Jaime has the particularity to convey your mood when writing. The article can be joyous, sad to or sarcastic but one manages to capture the feeling that radiates the writer. It's like when you listen to a singer and feel their energy. For me the biggest Peruvian singer to convey emotions to sing live was Fight Reyes. That reminds me Don Jaime Bayli when I read your good article. Here the last couple that I find in the newspaper Peru 21 where James writes:
's column Jaime Bayly Peruvian Television, 1984 "of certain prizes and disappeared. I was invited to the ceremony. I urged them to assist in fracture (or "bow tie", as we said then.) He had no coat and bow tie or desire to dress well. I did not attend the ceremony. I could see it on television. I won the prize. A legendary speaker, the iconic voice of the channel, it was in my name and said a few kind words. Days later, was generous enough to give me the prize in a discreet way. Love, admonished me for not attending the ceremony. Once in my apartment on Basadre, got the prize (a replica gray, sloppy, the golden statuettes awarded in the Oscars) on a shelf in the room. The award was short-lived. In that department did not cultivate the habit of loving even a little. One night, intoxicated, made a speech imagery and then threw the prize to the crowd. As there was no one down, I heard the impact of metal statue on the sidewalk, breaking into pieces.
DOS, THE AUTO With a loan from Uncle Francis, a noted amateur painter and lover of silk scarves, bought a Fiat Brava model, gray, leather seats, manual gearbox, five changes. She ran like a scared rabbit. Pressed the accelerator and it was like an airplane. With my friends Carlos Gomez and Carlos Montoya, we were racing from the Plains to the campus of the Catholic world's ass. Never collide, but we were ready. It was the roaring twenties, self-destructive, sleepless years of walking through walls. Never took the Fiat to a workshop. I forgot I had to do so. As expected, doing so much running, Fiat is fatigued. It happened on a trip to deserted beaches of Paracas Carlitos Gomez. Suddenly the car started to go up in flames in the desert. Charlie and I were laughing mood, so that the show, scare away, it seemed beautiful, fascinating, shocking, and did nothing to extinguish the fire. We moved away for fear broke out, we sat in the desert and watched the Fiat Brava tired of roaring and committed suicide. Stayed there. I left there abandoned. I wonder if there are still some irons in the sand scorched wayward Paracas.
THREE GUN
When I was nineteen, my father phoned me (and then very rarely saw him) and told me I had a gift for me. For my father, guns (in general, firearms) and Rolex watches little treasures that were offered him untold happiness. The collected with a feeling akin to love. So when I gave an Italian Beretta pistol felt that the gift came to me full of affection and a tacit recognition of my manhood. I knew how to shoot, had shot with my father since childhood, animals were killed with him. He handed me the gun and ammunition and gave me advice predictable. One night, intoxicated, I stopped in the tunnel of La Herradura and emptied the room of six 22-caliber bullets in the middle of a heat multiplied in endless echoes. God knows where those bullets ended up lost. God knows I ended up selling that gun to a television reporter bearded. I should never have sold the gun that my father gave me. Never. One of those mistakes are not forgotten. Shortly after she died, my father gave away his handgun some of their precious children. I included. He did not deserve a gun more. Mr. Reporter, if still alive and reading this, I bought the gun, you set the price that seems fair.
FOUR, THE
CASACA hallucinated In those years it was fashionable to wear these jackets. I have no guilt in this fashion, all or almost all we used. We told them about Members Only jackets and were then seemed fine and now seem horrendous. I had a collection of Members Only. As the months passed all Miami, bought jackets for me and my friends. The blue and black colors were my favorite, the cherry could happen, the target was clearly prohibited, never Members Only I had a white, I can vouch for it. One morning I went to the kiosk always buy the newspaper and the man who sold the day I was crying. He told me that the previous night had fallen overboard an aircraft with the team Alianza Lima. There were no survivors. The man wept with aplomb, and mourn the brave nobles or: hiding the tears, crying for himself. It was impossible not to notice that it tore a deep sadness. I took off my black Members Only jacket and gave it. I never went to see the center-of Alianza Lima who studied in my class of Markham.
FIVE, THE CLOCK
is one of the few nights on TV that remain in my memory. I was talking to Sabina, who makes an art of conversation and has a musical gift with words and wisdom has already tapered back around. We went to commercial. I noticed that his watch was strikingly elegant. I told him. I should not. Sabina did not hesitate: he took off his watch and gave it to me. I tried to return it, but it was too late. Years later, I left a midnight feature in a film in Buenos Aires, a motorcycle whizzed as pizza delivery man, stopped next to me, a boy I started the clock and was like a pirate the other pirate booty I had left. Since then I do not know what time it is.
SIX, THE CRUCIFIX A seer Argentina
Eighth Street in Miami came to my show and after the interview and the prophecies that would probably not be met, gave me a beautiful silver cross inlaid with blue. He said: Take it with you, protect you from the wickedness of those who envy you. I said: Well, I take with me even at family gatherings. And I did. And I do. Only so much and get him out of the pockets, and from time to kiss him and ask favors and intercessions, one day I lost the crucified Christ, came off the cross, down from the cross, tired of being stuck in as many days that position was agonizing and uncertain somewhere but certainly better than my pockets. At the moment I have blue cross, but Christ has fallen. I hope that the cross protect me, in fact, evil. Put another way, hope to protect me from myself. I am not optimistic. The desertion of Christ seems an ominous sign.
SEVEN, THE TIE
Recently, on the eve of a birthday, my brother Andrew came to see me home after fulfilling their obligations in the bank. With this remarkable combination of intelligence and good humor that makes it so charming, Andrew gave me two shirts: one in orange that he, foresight, had purchased in London, and a purple color that my mother bought for me called. Upon leaving, I noticed that the tie he wore was particularly estimable Andrew. I told him jokingly: change the two that you have given me why you're wearing. To my surprise, Andrew said, this tie gives it to Dad and he gave it to me. Not remember (I forget) the fact that I gave him that tie to my father. But, apparently, he gave it to Andrew before he died. It was a wise decision: certainly, the tie is best viewed in Andrew's chest noble than mine fiend. I thought maybe if I had not sold the gun to the bearded reporter, my father had given me this tie that I gave him. Andrew wanted: when you want it I'll buy the tie. In it I can see the gun that I should not sell the car in flames, the prize pieces, the smile of my father three days before his death. Go
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