I looked up at my television a while ago, which I had on on some Korean channel. I saw a man on a motorcycle, he looked like a zombie. He had a passenger riding behind him. Suddenly it began to rain a large number motorcycle helmets from the sky. The driver of the motorcycle was struck by one of the falling helmets. The television had my attention.
It was apparently the scene from a movie – the show was some movie review show, where they show clips of movies and talk about them, but, since it was in Korean, I didn’t really have much ability to capture what this movie was. But the scenes were pure magic realism, and I was captivated. There was a scene where a woman was reading a white book that fell on her from the sky. And a scene where an immense number of empty plastic bottles and containers (ie. trash) was growing into a giant pile in the center of some huge city. It grew to such large size it towered over the skyline of the city, like a mountain. People went and climbed and had picnics on it, enjoying the view. And could throw their empty containers over their shoulders – so convenient!
So. I had to know what this movie was. Hmm… how to search? Google. I typed in “falling helmets” and “movie”. I found a blog about movies – some woman in Minneapolis, of all places. And lo, there it was: Citizen Dog (Mah nakorn) – a Thai movie from 2004.
That, and yesterday’s snow, has me thinking about a story I started once – my own little foray into magic realism. Like everything I’ve tried to write, it never got finished. The story is set in my familiar haunts in Mexico City. It starts on a morning I actually experienced, when I emerged one chilly morning from the Casa to see it snowing. Of course it quickly changed to rain – it doesn’t really snow in Mexico City – except on the higher elevations surrounding: Desierto de los leones, or Tres Marias.
But then my little story diverges: in the story, it never stops snowing. Partly, I was influenced by headlines of a freak snowstorm in northern Mexico – Durango / Chihuahua / Cd Juarez, which had recently received several feet. I had been obsessing on the concept of hardworking squadrons of Mexican snowplows. I thought ‘the Mexican snowplow squadron’ might be a great name for a rock band.
Back to the story. For forty days and nights it snows. Of course, this means utter social chaos and human tragedy writ large across the hyperinflationary, delamadridista Mexico City of the 1980s. And meanwhile, snowbound in some small non-profit casa de huespedes, the main characters find friendship, love and meaning. Really, I was trying to write this. Once. Several times.
