind man, the graphic record of his balloon flight through the deserts of Mexico. There she told me that the kings of Spain, the former kings, told them to be careful, because the bandits were there in guerilla form and anything could happen.

“They don’t want us to go,” Borges told Kodama. “Let’s go the same!,” he continued The bold poet.

On that occasion he spoke to me a great deal about Borges. Some things I stress. It was funny because it wasn’t scary. I was looking forward to the balloon ride. Did not sleep that night! He asked me if I thought the basket would be made of plastic or bamboo. I told him to assume wicker. There was a car following the road, and you had to take a box of bottles of champagne for the people of the land you got off and a separate case to roast them for your safe arrival. You had to step on the stirrup, and remember that it was like that as a boy “Excellent rider & rdquor;. He said to the person who helped him get on the stirrups: “You are so big, you can step on me if I can’t get through.

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I told Kodama that this trip represented Borges. She was already at the stage where she would say anything to a journalist, because she was no longer that gossip who kept telling her that she once usurped Kodama’s presence. So she told me things that ran through my head later like The simplest explanation for his love for BorgesTo take care of him, to pamper him, not to leave him in the sun and shade, and to take care of his rights as if it were his soul, and his soul as if it were his hair. “He was never interested in other things,” he told me, “other than discoveries or things which he read and which later became a fact which amazed him.”

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This fascination with Borges was like a lifelong fascination for Borges. For years I have been among those who still tend to reject her, because she was or distant or unfriendly, that this was because she was in charge of a treasure. And that man was a treasure who had no better guardian than this woman who will now continue, in the stars, to observe Borges, who will also be awake on a kite balloon bearing the verses that made him. The most amazing manof the most beautiful fictions, most certain and sensitive, of those made in the century Borges did better than he did.

Thanks to Kodama, too, at The crucial part of the farewell. This time it was her turn, and I saw her nodding her head, held by Borges, encouraged by Borges, and her eyes, dressed like Borges, at the place where she wanted to sit because it was the only place in the world where she could see the color yellow. Good.

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