Pictures of his manuscripts, commentaries, phrases, some of his reflections, and perhaps most importantly, an introduction by Malena, Juan Forn’s daughter. This is the news contained in Godot’s edition of How I Became Friday, the book in which the writer and editor, who died in 2021, displays his literary passion.
How are you on Friday? It was originally released in 2018, by Documenta Publishing. The title alludes to the back covers written by Forn in the Argentine newspaper Pagina/12.
The writer died in Villa Gesell, where he lived, at the age of 61. Here’s his daughter’s introduction.
We are waiting for you on June 21, 2021. It was cold, the middle of winter in Giselle, the day was clear, there was lots of light and the beach was lovely to walk on, just the way I liked it. We did it in Biebach, an abandoned cultural center with large windows and a sea-view terrace whose paint has been eroded by salt.
I arrived with Ludmila and Jose. I had worn a white linen shirt that was yours, with a pair of baggy jeans underneath, but when we got out of the car at the roundabout overlooking the sea, I decided that these trousers didn’t fit me well and Jose offered to change them for me. So, with the cold wind and everyone who was passing by one of the main beaches in Giselle, we stayed in our underpants and swapped pants.
When I entered I saw that there were candelabra and silver crosses decorating the empty room. The drawer was on the wall facing the front door. Everything was wrong, so we changed it.
We made you look at the opposite wall, the sea in the background could be seen in the windows, we put pictures on the window (a kind of tour of your life), we put your glasses, the book you were reading and some common flowers on your chest.
The Minister of Culture was very concerned about the lack of flowers at Villa Giselle, and respectfully approached me to apologize for not bringing the traditional flower crown used at funerals, to which I innocently replied: “But my father is not Gilda” (my only perception of a flower crown is one worn on the head).
José and Ludmila went looking for flowers on the beach, and say they laughed and cried while collecting them. It was carefully placed in the drawer, suspended from the white lace ribbon covering it. There were no other flowers the whole time I was awake, and if I may be so clear, they were the most beautiful.
Sola and Ezequiel (who is now Tiquiana, you haven’t found out) came and brought the painting containing the scene of the Divine Comedy, your chair where you left the books to read, and some of your own things.
My mother brought the pictures and said she didn’t dare to see them, so her friends chose them.
Gloria did not dare to enter, everyone insisted, and at some point she entered. In the midst of the commotion, crying, etc., Gloria feels something on her leg, gets frightened and screams. It was a pair of panties that had been caught when she was changing in the morning.
I walked through everyone present with a jar of your joint and said, “Do you want some of my father’s last joint?” At one point I felt someone touch my shoulder and I saw the Turk, the Armenian mastodon, the jiu-jitsu champion, with glassy eyes and a child’s voice saying to me, “Can I have a little of my friend’s joint?”
Tony also approaches me with evil eyes and asks me sweetly, “What if we go to the sea?” The picture was clear, Tony directing your friends walking in the box along the seashore and you swaying while smiling, because no one could argue with me that your face was the face of a peaceful person with a beautiful semi-smile. I appreciate that I stuttered some disapproval because Tony’s desire defies any logic, but between us, I think it would have been wonderful.
Closer to the box is Morena, Tony’s worthwhile daughter, with Down Syndrome that sometimes doesn’t allow her to understand things the same way we do. He looks at you and says, “Come on, Juan, wake up, you idiot.” Given the obvious refusal to wake you, Tony is quick to comment that you’re in heaven, and you can’t hear him. Moore looks at him like he’s an idiot and attacks him with counterattacks: “How will he be in heaven if he’s here?”, to which Tony explains: “The soul is already up there but the body takes a little longer to leave, it’s always like that.” More despair and incomprehension, Tony, also anxious and tired, exploded: “More! Like a rocket, flying away like a rocket.” Morena says with a peaceful eye and inexhaustible logic: “And if it is a missile, where are the buttons?”
Olympia was shocked, hugged her granddaughter tightly and said, “Oh, my boss” (that’s what she always told you, much to your dismay), and Jill asked, “Why isn’t she dead?” And yeah, if you think about it a little bit, it makes sense that Jill would be older, have major health issues, and if we’re going to be completely honest, I think we all thought that between you two, Jill would die first. I laughed to myself as I thought of the impunity that pain afforded, and how no one would question Olympia saying what she was saying, not even Jill. What can I tell you about the consequences of sharing a maid. She had her favorite.
When I went out to the balcony to smoke a cigarette (yes, I’m smoking now, I guess you won’t have too many objections, you have no way to share it with me anyway), I saw two people filming from the waterfront with a selfie stick. She left like a storm. “This is a private wake, you can’t film,” I said angrily. They quickly explained to me that they were from the Villa Gesell channel and that they did not want to be disturbed. Having the bastard spirit that distinguished you, you gave them a series of reprimands about morality and respecting the death of others. As the poor reporters were apologizing and packing their bags into the car to leave, I stopped them on their way: “Now where are you going? You’ve already come here, and now you’re going to photograph all the people who loved my father and came to say goodbye. Oh, put away your dirty selfie stick and bring a team like people.” They followed me carefully and took some small photos of your companions accompanying you.
At noon we headed to Náutico, a restaurant located in front of the Pipach Hotel, and looked at the sea. It was as full as it would be any day during peak season, but it’s winter, and all your emotions are running at the tables. Gil sits at his usual table, the first on the left, near the kitchen and overlooking the sea. He is accompanied by Juanzhou, a former workshop student, who today is the head of one of the country’s largest publishing houses. They had a stupid argument that kept them apart for a while, but by chance, a few months before your death, they got close again. She sat with them as if this was one of the countless times she had sat there, at their table, eating dinner and chatting with Jill. After a while, Juancho noticed my friends at another table looking at me. He says to me: Go, go with your generation.
Everyone at my table accompanies me. Luis, the owner of Náutico, brought me, without me asking, what we like to eat there the most: fried shrimp. When I order a gin and tonic, he sends the girl with the bottle to serve me, and says, “Tell me how far.” She looked at Jose confused: “Can you decide?” “That’s it,” she says to the girl; “A little more,” I added. And that’s how with 80% gin and 20% tonic I end up farting in your butts.
After eating we returned to Biebach. I was holding a plastic cup with the remains of Matador gin, and as I sat waiting for my drunkenness to wear off, a pretty young journalist approached me and asked if I had a few minutes to talk; They had sent her from Buenos Aires to cover the event and she needed to talk to me. While I was smoking, between laughing and crying, I told him about you, how we organized this funny wake. After a few days, he brought out the blessed message, which was beautiful.
My mother was walking around smoking non-stop, with her new partner (who wasn’t new now, but was at that moment) and she looked at him as he smoked and said, “You’ll have to excuse me, darling.” It’s more flexible and more fun, and you’ll want to get this new version of it.
The person at the funeral home tells me that they have to take the box, so he recommends one last walk-through to say goodbye to the deceased (don’t get mad at me, he told you so). They all stopped to talk to you and say goodbye. When my turn came, I realized that I had nothing to say to you, anything that I had not told you on the other occasions when I had been near your frail body, until you put me down. Dad, I never told you but… I have a nipple piercing.
And so, it’s time to take you to the truck. Tony and your friends go to grab the drawer handles, and I object: “No, let’s go girls.” My mother, Maria, Jose, your sister Eugenia, and me. The moment I tried to lift the handle I realized it was so heavy, I had no idea how difficult it would be to lift the stairs. We put you in the truck and everyone clapped and whistled and said goodbye. And above all this noise, a cry in Morena’s voice, unmistakable: Magoya!, their common symbol, the title you originally wanted to give to your Rara Avis collection.
Magoya, father, now you are at peace.