La Comandita

By way of Prologue

In the fall of 1983, we attended the classes of Professor Martín Bordenave Mendiondo at the University of Granada. We knew nothing about him when we arrived; Department of Hispanic Languages, little else. He introduced himself asking that we call him Borde;1 “sooner or later,” he said, “you’ll do so anyway.” Soon we saw that he was practically a genius, and took Salinger‘s position to degree zero: he had never written a line. Even so, or perhaps therefore, he enjoyed enormous prestige throughout Latin America and the United States, reaching mythical proportions in Argentina. His classes, encyclopedic and fascinating – covering everything from Joyce to Maradona, the Roadrunner and Manolo Caracol, with no tape recorders or even note-taking allowed- never let us down. Not all our classmates understood him or were willing to try; we, however, were enchanted and went around imitating his accent, for want of better merits.

Out of that fervor there remains a small essay, which appeared in Sintagma (a journal edited byBorde’s followers, in opposition to Paradigma whose mentor’s name we ignore). A paper on the Immaculate Conception of Mary from an historical-generativist perspective, which the professor sent off for publication without our consent. With time, we were grateful to him, since it is our only critical work (and a thing we abandoned when Borde suddenly left the university, for reasons unknown).

Today we lead normal lives, far from an intelligentsia we can no longer understand – if we ever did. One day we were surprised by a sad and curious package addressed to us both and postmarked Havana, which arrived at the notary’s office with no return address. We were amazed that they knew where to find us, because it had been over fifteen years since we were last in contact. The package included a terse obituary (clipped from a Cuban paper) and the manuscript that follows.

Borde is dead. It would be hypocritical to say that we are sorry, because we hardly knew him. But thanks to him we had some magnificent, intense, and above all very fun times; the mind suffers, what with the deaths of Cunqueiro, Bioy…

We are not sure what to say about the manuscript, who sent it or why, and to us of all people. Apparently, the professor was working on it and hadn’t finished; the notes quickly scribbled, some mere musings, others unnecessary, almost always insufficient. Also the unfinished character guide, and a strange appendix for chess buffs. There is no way of knowing whether he wanted us to publish it. After studying the legalities of the matter and asking the opinion of friends JuanFelipe, Francis, Deanie, Cesar, Gurutze,Jesu, Viola), after giving it endless thought, we think we should bring it out and let history – or oblivion – decide.

So many issues could undoubtedly be raised. We just don’t know. Bordenave was unwilling (or unable) to set us straight.

Javier Díez and Juan Uriagereka.

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