The Delphiad

 

 

 

© 1997 Dominique Millette

 

 

To my professors of Spanish, French literature, political science and sociology. And no, this isn’t your fault.

 

 

«'Tis a sign of crudity and indigestion to disgorge what we eat in the same condition it was swallowed; the stomach has not performed its office unless it has altered the form and condition of what was committed to it to concoct.»

Michel de Montaigne, Essays, «Of the Education of Children».

 

The opposite of this quote can also be true: it is sometimes precisely beneficial, or even necessary, to vomit up exactly what we’ve just swallowed… to show exactly what’s in there.

 

– You’re depressed. That can be treated.

– I’m lucid. That’s incurable.

Eugène Ionesco, Thirst and Hunger.

Notice

 

This work was written without any regard or concern whatsoever for biographical, historical or encyclopedic accuracy. Therefore, any ressemblance between real life and the events in this book, where these are not taken from publicly available reference material, is purely coincidental. And would be pretty funny, too.

A few biographical details

 

From the Dominique’s Brain Universal Encyclopedia (with additional information taken from Le Robert 2). These should give you some helpful background as you navigate my book.

 

Neruda, Pablo (Ricardo Neftali REYES)

1904-1973. Chilean poet, known for his great romanticism and for the love of social justice that emanates from his body of work.

            Elected senator in 1943, he was exiled for some time because of his Communist sympathies. When he returned to the country, he became a friend of the man who would become president in 1972, Salvador Allende. Neruda died shortly after the fateful coup during which Allende was assassinated, the latter having barely begun his mandate.

            Neruda is a pseudonym borrowed from the Czech nationalist poet Jan Neruda (to sound more like a communist, I guess, just in case it wasn’t clear enough).

            Pablo got the Nobel prize shortly before his death and his poems are compulsory reading material for second-year Spanish students at the Glendon College campus of York University. These things are a clear indication that he’s a big cheese in world literature.

            His impassioned style and characteristic exaltation are an easy target for parody. Despite this, Pablo’s actually a pretty good poet. The beauty of his images can be breathtaking. Good examples of this are found in «Oda a la vida» («Ode to Life»), or in «Explico algunas cosas» («A few explanations»), a powerful dramatic poem written to protest right-wing atrocities during the Spanish Civil War. Therefore, it isn’t just a random coincidence that people study him at Glendon College. Or that he got a Nobel prize.

            As a Hero of Social Justice, Pablo is generally considered untouchable, except by young Canadian women who studied the guy in university and never did join a revolution in Latin America.

            Pablo loved to write about Chilean vegetation and landscapes, which he sometimes used to describe the women in his life. There are quite a few examples of this in Cien sonetos de amor (One Hundred Sonnets of Love) and in Veinte poemas de amor y una canción desesperada (Twenty Love Poems and a Desperate Song). I was strongly inspired by these metaphors, as will be evident upon further reading.

 

 

Urrutia, Matilda

            Matilda. Three syllables, with the emphasis on the penultimate. Three syllables recited liltingly, almost like a song, on a recording of the Hundred Sonnets of Love.

            Who was Matilda? I have no idea. I couldn’t find her in Webster’s, the Encyclopedia Britannica, or Robert 2. I even Googled her, but got no details. All I know is that she was the third wife of Pablo Neruda, apparently the love of his life, and stayed with him until his death.

            Was she noble, impassioned, educated; or a modest peasant? Was she an artist as well, with a certain very local reputation that would not show up on the Internet or in a reference library in Canada; or simply a loyal and beloved companion?

            All I found of Matilda were the few poetic references she inspired and of which I was aware. I took this near-nothingness and ran with it, developing these scraps after first simplifying and exaggerating them in order to take them to what I felt was their logical extreme.

Without a doubt, a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. I tell the story of Matilda the way someone might describe the life of Lucy, first known hominid of prehistoric times – or perhaps the life of Java Man.

 

Breton, André

            1896-1966. Pillar of the French surrealist movement which had its apogee during the 1920s. André Breton started out as a medical student specializing in neuropsychiatry but quickly got interested in poetry. Friend of Apollinaire, Louis Aragon and Paul Éluard, but not for long. He quarrelled with them and they parted ways during the 1930s.

            Breton is the author of the Surrealist Manifestos (1924, 1930). In these, he rejects all rules… and carefully spells out the correct procedure for doing so. In 1928, he wrote Nadja, a «documentary-novel» describing his encounter with a young mentally ill woman, in whom he sees the incarnation of the Surrealist Muse. Once the Muse accomplished her inspirational duties, he dumped her.

            The author joined the Communist Party in 1927. Left it in 1935. Met Leon Trotsky during a trip to Mexico (1938). Breton left France in 1941 for the United States, where he lived until after the war. Travelled to Arizona and New Mexico in search of pre-Columbian culture. Breton campaigned against social realism in a pamphlet dated 1951, in which he rejected all constraints that socialism wished to inflict on the Muse.

            Associated with automatic writing and with the exploration of the occult, surrealism seeks to probe the unconscious, liberated from all causal logic, in order to achieve complete freedom of the spirit, without however giving up paid summer holidays, central heating or the Manifestos with their associatied conferences and retrospective exhibitions.

            André Breton is also studied at Glendon College, specifically in fourth-year French Literature, in the context of the Surrealist movement: hypotheses, objectives, structure – in a word, everything the movement rejected. However, unlike Neruda, Breton never did win a Nobel Prize. Too bad for him.

 

Nadja (Léona-Camille-Guislaine D.)

1902-1941.  More documentation than was the case for Matilda Urrutia is available concerning the woman who chose to call herself Nadja, doing so because in Russian, she said, «Nadja» is the beginning of hope (nadiejda) and only the beginning.

Léona D. was born on May 23^rd 1902 in Lille. She met André Breton on the 4^th of October, 1926, in the afternoon, inspiring in the process one of the seminal works of the surrealist movement. One of the images she transmitted to Breton during their encounter was that of Mélusine, a fairy who changed into a serpent from the waist down once every week. The serpent is also associated with clairvoyance in several cultures, a coincidence which dovetails into surrealist convictions. Little used to any type of attention from authors or for that matter anyone else, Nadja fell deeply in love with Breton. He didn’t return her feelings, since it’s one thing to see crazy people as interesting and use them in your books, but quite another to have them to dinner at your house, never mind letting them share your life or anything like that. Nadja was interned on March 21^st, 1927 and died in a psychiatric asylum in the North of France on January 15^th, 1941[1].

In The Delphiad, Nadja is first the product of a reductio ad absurdum interpretation of the observations made by André Breton in his novel about her. This archetype of Nadja, inspired by abstract literary exaltation, is developed based on the declared beliefs of the Surrealist Manifestos as well as on the eponymous documentary-novel.

The character of Nadja evolves here (according to a very particular interpretation, of course) as if she had, indeed, embodied the surrealist ideal.

Elemental Answer to an Elemental Ode

 

Matilda, organic spouse of Pablo Neruda, has arms made of the tenderest wood, as wide open as the blue skies of Chile.

 

Pablo has turned her into a fertile field and a forest-covered volcano.

 

«You are Cybele[2], my love.»

 

Cybele rhymes with simile. Sounds like assimilation. Once a terrible and devouring mother, Cybele has been tamed: nature has been transformed into abundant wheat fields.

 

Mother Nature is at once majestic and well-meaning.

 

Volcanos never get a headache. They never cry, since they never have any bad memories.

 

Organic women are very nice. They’re sweet and beautiful. They listen to and reassure everyone. They make perfect wives and mothers every time.

Elemental Answer Number II

 

Nadiejda, surrealist companion to André Breton, has sad and tender eyes, wide open like the steppe of the Golden Horde.

 

André has turned her into an automatic seer. A mechanical pythia[3].

 

«You are Sibylly[4], my love.»

 

The wise Sibyl of Antiquity, star sister of the Pythia from the oracle of Delphi, is at the service of the modern poet in need of instant inspiration.

Seers don’t exist – not really. Their truth is simply a delusion of grandeur, a classic form of insanity. Their only lucidity comes from the universal insights of creative delirium.

 

Like all mistresses not meant to share the intimacy of marriage, the Pythia never cook dinner and only appear when the sun goes down.

 

One-Who-Eats-Flowers

 

Matilda is thirteen. She accompanies her mother to the sacred grotto where the people venerate the Virgin of the Pampa. They have to walk far from the village to get there.

Matilda’s mother approaches the grotto. She leaves a bouquet of orchids at the feet of the Madonna.

Matilda hangs on to her mommy. The statue of the Madonna is really beautiful but the cave is dark.

Strange spirals are carved into the rock. On the badly-lit walls of the cave, there are hints of grimaces on forgotten gargoyles.

Standing in the flickering candelight, Matilda and her mother pray the Madonna for help in sending rain. Legend has it that the Virgin of the Pampa helps grant every wish that comes from a good heart.

A solitary old man, called El loco de la Virgen by the townsfolk, watches the two white women pass by him. He lives nearby in a hut made of branches. No one knows where he comes from. He has no family and doesn’t often speak to strangers. He observes the pilgrims as if he were watching over the statue.

 

Where the Goddess of the Moon once had her home

A different goddess now emerges from the loam

This is a very strange divinity

That eats fire, wax and flowers for her energy

Nadja and the Doctors

 

Nadiejda is twelve years old. Her daddy’s left her mommy. He left her for another woman, who wasn’t haggard from working and worrying all the time, who was never a mother.

Nadja’s mom cries a lot. She shouts and writhes in torment in the deserted house.

 

You jerk you jerk you jerk after everything I’ve done for you.

 

            Nadja doesn’t like to see her mommy cry. Maybe if I didn’t exist, daddy might have stayed, she tells herself. She tries to make amends. She hugs her mom and brings her tea and cookies. She looks at her mom with her eyes wide open, waiting like a good little girl.

            But Nadja’s mom is blinded by pain. She doesn’t see Nadja anymore. All she sees are the walls shrouded in silence. She waits for her husband. He promised he would love her forever, just like in their favorite songs. He’ll come back.

            Nadja’s mom waits and waits, but her husband doesn’t return.

            She doesn’t look at herself in the mirror anymore because it makes her cry.

            She locks herself up in her room.

 

            Nadja doesn’t bother her mom anymore.

 

            She starts to draw. Nadja’s drawings get bigger and bigger. They’re made of India ink. The ink is very black. The drawings are dense and full of spirals.

 

            Nadja shows her mom her drawings. Her mom doesn’t like them. She jumps when she sees them. She throws them in the garbage. Sometimes, she burns them. She tells her daughter to play and to read books.

            Nadja stops drawing. She doesn’t want to play. She destroys her dolls. She throws them in the garbage. Sometimes, she burns them.

            Her mom doesn’t like that. She jumps. She gets angry and then, she cries. She locks Nadja up in her room without giving her dinner.

 

            Nadja cries a lot. She shouts and writhes in torment.

 

            One day, Nadja’s mom takes her to the asylum and then leaves. The Doctors surround the young girl. Nadja observes them. They all have notepads and long white coats. They speak in whispers, just like in cathedrals.

            It’s a Mystery, thinks Nadja.

            A nurse smiles at Nadja and invites her into a white room. In the room there’s a desk, just like in school. On the desk there are papers. They’re tests. Nadja does well in school. She sits at her desk. The test has funny questions, not like in school. The questions are interesting. Nadja thinks carefully. She writes down the answers and hands them to the nurse.

            The nurse glances quickly at the papers. She rubs her eyes and shakes her head. Nadja watches her with intensity. The surprised look on the nurse’s face goes from Nadja to the papers and from the papers to Nadja. The nurse passes the papers to one of the Doctors. The Doctor is startled. Nadja has to start everything all over again, this time under the watchful eyes of the Doctor. Nadja is a good little girl. She redoes the test. The Doctor watches her with intensity. He writes in his notepad.

 

            Nadja waits patiently for her mommy to come and get her. She’ll come back. She promised.

 

            Nadja is kept at the asylum. She’s told she’s under observation. Nadja feels strange, like a mutating bacterium. The nurses are nice to her. The Doctors ask her questions and write the answers down in their notepads. It must be important. Things that are written down are important, because it’s like that in school.

 

            Nadja walks around the yard at the asylum. Her mommy didn’t show up.

            Nadja retreats into her room. She draws and draws.

 

            The Doctors give Nadja more tests. On the papers, there are funny-looking drawings that look like Nadja’s. The nice nurses ask Nadja what she sees in the drawings. Nadja tells them.

 

You jerk you jerk you jerk after everything I’ve done for you.

 

The nurses are startled. Their eyes are as round as marbles. They look sad.

 

The Doctors arrive with their notepads and their long white coats. They look very serious. They whisper and whisper and shake their heads.

 

Nadja feels guilty. Something’s wrong. No one wants to tell her what it is.

The Doctors ask Nadja funny questions. She answers mechanically. The Doctors shake their heads and shrug their shoulders. They give Nadja some pills. It’s medecine to cure you, they say. To cure me of what? asks Nadja. It’s an imbalance, the nurses tell her. You’re not well. You’ll feel better this way.

 

Nadja draws and draws her sadness. She takes her pills, because she’ll feel better that way and she’ll find happiness, just like in songs and stories.

Maybe her mommy will come back if Nadja draws properly. Nadja changes her drawings so that her mommy won’t be sad anymore and will love her very much. She shows her new drawings to the nice nurses, who smile at Nadja. The drawings are good, say the nurses. They’re pretty. Nadja draws and draws as she waits for her mom. She has hope.

 

Days pass and become weeks. The weeks become months.

 

One day, Nadja wants to draw her mommy’s face.

She can’t. She’s forgotten.

 

Nadja is fed up with the asylum. She’s fed up with the Doctors. She doesn’t want to draw anymore. Everyone tells her to play and to read books.

Nadja doesn’t want to play. She doesn’t like dolls. She reads a lot.

 

Her mom doesn’t come back.

She isn’t coming back, thinks Nadja. She’ll never come back.

 

You jerk you jerk you jerk after everything I’ve done for you.

 

Nadja runs away from the asylum. She get captured. Nadja howls and writhes in torment.

 

She’s locked up. The Doctors whisper. They write in their notepads. Her diagnosis is obvious. It’s a very debilitating and advanced case of drapetomania: the uncontrolable urge of the slave to escape from the master[5].

 

Nadja leaves the asylum after many years.

She’s been given a lot of pills and therapy.

She should feel much better this way.

Hermanos para siempre

 

Matilda watches her younger brothers near the family hovel. They’re playing gauchos and Indians, forgetting their stomachs grumbling with hunger.

The eldest is the chief of the gauchos. He’s defending the land against the savages. Two of his brothers serve as acolytes. The youngest has been assigned to the role of the big bad Indian chief who wants to kills the wives and children of the brave pionneers, just like in the stories the old people tell.

The scrawny young improvised savage doesn’t look very threatening. Despite this, it’s important to follow the rules of the game. Armed with a stick that serves as his rifle, the eldest charges forward shouting Death to the savages! He rains blows down on the youngest, who starts to cry. The two auxiliary gauchos proclaim victory and join their commander.

Matilda runs up to them and lectures the agressors. She yells out at them: What is this idea of beating up your little brother who’s done nothing to you? The young boy huddles up against his older sister, cringing under the insults of the others. Chicken. You’ll never be brave. You’ll never be able to defend yourself or fight. Their contempt makes the young boy cry even harder.

Heavy-hearted, Matilda conforts him. She can’t find it in her to punish the others for the misdeed. Life is already too hard. What good would it do to hit anyone one more time?

She thinks of her uncle, who died in the copper mines far from the village and used to beat her when she was young. Her mother would cradle her in turn. He doesn’t really want to hurt you. He’s just like that. He doesn’t know any better. He was tortured once. You have to understand. We have to forgive him. He’s your uncle. He loves you a lot, you know.

 

Matilda watches her brother, the eldest, walk away with his two accomplices, their heads high with conquest. The children’s bare feet lift the dust from the road. Their rags blow in the wind.

Maybe they’ll find some leftover food in the garbage of the rich.

 

The stomachs of Matilda and the youngest boy growl in unison.

A Tartar Song

 

Locked up in a colourless room, Nadja dreams of Tartary[6].

 

I want to be a Kalmouk princess in a yurt open to the four winds. My mobile abode awaits better pastures. I want to leave on horseback, raw meat under my saddle. I want to drink fermented mares’ milk on the eternal steppes of deepest Asia.

 

Kalmouks used to gouge their cheeks so their beards wouldn’t grow.

 

I want to gouge my legs so they won’t be hairy. It’s more elegant not to be hairy.

 

Nadja wants to be a Cosack, just like in books. Cosacks have beautiful blue and red costumes with puffy sleeves, beautiful black boots and big curved swords.

 

They’re more interesting than cowboys. Cosacks sing very loudly and hug everyone. Cowboys don’t like doing this. I don’t want to be a cowboy because their songs get on my nerves and I don’t want to kill any Indians.

 

But the blood of Cosacks is the blood of heroes. Nadja’s blood does not flow for the Motherland. Nadja’s blood flows all by itself, without anyone asking for it.

 

I can’t defend the Motherland or save the world, because I have to get home before the sun goes down.

Our Lady of Consolation

 

In the hovel open to the four winds, Matilda dreams of the Virgin Mary.

The Virgin Mary is just and beautiful. She saves all children by wrapping them up in a dazzling whiteness that keeps them nice and warm. She feeds them, comforts them and protects them against being hit with sticks and machetes.

In her dream, Matilda sees the Virgin Mary approach the bed of her youngest brother. He is transfigured by happiness. A soft warm light surrounds him and lifts him from the bed. He isn’t hungry anymore. He isn’t cold anymore. His bruises disappear. His cough is gone.

White perfumed candles appear at the four corners of the boy’s bed, illuminating his face and the Virgin Mary’s.

The Virgin Mary cries.

Intrigued, Matilda approaches. She’s blinded by the light of the candles.

The Virgin Mary disappears, her arms wide open.

Matilda wakes up with a start. The regular cough that punctuated the sleep of everyone in the household has stopped.

The young girl approaches her youngest brother’s bed. He isn’t moving.

He isn’t hungry anymore. He isn’t cold anymore. He isn’t hurting anymore. He’ll never cough again.

He’ll never be brave. He’ll never be able to defend himself or to fight.

Nadja’s friend

 

Nadja often goes back on visits to the asylum. She’s become close friends with another resident. His name is Jesus. Jesus is a good guy. Nadja has decided to make him her adoptive mother, even if he’s a man and everything, because he’s so nice. He has lots of imagination too – and he listens to all of Nadja’s stories. He’s already washed her feet several times. It’s one of his quirks. She bought him some good aftershave once, but he just poured it on her head. Since then, she just buys him chocolates.

Jesus is in the asylum because he ransacked a medical building and accused the psychiatrists in it of getting rich off the pain and sadness of other people. His diagnosis is very complicated, as noted by two new psychiatrists who have been put in charge of the file.

 

1^st psychiatrist: This is a classic case of multiple personality disorder, as far as I’m concerned. I mean, look at the evidence. It seems like the patient divided his unconscious mind very clearly and rigidly into Id, Ego and Superego. He calls his Superego God-the-Father, who tells him what to do. He’s sublimated his Id into some kind of primordial force that spreads out everywhere, an entity he calls the Holy Spirit. I think it’s a perfect example of repressed sexuality…

2^nd psychiatrist: As far as that goes, I find it interesting that he renounces his biological father and insists on the idea that his mother’s a virgin. He keeps repeating that she was inseminated by God-the-Father. If that isn’t a blatant, non-resolved Oedipal complex, I don’t know what is. By creating this God-the-Father, he can indicate his attraction to his mother in an oblique yet undeniable fashion.

1^st psychiatrist: But what about his delusions of grandeur? He thinks he has to save the world…

2^nd psychiatrist: To me, that’s a clear manifestation of a deep-rooted inferiority complex. He’s making himself look important. I see it as a sign of a narcissistic personality. In his so-called «Kingdom of Heaven», the last shall be first and the meek shall inherit the earth. It’s reassuring belief system for a very fragile ego structure.

1^st psychiatrist: It’s a very elaborate psychological self-defense system. He’s an intelligent man, but as we know, carpenters don’t have a very high social status.

2^nd psychiatrist: That’s exactly it. Good thing he isn’t dangerous. This being said, his cannibalistic leanings worry me somewhat. So do his schizoïd tendencies. He often asks his God-the-Father to help him get out of here.

1^st psychiatrist: That’s why we’ve prescribed the antipsychotics. Anyway, if he wants to pretend to give his body and his blood to other people, I would see this as more of a fetish than outright cannibalism. He’s looking for the kind of human warmth he was deprived of as a child. I think this is clear. His denial of his father probably indicates a severe conflict. He associates the love he feels towards others with food and being fed. It must seem less dangerous to him than any kind of eroticism – given the way he perceives sexuality.

2^nd psychiatrist: The first thing we need to do is to bring his expectations back to a more realistic level. He’s so absolutely sure of his mother’s purity that he’s forcing himself to follow her example. I bet she’s just like anyone else.

1^st psychiatrist: I bet his dad was really demanding and never thought his son was good enough for the family.

2^nd psychiatrist: My mom used to do the same thing to me. I went through some therapy that I use fairly often with my own patients. Maybe it’ll help him stop trying to be the perfect son all the time.

1^st psychiatrist: We’ll have to try it. Until then, it’s time to go…

The Offering

 

Matilda makes her way alone to the grotto of the Virgin of the Pampa. She’s looking for a miracle so her mother will stop crying. She knows you should never ask for a miracle for yourself, and that miracles can only happen when others need them.

El Loco de la Virgen is kneeling in front of the grotto. He’s put down an abundant offering of corn. The old man mutters words that Matilda doesn’t understand. He seems to speak to the spirals carved in the rock, that are glowing with a strange luminescence, more than he prays to the statue of the Virgin.

Matilda keeps a certain distance. Like a good little girl, she awaits her turn to supplicate. The Virgin’s Fool turns his head and sees the young girl. He glances back and forth between the statue of the Virgin and Matilda.

Suddenly, he nods his head as if he’s agreeing to something, takes the plate of corn and presents it to Matilda. He speaks to her in Spanish: «Por favor, take this, Miss. The Divine Sister asked me to give this food to you and your family. She’s not hungry. She says that you need it more than her.»

Nonplussed, Matilda takes the plate. She starts to thank the old man. He stops her and says: «You must not thank me. You must thank the Divine Sister.»

Matilda puts the plate down and kneels. Together, Matilda and the Virgin’s Fool pray for a long time.

Once her rosary is finished, Matilda turns to the old man and timidly introduces herself, before leaving. The man introduces himself as well: «I know what people call me. My name is Ixcan.»

Matilda bows her head respectfully: «I won’t forget», she says.

 

Back at the house, Matilda presents the corn to her mother, who falls to her knees. «It’s a miracle», she says. «We must pray.»

The whole family sits down to eat.

Matilda waits her turn, like a good little girl. She’s happy about this gift of the Madonna.

However, when Matilda comes forward to get her share of corn, there’s none left.

You should never ask for a miracle for yourself. Miracles can only happen when others need them.

Mélusine

 

As she visits the asylum, Nadiejda tells her friend Jesus the story of Mélusine, serpent-faery of her childhood[7]. Jesus listens attentively, since he’s polite. He isn’t like the nurses, who shake their heads muttering things like: «Poor little lunatic.»

Mélusine is part snake. Nadja loves snakes, even if they’re viewed with contempt by most people.

 

Jesus replies: «Be ye wise as the serpent, yet gentle as the lamb…»

Nadja loves lambs. They’re fairly cute. However, that’s not the point. She interrupts Jesus and continues her story.

 

Mélusine was the daughter of Pressine, who was also a faery. Mélusine’s father was unfaithful. Mélusine and her sisters locked up their dad in a mountain to punish him for his infidelity. Instead of being grateful, Pressine severely punished her daughters[8]. Each Saturday, Mélusine was condemned to see the lower part of her body transformed into that of a snake.

 

Jesus interrupts again: «You have to turn the other cheek.»

Annoyed, Nadja stares him down. Jesus shuts up and motions for her to continue.