Source: El País
do not intend to pose as someone who enjoyed the intimacy of Jesus de Polanco. I do not know PRISA's nothing, I know very little of Santillana and only some Alfaguara, which publishes my books in Spain and the so-called Latin America or Latin America, hinted that, contrary to what might appear, does not come out of adjustment, because in Cartagena de Indias, last week defended the idea that indigenous communities (many millions of people) have no reason to be Latin American or Latin American. Well, because the name of Jesus de Polanco was mentioned by someone, I thought that by returning to Spain, he might have the satisfaction of discussing the delicate matter with him, my editor supreme, sure find, once again, opening of mind to which I had used and a gap where my arguments could penetrate. So things are. Jesus de Polanco is dead and this conversation has been left out. Maybe in heaven or hell we can, one day, talking about the Indians of South America as the continent should be called and not called.
Who was Jesus de Polanco? First, and the unusual phenomenon, a gentleman. It may be hard, even grueling at a business meeting, but the treatment was the most sensitive personal and friendly people as I can remember at this time. In recent years I had occasion to recognize it just a quality rare in our times: the stoicism. Suffering, as we knew he was suffering from terrible pain in the spine, I never noticed the slightest tension in your face, your eyes even calling for help, as would be so human. I admired this man and will abide by while living memory. And now, we open a space for his irresistible good humor. He was, Pilar and I in the Royal Palace, on the verge of official greetings, and I suppose to entertain the waiting, Jesus de Polanco said a few words of praise on a book of mine that had just appeared published. I put the expression of modesty appropriate to require such situations, but following words puzzled me: "Your book is good, You take the glory, but I am left with the surplus." He spoke with a smile, the more fun you would expect of such a conversation, but his eyes seemed to demand some apology: "The world is like, no I was the inventor of capitalism," he said. He was right. One day we are born, another died, and the world continues, where future generations will know. Farewell, then, Jesus, I will always remember. Pilar and I will miss you.
