2001, May, 22. Havana. Time uncertain, after 05:34 h (position inferred).
Here Ivan Walsh stops writing.
Not because he cannot remember what comes next.
He remembers too much.
What he does not know is how to name it without spoiling it.
For years he thought he had learned something about sex that night.
Now he thinks he learned something about power.
The judge had the photograph.
The policeman had the ID.
He had dollars.
Maikel had his body.
Each used what they had.
The difference is that some things can be kept in a pocket and others cannot.
He thinks of the Polaroid.
The face slowly appearing on the white rectangle.
«I have you in my sights».
Many years later Casey will show him photographs of dead men, and he will think first of that image.
Not of the dead.
Of Maikel alive.
Waiting for his own face to finish appearing.
And then he will understand something he could not have known in 2001:
before the Virgin of the Pilgrims learned to choose those who looked at images, other systems had spent centuries doing exactly the opposite.
They chose the people who were to be looked at.
Archive.
Case file.
Record.
Portrait.
Polaroid.
A face serves to recognize someone.
It also serves to keep them from disappearing.
He does not know where that photo of Maikel ended up.
For a long time he thought that question did not matter.
Not anymore.
2001, May, 22. Havana. Time uncertain, after 05:34 h (position inferred).
Here Ivan Walsh stops writing.
Not because he cannot remember what comes next.
He remembers too much.
What he does not know is how to name it without spoiling it.
For years he thought he had learned something about sex that night.
Now he thinks he learned something about power.
The judge had the photograph.
The policeman had the ID.
He had dollars.
Maikel had his body.
Each used what they had.
The difference is that some things can be kept in a pocket and others cannot.
He thinks of the Polaroid.
The face slowly appearing on the white rectangle.
«I have you in my sights».
Many years later Casey will show him photographs of dead men, and he will think first of that image.
Not of the dead.
Of Maikel alive.
Waiting for his own face to finish appearing.
And then he will understand something he could not have known in 2001:
before the Virgin of the Pilgrims learned to choose those who looked at images, other systems had spent centuries doing exactly the opposite.
They chose the people who were to be looked at.
Archive.
Case file.
Record.
Portrait.
Polaroid.
A face serves to recognize someone.
It also serves to keep them from disappearing.
He does not know where that photo of Maikel ended up.
For a long time he thought that question did not matter.
Not anymore.
2001, mayo, 22. La Habana. Hora incierta, posterior a las 05:34 h (posición deducida).
Aquí Ivan Walsh deja de escribir.
No porque no recuerde lo que sigue.
Recuerda demasiado.
Lo que no sabe es cómo nombrar aquello sin estropearlo.
Durante años pensó que aquella noche había aprendido algo sobre sexo.
Ahora cree que aprendió algo sobre poder.
La juez tenía la fotografía.
El policía tenía la credencial.
Él tenía dólares.
Maikel tenía su cuerpo.
Cada uno utilizó lo que tenía.
La diferencia es que algunas cosas se pueden guardar en un bolsillo y otras no.
Piensa en la Polaroid.
La cara apareciendo lentamente sobre el rectángulo blanco.
«Te tengo en la mira».
Muchos años después Casey le enseñará fotografías de hombres muertos y él pensará primero en esa imagen.
No en los muertos.
En Maikel vivo.
Esperando que su propio rostro terminara de aparecer.
Y entonces comprenderá algo que en 2001 no podía saber:
antes de que La Virgen de los Peregrinos aprendiera a escoger a quienes miraban imágenes, otros sistemas llevaban siglos haciendo exactamente lo contrario.
Escogían a las personas que debían ser miradas.
Archivo.
Expediente.
Ficha.
Retrato.
Polaroid.
Una cara sirve para reconocer a alguien.
También sirve para no permitirle desaparecer.
No sabe dónde terminó aquella foto de Maikel.
Durante mucho tiempo pensó que ésa era una pregunta sin importancia.
Ya no.