Chapter 6 Chapter Five: The Man on Fire in Front of the Church

Although we embarked on this journey on impulse, we were sane.In my opinion, the train should be the best tool to go deep into the interior of Chile. First, the airport and highways will check the identity of passengers, and second, we just take advantage of the night time of the curfew on the train.But Frankie was deeply skeptical about the safety of trains, which he said were the most closely watched means of transportation by the authorities.I retorted that it was the safest because of this, and the police would never have imagined that people smuggled back to China would dare to take the train under constant surveillance.Frankie refuted that, in fact, the police also knew that the underground people liked to travel by train, because they believed that the closer the surveillance, the safer they would be.At the same time, he insisted that it was justifiable for a rich and experienced advertiser from Europe who also managed important business to take the trains in Europe, but it was unreasonable to take the dilapidated trains in the Chilean interior.But in the end he followed my advice and agreed to fly.It may not be possible to control the itinerary to Camposun, after all, the local fog often prevents the plane from landing.Frankly speaking, I would prefer to take the train, but I have to blame the insurmountable fear of flying.

We caught the eleven o'clock train that night from Central Station.It was a steel train station, just like the Eiffel Tower, with an indescribable beauty.It wasn't until we had settled ourselves in the sleeping car, a crisp, comfortable bunk, that I began to feel hungry.In the theater, I watched the young Mozart perform stunts in front of the Emperor of Austria, and I ate two chocolates for breakfast, but otherwise I didn't drink a drop of water.The train conductor instructed us that there is a dining car in the carriage, but according to regulations, the space between the sleeping car and the dining car is blocked.He suggested that we might as well board the dining car before the train started, and after eating to our heart's content, return to our sleeping car at the next stop.The next stop is Luncagua, scheduled to arrive in an hour.We sprinted as hard as we could to get out of the train, hearing the curfew start in our ears, and the conductor behind us urging, yelling: Hurry up, gentlemen, hurry up, it's not legal.However, after arriving at Lencagua Station, the guards who were half asleep from the cold did not take our actions at all. After all, the martial law we violated was so minor and inevitable.

This station is empty and cold, desolate and surrounded by ghostly fog, much like the station where Nazi Germany deported prisoners in the movie.Just as the train conductor was yelling for us to get on the train, suddenly, a waiter in a snow-white classical style uniform ran out of the dining car, running forward like a rabbit, with a plate firmly placed on the palm of his hand. Rice topped with poached eggs.He passed the tray through the window of the last car and climbed into the dining car before we returned to the sleeping car. We have to travel three hundred miles to reach Campuson.There is only a dead silence along the way, and the oppressive force of the curfew seems to not only affect the passengers on the sleepwalking train, but also pervade all creatures in nature.I looked out the window intermittently. In the fog, I could only distinguish the empty night.The only trace that can prove that there are still human beings on the earth is the endless barbed wire wall on the right side of the railway, but there is nothing behind the wall, no people, no flowers, no animals, nothing.I thought of Pablo.Neruda's verse: Bread, rice, apples, everywhere; in Chile, barbed wire, barbed wire, barbed wire.At 7 o'clock in the morning, with the barbed wire fence still stretching as far as the eye can see, we arrived at Cancepcion.

Before deciding on our next move, we figured we should find a place to shave.In fact, I have always wanted to find an excuse to grow a beard, but I was afraid that in this way, we would become homeless in the eyes of the police, and all Chileans know that this city has always been a hotbed of major social protests in Chile.The student movement of the 1970s was conceived here, and Salvador.The decisive support needed for Ayed's election is also Gabriel.Gunsari.Where President Videla launched the bloody 1946 crackdown.Then he set up the Pisegua Concentration Camp, and the young officer Auguste.It was here that Pinochet was trained in the art of terror and death.

★Eternal Flower of Archievedo Square As we drove through the dense, cold fog to the city center, we saw the lone cross on the church vestibule and the permanent bouquet of flowers placed by an unknown person, two years ago, coal miner Archievedo The site of self-immolation.Due to illegal possession of weapons, his 22-year-old son and 20-year-old daughter were arrested. In order to prevent his children from being tortured, he tried his best to ask people to speak to the National Intelligence Center, but he did not get any results. Archivedo didn't plead, he only offered a warning.Since the archbishop was traveling at the time, he told diocesan officials, journalists from major newspapers, political party leaders, business figures, anyone who would listen, even government officials, and he told everyone the same thing: If you don't think about it, To save my child from torment, I doused myself in gasoline and set myself on fire in the church vestibule.Some didn't believe him, and some didn't know what to do.On the scheduled day, Archivedo stood in the vestibule and poured a whole barrel of gasoline on his body. He warned the onlookers on the street that as long as anyone crossed the yellow line, he would immediately light it up.In an attempt to stop the self-immolation, a policeman stepped across the yellow line, and Archivedo instantly turned into a ball of fire.

He lived for seven hours, sane and pain-free.The crowd's anger rose to such an extreme that the police had to send his daughter to the hospital to see him one last time.But the doctor did not allow her to see her father's terrifying figure, and only let them talk through the answering machine.How do I know you are Candela Ruria?Archievedo asked after hearing her voice, and she told her father used to call her baby name when she was a child.Just as the father expected, and at the price of their lives, the brother and sister walked out of the torture chamber and were tried according to normal judicial procedures.Since then, the people of Cancepcion have given this place of sacrifice a secret name: Plaza Archivedo.

★It is not easy to shave in Cancepcion Appearing in a historical fortress at seven o'clock in the morning, disguised as a foreign businessman, but the facade has not been repaired, is obviously quite risky.Everyone knows that in the briefcase of a modern president, in addition to placing a small tape recorder to record ideas at any time, there must be an electric razor, which is convenient for use on the plane, train, or even in the car before a meeting.Even so, at seven o'clock on a Saturday morning, it shouldn't be too risky to find someone to tidy up the facade for me.So I walked towards the Plaza de Armas, the only barbershop open at the moment, with a sign on its door: Unisex (UNISEX).Inside, a woman in her twenties was sweeping the floor, and another man of about the same age was arranging jars on the shelves.

I want to shave.I tell them. We don't do that here.The man answered. where? Try going over there, there are many barbershops over there. I walked across the road to Frankie, who was arranging a rental car, with two policemen standing next to him, checking his identity.They also looked at my documents and found nothing wrong.Not only that, but while Frankie was busy renting a car, one of them walked me to another barber shop that had just opened, said goodbye, shook hands and left. It also has a sign on its door, bisexual.Just like the scene in the first store, a woman about 35 years old and a young man were inside.The man asked me what I was doing, and I said I wanted to shave, but the two of them stared at me strangely.

Sorry sir, we do not have this service.he said. We are bisexual. Yes, I say to them: Even if you are intersex, if someone needs to shave, you can still serve the guests, can't you? No, sir, replied the man, not here. After they finished speaking, they turned around and ignored me. I had to walk through the thick fog and continue walking on the deserted street.It's also surprising how many transgender barbershops there are in Camposo, and what's also surprising is the consistency of their policy: Not a single one wants to shave me.Walking and walking, I got lost until a boy passing by asked me: What are you looking for, sir?

Men's only barbershops, not intersex ones, like they used to be.I told him. He took me to a barber shop with an old-fashioned swivel chair inside a red and white revolving column in front of the shop.Two barbers in dirty aprons tending to the only customer.One master cuts his hair while another brushes fine particles off his face and shoulders.When I walked into the store, I could smell a special smell, which was a mixture of chafing medicine, peppermint alcohol and old-fashioned grocery stores. Suddenly, I realized that it was this smell that was missing in other stores, a smell of my teenage years. .

I want to shave.I said. The two masters and the customer stared at me in amazement, and the bearded old man asked a question that obviously existed among the three of them: Where are you from? I answered without hesitation: Chile.But it was corrected immediately, but I am Uruguayan. No one notices, and the correction is worse than the original error.However, I found out from their reactions that the word I used for shaving was long outdated in Chile, and people now use a newer word.Just like the people in this shop, the young people in the intersex barber shop were puzzled when I said the outdated words. The only difference is that everyone in front of them was refreshed by my presence, because I It was the language people used to speak in the good old days.The empty-handed master arranged me to sit on his chair, wrapped a cloth around my head familiarly, and took out an old and slightly chipped razor.He looked to be at least seventy years old, and his body was full of weather marks.He was tall and thin, with white hair all over his head and a beard that hadn't been shaved for at least three days. Do you prefer hot water or cold water for your shave?he asks. His trembling hands could barely hold the blade. Of course hot water. If so, we're in a bit of trouble, sir, he said, because we don't have hot water here, only cold water. I walked back to the first intersex barber shop, and when I asked for a shave in a new word, I was greeted immediately, except that they had the proviso that the hair had to be done along with it.With my consent, the young couple let go of their indifference and started a long series of complicated rituals.First, she wrapped a towel around my neck and washed my hair with cold water, there was no hot water either.Then she asked me which face covering I would like to use, number three?number four?Or number five?Next, they advised me to use medicines to prevent hair loss.I cooperated with them and complied completely, until when I was drying my face, she stopped suddenly and said to herself: That's weird. I opened my eyes and asked her what was going on. She was obviously more nervous than I was, but had to reply: Your eyebrows are plucked. I didn't appreciate her discovery, so I decided to play her worst joke ever.I glanced at her lazily, and I said: What's wrong?Could it be that you are prejudiced against homosexuality? She shook her head, blushing to the roots of her hair.The next step is for the barber to take over.He ignored my careful instructions, cut my hair shorter than I wanted, and combed it according to his own ideas. As a result, I turned back into the original Miguel.Lipton.In fact, this is reasonable, the hairdresser in Paris treated my hair against the direction of my hair growth, and the barber in Cancepcion just put them back in place.So it's only natural that the hair will return to its original shape, the way it was before.But I needed a strong will to give up the idea of ​​returning to myself. After all, in this distant and foggy city, no one would recognize me at all.After the haircut, the young woman led me into the back of the shop and, cowering as if about to do something shady, handed me the electric razor plugged in in front of the mirror.Fortunately, no need to use hot water. ★Love Paradise in Hell Frankie had rented a car, so we went to the vending machine to buy breakfast, but there was only cold coffee, no hot drinks.We set off towards the Lotta and Skanvij coal mines, passing through Chile's most turbulent Popo River on the way. Under the cover of thick fog, we could hardly see the dreamy water flow of metallic color.In the eighteenth century, there was a Chilean, Badmilo.Lilo, described miners' life and mines with delicate brushstrokes, and these descriptions are still true today.Being in the mining area is like being in Wales a hundred years ago. No matter in terms of the air full of coal ash or the working conditions, it is a vivid portrayal of the pre-industrial revolution. We had to go through three checkpoints to reach our destination, the first of which was the strictest, as we knew in advance.So when the guards asked us why we were going to Lotta and Skanvij, we really did our best.After I finished speaking, I was surprised that I could answer so smoothly.Our rhetoric is: to witness the scenery known as the most beautiful park in all America; to admire the huge ancient araucaria;I further explained that we plan to use the park as the background to shoot a promotional advertisement for the perfume. This new product is going to be named after Araucaria fir. . No Chilean policeman could resist such a lengthy explanation, let alone one that exaggerates the natural beauty of his country.Not only did they say welcome, they must have informed the next checkpoint as they no longer asked for our IDs, only the luggage and the car still had to be checked.The only thing that caught their attention was the super eight-centimeter camera. In fact, the camera is not used professionally, but photography is not allowed in the mining area unless it is authorized.We said we would only get as far as the statue and the swan, that is, the top of the hill, and I'm going to draw that conclusion in a deliberately contemptuous tone. We are not interested in those poor people.I said. After scrutinizing each item, a policeman looked around and replied: Everyone here is poor. They were satisfied with the inspection results, and half an hour later, we passed the third checkpoint at the end of the long and narrow vein and arrived at the park.This is a weird park, created by the famous vintner Tang.Gugino established to please his beloved woman.He collected strange trees from all over Chile and put them in the park, raised animals in fairy tales, and erected statues representing the spiritual world, such as joy, sorrow, homesickness, love, etc.There is a mythical palace behind the park. On the balcony of the palace, you can look across the Pacific Ocean. We shot at Super 8 all morning, so that the camera crew can shoot the film according to the permission in the future.We had just started filming when a guard came over and said no photography was allowed.We then repeated the story of the world promo, but he still insisted on obeying the order.At the same time, he also proposed to accompany us to the mining area below, and we would ask our superiors for instructions in person. We won't be doing any more, I told him, but if you like, you might as well walk with us so you don't worry. He agreed, and we toured the park with him.He was young, with a melancholy face.Frankie kept talking to him, and I kept as silent as possible to keep the poor Uruguayan from leaking out.Later, he expressed that he wanted to smoke a cigarette, so we poured out all the cigarettes to him.After a while he turned and went away, and we just continued to shoot all the necessary scenes, including the mountaintop park, the scenery down the mountain, and the surrounding area of ​​the mine.When shooting, I had to establish the structure first, then decide on angles, shots, distances, vistas of the big park, and then move to the dirty area below.It was a place where miners and fishermen mingled, hard to imagine but true. ★Restaurant where seabirds live It was evening when we came down, and the daily boat to nearby Santa Maria Island was leaving.Families full of families, their old tools, personal belongings, and animals ready to cook were visible on the boat; they were sailing through rough, dark waters.Coal miners work in extremely deep tunnels under the seabed. The environment there is harsh, but there are thousands of workers in them.Outside the pit, hundreds of men and women, with their children, dig the dirt at the entrance of the tunnel like gophers, breaking apart the cinders scattered in the soil with their nails.In the park above, the air smelled sweet and clean, cleansed by the trees, while below, the miners breathed in a haze of soot, their lungs filled with soot.Looking down from the top, the sea water is surreal and beautiful, and when viewed from below, the sea water is surging and turbulent. This is one of Ayed's strongholds, and the 1958 coal mine march started from here.The miners had crossed the bridge over the Popo and occupied Cancepcion in a black and silent mob.The flags in their hands were flying, the wooden signs were held high, and their strong will to fight frightened the government into silence.This incident was led by She Qiao.Balava is included in his film Banner of the People, one of Chile's most moving documentaries.Ayed was also in the crowd at the time, and I believe that was where he got the firm support of the people.Not long after, on one of his tours as president, he stopped by Lotta Square to chat and exchange ideas with miners. I was also one of his entourage at the time, and I was always moved by what he said.Although he was sixty years old, he was full of momentum and accomplished a lot when he was young, but he still said the following words from the bottom of his heart: I am no longer young, I am an out-and-out old man.Over the years, miners have grown tired of listening to campaign promises, and you can only see tiredness, gloom, numbness, and even grimness on their faces.But at this moment, they opened their hearts and enthusiastically embraced Ayed's belief.One of several decisions he made after being elected President was the nationalization of the coal mines, fulfilling the promise made that afternoon at Lotta and Skanwijk.One of Pinochet's first policies was the private ownership of coal mines, and he privatized almost every kind of business, such as: cemeteries, railways, ports, and even garbage collection. At four o'clock in the afternoon, the filming of the mining area was completed without interference from the military or the public, and we returned to Cancepcion via Takahuno.Along the way, we passed miners who were huddled together, and in the fog, we saw them dragging a cart full of coal that had just been dug out of the pit, walking towards home.Beside them were small, ghost-looking men and short, strong women carrying big bags of coal.Like monsters floating out of a nightmare, they suddenly appeared in the twilight, almost impossible to distinguish in the headlights of the car. There is a school for training junior naval officers in Takahono, and it is also Chile's main military port and the largest seaport in terms of throughput.The air there was foul, with the stench of fish factories, tar from the harbor, and putrefaction from the sea.After the coup, it unfortunately became the place where prisoners embarked and left the shore before going to the hell of Dothan Island.On the street, you can see young military cadets wearing neat uniforms, walking among the miners in tattered clothes. Unexpectedly, these soldiers did not check the passengers.Here, most of the houses are dark, but the light from a few houses seems to be the light of oil lamps.Since we hadn't eaten anything but coffee for breakfast, we almost suspected we were seeing a ghost when we suddenly saw a brightly lit restaurant.When we entered the restaurant and saw the seagulls flying from the seaside cliffs and occupying the room, we strengthened this perception even more.I have never seen so many seagulls, and I have never seen them rising from the dark night, hovering around the numb customers, like blind men stumbling, and like a team of drunk pilots, rushing to the mothership to land indiscriminately .We ate breakfast when it was time to eat dinner, ate Chilean clams, and tasted the cold deep sea before heading back to Camposo.The car rental company had already closed, and we spent four hours on the road before we found someone to return the car.By the time we hurried to catch the train to San Diego, the cars were already in motion.