Tiempo sin lluvia: A Memory Text by josefinavidalmiranda

TIEMPO SIN LLUVIA A Memory Text

Josefina Vidal M.

TIEMPO SIN LLUVIA A Memory Text

This book is a reinterpretation of my reading of the novel The Long Dry by the author Cynan Jones. The next pages show the dialogue that I had with this novel. It is composed of my own reflections from the reading, ideas shared by members of the book club with which I discussed the novel, quotes from the book, and analogue photos that illustrate the mental images that formed in my mind while reading. By using these materials, I develop a personal mnemonic space, a textual and visual depository of my memories around The Long Dry.

The horizon What is this book about? Alejandro, one of the guides of the book club, asked this question during the session where we commented The Long Dry by the Welsh author Cynan Jones. I’ve been part of this book club since 2018, and this session was one of the most fruitful discussions to date. The Long Dry is about one day in the countryside. One day opens many topics related to life itself and its complexities. This novel talks about the intrinsic relationship between humans, animals and the Earth. Dryness crosses these three elements. The lack of fluidity results in long silences and miscommunication among the characters. Outside, it doesn’t rain; the animals are sick, and the land is barren. Even though I feel the countryside is very far away from where I’ve been, I felt this book very close to what I am. In the narration of this book, there is a time that runs outside the characters, and a time that runs on the inside. The exterior is about one day in the countryside and all the intense labour around it. The interior is about their thoughts and memories. These two tempos are representative of how we live our life; our mind is not always on the present.

I wanted to do this exercise of memory with this novel because it was my first reading during my stay at the beach. From being isolated, surrounded by mountains in Santiago, to being at the beach in a house with a view of the ocean, I strongly believe that my mind calms down and opens up when I can see the horizon. As Jazmina Barrera wrote in her book On Lighthouses, “When I was taking art classes, I learned that my mind often follows the lead of my eyes, and if I restrict my gaze for too long, my thoughts become myopic”. Doing a memory exercise requires personal exploration, an exercise that I’m doing close to the sea even when the book is about a long drought.

During the session Josefa summarized what this novel is about: â&#x20AC;&#x153;I had the feeling that the author was making a parallel between humans, animals and the Earth; everything that had to do with the sterile, the sick. He drew a line through these three elements.â&#x20AC;?

I. Humans I know that if I had read this book some months ago, I would have put my attention to other elements in the novel. Maybe I would have focused more on the relationship between Gareth and Kate because I was in the middle of a break-up with my ex-partner. I felt a kind of release to be outside of this problem. At the beginning of September, I read The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath, a book that shows the depression of the author. I remember that while reading, I identified with certain reflections of the author and this made me realise how unhappy I was in my own relationship at the time. I felt caught in the glass bell jar. I was continually waiting for something to happen between us, something that would change our relationship and make me happier. During the session of the book club, Antonia spoke about the mismatch between the characters and the lack of synchrony that comes and goes in relationships in general. I believe that is what I was thinkingâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;that my unhappiness and discontent with my partner was something temporary, that I had to wait for something to happen between us that would make us both feel aligned again. Loreto, the oldest participant in the book club, posed the question: how do I make love last for so many years? I think about this question a lot. My parents are still together after 33 years of marriage. I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t know if I will be able to love someone during that long.

“A voice in him says: this is the simple cowardice that breaks us all eventually; a breaking of the surface strength, when you run out of the things that make you want. When you think of everything, of every other way to change a thing other than taking it head on. He just wishes Kate was better. That she would laugh, or walk unnecessarily in the sun, or simply love him back—which in the end amounts to tolerating what he feels for her. The idea of thirty more years with her… we live too long, he thinks. We’re expected to love too much and too long. He mustn’t be like this, he thinks, he mustn’t let this dark thing take him: this ever-hungry, very close big cloud of not caring anymore, and of not wanting. This is the enemy which must be fought until the end.”

elpmis eht si siht :syas mih ni eciov A“ ;yllautneve lla su skaerb taht ecidrawoc nehw ,htgnerts ecafrus eht fo gnikaerb a uoy ekam taht sgniht eht fo tuo nur uoy fo ,gnihtyreve fo kniht uoy nehW .tnaw rehto gniht a egnahc ot yaw rehto yreve etaK sehsiw tsuj eH .no daeh ti gnikat naht klaw ro ,hgual dluow ehs tahT .retteb saw evol ylpmis ro ,nus eht ni ylirassecennu ot stnuoma dne eht ni hcihw—kcab mih aedi ehT .reh rof sleef eh tahw gnitarelot oot evil ew …reh htiw sraey erom ytriht fo oot evol ot detcepxe er’eW .skniht eh ,gnol ,siht ekil eb t’ntsum eH .gnol oot dna hcum gniht krad siht tel t’ntsum eh ,skniht eh gib esolc yrev ,yrgnuh-reve siht :mih ekat ton fo dna ,eromyna gnirac ton fo duolc tsum hcihw ymene eht si sihT .gnitnaw ”.dne eht litnu thguof eb

Women are in a permanent dynamic of fight and reconciliation with their bodies. Even when we consider ourselves feminists and we try to embrace our bodies, we are still affected by the stereotypes of the perfect figure that the mass media imposes. My friends and I are close to our thirties and we see in our bodies signals that show that we are not so young anymore. Grey hair and wrinkles start to appear, and digestion slows down. I think that we, as women, have the responsibility to talk about these topics—to talk about the changes; to normalise the heterogeneity of the bodies. To make space to discuss these topics. Self-esteem is something that has to be rebuilt and affirmed every day. Some months ago I read a text by Natalia Ginzburg about women that hit me hard. “Women have a bad habit: they sometimes fall down a well; they are seized by a horrid sense of melancholia, drown in it, and struggle to come back to the surface. This is the real problem afflicting women. Women are often ashamed of having this problem and pretend not to have any issues whatsoever and to be energetic and free, and walk around with steady steps and enormous hats and pretty dresses and painted lips and an assertive and scornful attitude. However, I never got round to meeting a woman who did not, after a little while, reveal something painful and pitiful that simply cannot be found in men—a continuous falling down a deep, dark well, something that is typical of feminine disposition and perhaps originates from an age-long tradition of subjection and subjugation which is not easy to win over. (…) Two women sympathize with one another very well when they start talking about the dark well, they have fallen into and they usually exchange many observations about the wells and the absolute inability they feel they have to communicate with other people and to be up to anything good and about the struggles to come back onto the water’s surface.” I have known many women; my family is mostly female, and I went to a girls’ school. My undergraduate was in Design, where the 80% of the students were women, and I could recognize so easily, in me and the women I know, this tendency to fall down a well. 12

“She’s started this, now. This way of thinking—as if she’s talking aloud with herself as if she is a face framed in a mirror talking back to her. A means of control, or of measure. Of trying to make sense. Women get old quickly, when they get old. She feels her body moving under the rough cloth of his shirt, which she has thrown on to be out of bed. In the mirror, behind her, the unmade bed. She feels her body is soft and filled with water and dropping with age, and there is no way he can look at her now and feel the things he has felt for her in the past. He will want her because of his care for her now, not out of desire. It’s like being allowed to win a game. He can’t possibly want her body. She wonders about cutting her hair short again.”

-kniht fo yaw sihT .won ,siht detrats s’ehS“ flesreh htiw duola gniklat s’ehs fi sa—gni Women are in a permanent dynamic of fight and reconciliation with their bodies. Even when-k welconsider at rorourselves rim afeminists ni deand mwe artry f etocembrace af a sour i ebodies, hs fiwesare a still affected by the stereotypes of the perfect figure that the mass media imposes. My friends fo ro ,lortnoc fo snaem A .reh ot kcab gni and I are close to our thirties and we see in our bodies signals that show that we are not so young down. -manymore. oW .eGrey snhair es and ekwrinkles am ostart t gtonappear, iyrt and fOdigestion .erusslows aem .dlo teg yeht nehw ,ylkciuq dlo teg ne I think that we, as women, have the responsibility to talk about these topics—to talk about the changes; to normalise the heterogeneity of the bodies. To make space to discuss these topics. Self-esteem is something that has to be rebuilt and affirmed every day.

hguor eht rednu gnivom ydob reh sleef ehS Somenmonths agot I sread Natalia worh aha text ehsby h cihGinzburg w ,triabout hs swomen ih fothathhittome lchard. “Women have a bad habit: they sometimes fall down a well; they are seized by a horrid dniheb ,rorrim eht nI .deb fo tuo eb ot no sense of melancholia, drown in it, and struggle to come back to the surface. This is the real problem this ydobafflicting reh women. sleefWomen ehS are.doften eb ashamed edamofnhaving u eh t problem ,reh and pretend not to have any issues whatsoever and to be energetic and free, and walk around gnippord dna retaw htiw dellfi dna tfos si with steady steps and enormous hats and pretty dresses and painted lips and an assertive and scornful I never to tmeeting who did not, kool attitude. nac eHowever, h yaw on got siround ereh dnaa ,woman ega h tiw after a little while, reveal something painful and pitiful that simply cannot be found in tlef sah eh sgniht eht leef dna won reh ta men—a continuous falling down a deep, dark well, something that is typical of feminine disposition fromean -eb and rehperhaps tnaoriginates w lliw Hage-long .tsaptradition eht ofnsubjection i reh and rofsubjugation which is not easy to win over. (…) Two women sympathize with one another very -ed fo tuo ton ,won reh rof erac sih fo esuac well when they start talking about the dark well, they have fallen into and they usually exchange theie absolute .emmany ag observations a niw oabout t dethe wwells ollaandgn b ekiinability l s’tIthey .erfeel is they have to communicate with other people and to be up to anything good and about the -now ehS .ydob reh tnaw ylbissop t’nac eH struggles to come back onto the water’s surface.” I have known many women; my family is mostly ”.female, niagand a tI rwent ohtos argirls’ iahschool. rehMygundergraduate nittuc tuwas obinaDesign, sredwhere the 80% of the students were women, and I could recognize so easily, in me and the women I know, this tendency to fall down a well. 14

II. Animals The first time that I saw cows in their natural environment was through a bus window on a trip to the south of Chile. “Look at the cows!”, I shouted to Isabel, my friend, who was on the bus next to me. She was born in Puerto Varas, a little town in the south of Chile, where the fields are full of cows, as the streets are filled with pets in the city. She looked at me disinterestedly. I was 16, and I remember that moment because it was then I realised how different were the places where we grew up. On Cows and Men by Ana Paula Maia was another of the books that we read this year in the book club. In that session, I was invited to speak first because they know that I have a plant-based diet, since I’m very sensitive with animals. I remember that I cried when I was reading the book with a description of the eyes of the cows when they are killed in the slaughterhouse. Many years ago, I decided, for my wellbeing, that I will not watch any films related with animal suffering because I tend to dwell in the sadness for days and weeks. During the reading, I asked myself if I wanted to continue with the book or not and I decided to read it entirely in order to be able to discuss it in the club. When I think about cows, I think about maternity. Cows have a deep sense of motherhood; they give the best milk to their babies, and they suffer deeply when they are separated from their calves in the dairy industry. Despite the fact that I’m not sure if I want to be a mother or not, I appreciate this sense of love and care between animal mothers and their offspring. In the dairy industry, calves are separated from their mothers less than 24 hours after they are born, and the mother moos for days or weeks on end. Animals can feel melancholy for a long time, just like humans. I feel out of place when I wallow just by thinking about their grief. The countryside in Chile is full of cows, but there is no romanticism in their presence grazing the fields, quite the contrary—they are bred for the meat and dairy industry. In the city, I feel that I’m far away from that suffering and I feel a shallow sense of relief. 18

“With the light of the torch he found the stillborn calf dead in the straw of the barn. He rubbed the stump of his missing finger. He could see the cows’ breath in the morning air—which even then was cold—and a warm steam off some of their bodies. The mother of the stillborn calf was kneeling beside the calf lowing sadly and gently. The other animals hissed and puffed and chewed straw. He took the dead calf by its ankles and lifted it from the straw that was bloodied by birth, not by the calf’s death. It was strange because the mother had licked the calf clean. He thought of the mother cow licking her calf and not understanding why it would not stand clumsily to its feet, its legs out of proportion, its eyes wide. Why the incredible tottering new life of it did not come.” 19

eht dnuof eh hcrot eht fo thgil eht htiW“ eht fo warts eht ni daed flac nrobllits -ssim sih fo pmuts eht debbur eH .nrab The first time that I saw cows in their natural environment was through a bus window on a h tripta toethe of Chile. rbsouth ’sw oc e“Look ht eatethe s cows!”, dluoI cshouted eH to.rIsabel, egnmy fi friend, gni who was on the bus next to me. She was born in Puerto Varas, a little town in the south of saw neht neve hcihw—ria gninrom eht ni Chile, where the fields are full of cows, as the streets are filled with pets in the city. She looked waso16, was riateme htdisinterestedly. fo emosI ff mand aeI remember ts mrathat wmoment a dnbecause a—ditlo c then I realised how different were the places where we grew up. flac nrobllits eht fo rehtom ehT .seidob On Cows byiAna yldand asMen gn woPaula l flMaia ac ewas hanother t edisofethe b books gnithat leewe nread k sthis awyear in the book club. In that session, I was invited to speak first because they know that I have dna dessih slamina rehto ehT .yltneg dna a plant-based diet, since I’m very sensitive with animals. I remember that I cried when I was reading the book with a description theccows arepkilled .wartofsthedeyes ewofeh dnwhen a dethey ffu II. Animals

in the slaughterhouse. Many years ago, I decided, for my wellbeing, that I will not watch any films related with animal suffering because I tend to dwell in the sadness for days and weeks. book or dnaDuring selkthenreading, a stiI asked yb myself flacif Idwanted aed toecontinue ht kowith ot theeH not and I decided to read it entirely in order to be able to discuss it in the club.

deidoolb saw taht warts eht morf ti detfil WhensIathink think Cows w tabout I .hcows, taeI d s’about flacmaternity. eht y b thave ona deep ,htsense rib ofymotherb hood; they give the best milk to their babies, and they suffer deeply when they are sepadekcil dah rehtom eht esuaceb egnarts rated from their calves in the dairy industry. Despite the fact that I’m not sure if I want to be a mother not, Ieappreciate rehtorom ht fo this thsense guoofhlove t eand Hcare .nbetween aelc animal flacmothers eht and their offspring. In the dairy industry, calves are separated from their mothers less than -dnatsrednu ton dna flac reh gnikcil woc 24 hours after they are born, and the mother moos for days or weeks on end. Animals can feel time, when I wallow otmelancholy ylismfor ulaclong dn atjust s tlike onhumans. dluIofeel wouttiofyplace hw gn i just by thinking about their grief. seye sti ,noitroporp fo tuo sgel sti ,teef sti The countryside in iChile wen gn retistofull t ofelcows, bidbut erthere cniis enohromanticism t yhWin .their edipresence w grazing the fields, quite the contrary—they are bred for the meat and dairy industry. In ”.emoc ton did ti fo efil the city, I feel that I’m far away from that suffering and I feel a shallow sense of relief. 20

Since I was four years old, I’ve had dogs. They have been treated like another member of the family. The first dog was Max, a Wirehaired Terrier that my parents bought for my brother and I, after choosing the breed from an encyclopaedia that we had in the house. He only was four years with us because he got sick after eating mouse poison residues. I was eight years old and my first dog had to be sacrificed. I still remember those sad days at home after his death. Later we had Canela, a beautiful chocolate brown with green eyes Labrador that was with us for 16 years. She was the sweetest and most educated dog that I have met. After the experience with Max, we decided that Canela would be sacrificed at home, accompanied by us, her family. On her last day, my mom prepared her favourite food—a thick chicken and rice soup, before she fell asleep forever. In the moment of her death, I remember seeing my father crying, and I have only seen him crying once before, when his father died. Months later, I went to the cinema to watch the documentary by Laurie Anderson The Heart of a Dog. I experienced a catharsis during the film—I couldn’t stop crying because of the beauty and the profoundness of the images that portray so honestly the experience of loss of a beloved pet.

“‘What’s in the injection?’ asked Emmy. He didn’t want to say. Brutally, he had a picture of the little girl leading the dog round by the ear, many years ago. ‘It’s a medicine that will make his heart go slower and slower; and then it will stop.’ He didn’t have to say that it wouldn’t hurt the dog because of the way he said this thing. ‘Like when it stops raining?’ she said. Nothing had ever moved him more in his life than the beautiful questions of children.”

Since I was four years old, I’ve had dogs. They have been treated like another member of the family. The first dog was Max, a Wirehaired Terrier that my parents bought for my

.yand mm E choosing deksathe ’breed ?nofrom itcan ejencyclopaedia ni eht nthat i swe’thad ahinW brother I, after the‘“ house. He only hea got poison dawas h four ehyears ,ywith llatusubecause rB .y s sick otafter tneating awmouse t’nd id eresidues. H I

was eight years old and my first dog had to be sacrificed. I still remember those sad days

goafter d ehis htdeath. gnidael at home

lrig elttil eht fo erutcip a .oga sraey ynam ,rae eht yb dnuor

Later we had Canela, a beautiful chocolate brown with green eyes Labrador that was with us for 16 years. She was the sweetest and most educated dog that I have met. After the experience Canela would beisacrificed home, og traewith h Max, sihweekdecided am that lliw tah t en cidemat a s’taccomI‘ panied by us, her family. On her last day, my mom prepared her favourite food—a thick

’.pand otsricellsoup, iw before ti nshe ehfellt asleep dnaforever. ;rewInothe lsmoment dna ofreherwdeath, ols I rechicken

member t’nseeing dluomywfather ti crying, tahand t yI have as only ot seen evhim ahcrying t’nonce didbefore, eHwhen his father died. Months later, I went to the cinema to watch the documentary by Laurie

diaThe s eHeart h yofaa w t fo esa u acebduring godthe efilm—I ht tcouldn’t ruh stop Anderson Dog.e Ih experienced catharsis crying because of the beauty and the profoundness of the images.g that niportray ht sisohhonestt ly the experience of loss of a beloved pet.

-htoN .dias ehs ’?gniniar spots ti nehw ekiL‘ efil sih ni erom mih devom reve dah gni ”.nerdlihc fo snoitseuq lufituaeb eht naht

III. The Earth The social isolation due to coronavirus has emptied city streets. We have seen pictures of places where nature and the animals have retaken their territories. In Santiago for a couple of days a puma was hanging around in the streets of my neighbourhood. This piece of news was like a soft analgesic for me during these challenging times—seeing another way of life appearing in between so much death. I want to believe that the changes that have occurred in my life this year are part of a holistic process. That they are aligned with the Earth’s phases. A friend of mine told me the other day that we are not exempt from these cycles that occur outside of us and with which we are so connected. The Long Dry is about this symbiosis that this year has given me tranquillity and a broader perspective to live my processes. Some years ago, I watched Nostalgia de la luz by the Chilean filmmaker Patricio Guzmán. The most impactful scene for me, and the part that always comes back to my mind, is when Valentina Rodríguez, a young astronomer who lost her parents during Pinochet’s dictatorship, explains that her career as an astronomer gives another dimension to her grief. She says that it is necessary to live the pain outside intimacy, to connect the grief with something bigger and more universal. “I think everything is part of a cycle that did not begin nor will end with me or my parents or children. We are all part of a current, an energy, a matter that is continuously recycled. As it happens with the stars; they have to die in order for other stars to emerge, for planets and life to appear”.

â&#x20AC;&#x153;There had been much rain. In the early part of the year and through the Autumn before, the rain came down and the fields were loud with grass and the rivers full and fast. Then at some point in the early morning of March 11th something changed. The rain stopped; that day the sun came out hot and fast and deliberately. There had been a geomagnetic storm. Epileptics had fits, and people prone to strokes or with weak hearts were ill, some died. The electric things of our body went wrong in many people. The swallows came early, and that day a cloud of racing pigeons and one white dove landed at the farm. They came suddenly and curiously and were very lost. Emmy fell in love with the long white dove.â&#x20AC;?

III. The Earth

ylrae eht nI .niar hcum neeb dah erehT“ nmutuA eht hguorht dna raey eht fo trap The social isolation due to coronavirus has emptied city streets. We have seen pictures of places and animals retaken sdlwhere efi enature ht d nthe an wodhaveem ac their niaterritories. r eht ,InerSantiago ofeb for a couple of days a puma was hanging around in the streets of my neighbourhood. This lluf srevir eht dna ssarg htiw duol erew piece of news was like a soft analgesic for me during these challenging times—seeing another way of life appearing in between so much death. .tsaf dna I want to believe that the changes that have occurred in my life this year are part of a

holistic theyy are with thei Earth’s foprocess. gninThat rom lraligned ae eh tn tniophases. p emAofriend s taofnmine ehtold T me the other day that we are not exempt from these cycles that occur outside of us and with

niar ehT .degnahc gnihtemos ht11 hcraM me tranquillity broader perspective dna toand h tau o em ac nusto elivehmy t yprocesses. ad taht ;deppots -eg a neeb dah erehT .yletarebiled dna tsaf Some years ago, I watched Nostalgia de la luz by the Chilean filmmaker Patricio Guzmán.d The thatralways back myomind, nmost a ,simpactful tfi dascene h sfor cime, tpand elithe pEpart.m ots comes citen gatom is when Valentina Rodríguez, a young astronomer who lost her parents during Pinostraeh kaew htiw ro sekorts ot enorp elpoep chet’s dictatorship, explains that her career as an astronomer gives another dimension to herfo grief. to T live .the sgShe nsays ihtthatciitristnecessary cele eh depain id outside emointimacy, s ,lli toerconnect ew the grief with something bigger and more universal. “I think everything is part of a cycle ehT .elpoep ynam ni gnorw tnew ydob ruo that did not begin nor will end with me or my parents or children. We are all part of a current, matter continuously thesstars; duanolenergy, c a ya a d tathat htis d na ,ylrrecycled. ae emAsaitchappens swolwith law they have to die in order for other stars to emerge, for planets and life to appear”. -dnal evod etihw eno dna snoegip gnicar fo dna ylneddus emac yehT .mraf eht ta de ni llef ymmE .tsol yrev erew dna ylsuoiruc ”.evod etihw gnol eht htiw evol which we are so connected. The Long Dry is about this symbiosis that this year has given

“And then it really rained. The rain came down on the corrugated tin of the porch roof and fell into the dry, cracked soil and At the end of the book club session, Josefa said she was relieved it rained in the end. But then onto Alejandro questioned whyfields. the rain was coming once everything was destroyed. Is the wide there hope in this book? We always jokerose in the book club that we mostly sad books. If thisto is another Kate from bed andread went over the sad book, I faced its melancholy in a beautiful reading.

window. She leaned out and she let the rain fall on the bare skin of her arms. It seemed as strange as snow. On the stairs she hears him, and she knows that he is coming lovingly to her; that there is no malice now. She leans her head out of the window and when she turns back into the room the rain is on her face and her hair, and runs down her neck into the soft cloth of the shirt. She starts to cry. He is strong and proud and good. ‘It’s raining,’ he says, and she can hardly hear him.” 39

emac niar ehT .deniar yllaer ti neht dnA“ hcrop eht fo nit detagurroc eht no nwod dna lios dekcarc ,yrd eht otni llef dna foor .sdlefi ediw eht otno eht ot revo tnew dna deb morf esor etaK eht tel ehs dna tuo denael ehS .wodniw tI .smra reh fo niks erab eht no llaf niar .wons sa egnarts sa demees swonk ehs dna ,mih sraeh ehs sriats eht nO ereht taht ;reh ot ylgnivol gnimoc si eh taht tuo daeh reh snael ehS .won ecilam on si kcab snrut ehs nehw dna wodniw eht fo dna ecaf reh no si niar eht moor eht otni eht otni kcen reh nwod snur dna ,riah reh eH .yrc ot strats ehS .trihs eht fo htolc tfos .doog dna duorp dna gnorts si yldrah nac ehs dna ,syas eh ’,gniniar s’tI‘ ”.mih raeh

At the end of the book club session, Josefa said she was relieved it rained in the end. But then Alejandro questioned why the rain was coming once everything was destroyed. Is there hope in this book? We always joke in the book club that we mostly read sad books. If this is another sad book, I faced its melancholy in a beautiful reading.

These memories were recollected for this book during November and December 2020