Hello.
Sh! Eva?
-I'm in the kitchen. -Come in.
Uh, come out here. I have a little surprise for you.
I don't want what I'm cooking to get burned.
-Come on. -Give me a second.
Eva.
See?
Huh?
Professor.
Ah…
-What? -It's just that, after I got out of jail…
…I was confused, and I was hurt.
I had no idea what I was gonna do, so I had no other choice
but to go out into the countryside and hide there.
-Hmm? -Mm…
-But where in the countryside? -Mm!
I have a professor friend.
She has a quaint little house there, near Choachí. Do you know it?
I do.
-Were you there the whole time? -Mm-hmm. Mm.
I was dedicated to the farm.
-Mm! That's surprising. -No way.
I couldn't imagine you doing something like that.
-Yeah, me neither. -I get it.
With so much loneliness, so much silence, so much nature…
…all of those memories, I had so much time to read and write.
Mm.
That's when I realized something. There were a lot more chapters to my book.
My stories were hiding in there, deep in my veins.
I forgot to tell you that Professor Estela is writing.
That's why I ran into her at the publishing office.
-Seriously? -Tell her why you were there.
I wrote my first book, and I'm looking to get it published.
What kind of things do you write?
Poetry of the erotic kind.
Wow!
And this is my very first book. Wet Poems of a Lonely Woman.
-You're letting me read it? -Yes. And I'm using a pseudonym.
Lilith.
It's the perfect pseudonym.
What?
Yeah, because Lilith is the name of one of the stories
in the book Delta of Venus by Anaïs Nin.
Which, if I'm not mistaken, was the first book where a woman dared
to speak openly and freely about eroticism.
-Huh. -The novel was direct and raw.
Mm. I'll have to read it.
It's a great read.
And plus, she was friends with Henry Miller. I mean…
-And Antonin Artaud. -Oh yeah?
Yeah. It really is a small world.
-Everything's connected. -Mm.
What makes me happy is, um,
seeing Professor Estela doing great with healing.
She seems like she's on a good path with her poetry thing.
Yeah.
Camilo,
I know what I wanna do in life.
What?
I'm going to become a literary agent.
I have two clients already. You and Professor Estela.
Does that pay really well?
I'm pretty sure Carmen Balcells makes a lot of money.
She's the literary agent of several artists from the Latin American boom,
including García Márquez and Vargas Llosa.
-Mm. -Yep. I'm gonna be like her.
I'm impressed.
EVA LASTING
"DELTA OF VENUS"
"EPISODE 8"
You and I never got to know each other.
-It was a long time, you liar. -We didn't.
Because I became a student there after you had already left.
-So you're Martín's sister? -Uh-huh.
-Yes, ma'am, I am. -And the mother of Granados' daughter.
And Arbeláez's wife.
-It's a very funny story. You'd love it. -Watch yourself, brother.
-It's not funny, dumbass. -Yeah, it… it would be hard to explain.
-Cheers. -But I am in love…
…with how open-minded you all seem to be with each other.
Because this planet needs more people with this mindset.
-Thank you. -And how is the baby?
-"The baby." -Big, isn't she?
More like a little person now, having a great time with her grandparents.
-Yeah? Oh, beautiful. -You have to meet her.
I would love to meet her. Everyone raise your glasses.
-All right. -Let's go!
First of all, I'm gonna make a toast for this exquisite lunch. Thank you.
-Thanks, Grandma. -Second, a toast to you all.
Because you've been… Well, I'm not sure you knew this.
But… you have been part of some of the most beautiful memories of my life.
-That's nice, professor. -Thank you.
Cheers.
And to José María, because even though sometimes we were miserable,
we had times that were so good.
-We did. -That's right!
Cheers!
Mm.
Did you know they all wanted to sleep with you
when they were back in school?
-Mm. Um… -Imagine that.
Camilo told me.
No, but…
You're the one who told me, Camilo. Don't try to deny it.
It's not appropriate to tell the professor that.
-What's the problem, you guys? -Stop fighting. You can all calm down.
I always knew.
You boys are so silly.
I knew you might have been looking at me from your desks
when I was giving lessons.
None of you were subtle.
I could sense you looking when I reached up
to write on the blackboard and my skirt went up a little.
Or when I bent down and the neckline on my blouse revealed
beyond what was appropriate.
-We weren't-- -I don't remember that.
We weren't perverts, Grandma Lucy.
I see.
With all due respect to Mrs. Lucy,
I'm gonna make a confession tonight.
Here it goes.
I loved it.
We asked Professor Estela to read some of her poems.
She obliged,
leaving us astonished by the graphic and explicit nature of those verses.
You wouldn't think this could be possible for boys who grew up watching XXX movies
at the Teatro Imperio.
But there we were, awkward and speechless.
The first poem I'll be reading is entitled "Orgasm."
Whoo! Let's do it.
The door flings open
You appear in my presence
All parts of me, including my little toe Quiver in anticipation
My chest is engorged
As are my lower lips
It's the imminence of the inevitable That leaves everything wet within me
And then you rush towards me
My legs give way Opening as an offering to you
You, ravenous for my sex
Kiss it
Lick it
Savor it
Your tongue is the key with which You intend to open the gates of my body
And with my eyes closed
I then climb the summit to your pleasing Allowing you my entire body
Really interesting, professor.
-Yeah, it was so cool. -You're a true poet!
An artiste.
-Well. -Incredible.
"Elegy to the Phallus."
Whoa.
The poetry reading was a litmus test for my housemates,
a quiet calvary for my grandmother,
and a growing concern for me,
because, although my knowledge on the subject of erotica
left much to be desired,
I had started to become suspicious
of the quality and poetic ability of our beloved professor.
…wild desires…
I love that Professor Estela ended up writing erotic poetry.
Yeah. Everybody was shocked, huh?
Yeah.
-That made it even better. -Not for my grandma.
She was panicking. I feel bad.
-Yikes. -I bet.
But… maybe that's the purpose of poetry.
Yeah? To wake everyone up.
That's what the poetry I like does, at least. Like Rimbaud, Baudelaire.
-Mm. -Their poetry opens doors.
-Pff. Sure. -I don't know. I think that's hard to do.
Especially for female poets.
-I'm gonna make a sandwich. Want one? -I'll have one. Thanks.
Sure.
I was tempted to mention my doubts about the quality
of the professor's work to Eva,
but she seemed so enthusiastic and confident.
I kept silent and wondered if the origin of those doubts
was an indication of my lack of poetic knowledge.
What's up, professor?
-What's up? -Everything okay?
Yeah.
I've been thinking about what you boys were saying during dinner,
when everyone confessed their attraction to me,
admitting that they fantasized about me during class while I was teaching.
I came to ask if you happened to be one of them.
Well, um… yes.
It was mostly me.
Is that true?
Just how true?
Stay here for a few days?
Yes, but just until I find another place to go for a while.
Right, Grandma. But what happened at 364? You were comfortable there yesterday.
Did someone mistreat you or something, or…
No, no, no. It's not that.
I can guess.
Is it Professor Estela?
Mm…
I don't wanna judge anyone, but frankly, that woman is something else.
I understand, but, Mrs. Lucy, Professor Estella's a poet.
You have every right to either love or hate her work.
But I'm pretty sure poetry's never hurt anyone.
Last night, Camillo and I had a conversation about it opening doors.
Well, that may be,
but that "poet" went into Martín's room last night.
Mm. Oh, really?
Oh yes, but they weren't praying the Rosary.
Obviously not, but I'm sure you saw incorrectly, Grandma.
Wait a minute. Your grandma's old, but not blind.
That's not what I meant. Maybe they had a… I don't know.
An important conversation.
I saw them making out.
But they're adults, and both of them consented,
and neither of them are committed to anyone.
Yeah. Mm-hmm.
Yes, but… the professor,
the precious professor that brought you up when you were children,
is making out with Martín, when she could be his mother.
In theory, yes… but she isn't.
If it's about age difference,
so many old men have dated someone their daughter's age.
No one said anything.
Like when Professor Silva dated me, nobody complained. Did they?
No. Silence.
And besides, Grandma,
it comes with the territory of being a poet, I think.
-Mm. -They need passion.
That's how they give intensity to their art.
-Mm-hmm. -Well, I'm surprised.
-It doesn't bother you at all? -No.
Not at all. We think it should be celebrated.
I mean, Martín being able to finally fulfill a fantasy from his youth,
and the moral cannons Professor Estela is able to challenge with this…
Women have been shackled with them for so long.
Have you ever had a fantasy, Mrs. Lucy?
-Well, like that, no. -No?
No.
-Are you sure? -No.
Here, Grandma, have a cookie. Yeah?
Eva, possessed by her newfound role as a literary agent,
began to organize poetry readings for Professor Estela,
to warm her up for the launch of her new book.
In your eyes
You celebrated the rain in the night
You were perfection in your sexual and wild desires
A guest welcomed in so many times
As my hands bounced on you like lace
Your quivering body let out a scream…
And when you entered me…
Each time more ferocious With your overflowing desires
Unquenched with caresses and kisses…
Your paws turned into claws That tore my skin
Tired, sweaty, surprised by the dawn…
-The night had changed us… -So bad. Oh, man.
It made our two hearts into one
-Thank you for your time. -Thank you.
We have to look for another publisher. That one didn't understand her poetry.
Maybe they understood her work but just didn't like it.
They didn't like it because they didn't understand it.
That's what I said.
We're not gonna find a more prestigious and open-minded publisher for her book.
Really? Watch me.
Come on.
I know that this might not be what you wanna hear
and may be hard to accept.
Professor Estela's work isn't revolutionary. It's bad.
Looking out On the morning rain
Uh… Am I interrupting?
No, Mrs. Lucy, not at all.
I wanted to put these flowers in here.
Oh, how sweet. Perfect.
A great addition.
And when I knew I'd have to face…
-This song's nice. What is it? -…another day
Ah, it's Carole King.
I'm obsessed.
Pardon my asking,
but I would like your thoughts on something.
I'm honored. What would you like to ask?
-Care to sit? -Yes. Thanks.
What would you like to talk about?
Mm… It's a bit of, um…
Difficult for me to ask.
I hope you don't misunderstand me because of it.
You don't have to worry about that.
Is it about my erotic poetry? Along those lines?
Oh, no, no. Not about that.
Although, um… we could talk about that some other day too.
Well, then what is it?
Have you ever dabbled with marijuana?
Uh… I was talking to one of the boys.
Gustavo.
Um, he mentioned that it's comparable to…
entering a sacred, spiritual state of mind.
Which is why I wanted more information, but from someone older.
With more life experience.
And I thought, uh…
Oh. I'm so sorry. I've offended you.
-No. You didn't. -Please forgive me.
No need to apologize to me. I'll be completely honest here.
Every once in a while, I do partake in a little weed smoking.
A little weed's not a big deal,
but only… once in a while, of course.
Oh.
Uh…
What's it like?
-Would you like to get high together? -You make me feel…
-Because… I'm thinking…
…we can go smoke a joint, if you want, in the other room.
Oh.
Like a natural woman
A natural woman
Thank you very much, Mrs. Ana.
-Oh, you don't have to thank me, José. -Of course I do.
It's a noble act on your part.
I really appreciate you making peace with my mother.
Why wouldn't I, José? I'm not cruel. She's family.
I consider her my mother too. I have a lot of appreciation for her.
We're moving on. It's all water under the bridge.
My mother, deep down, loves you too.
-Really? -With this, she'll love you even more.
Oh, José… I don't think it's a good idea
that we show up out of nowhere and invite her to lunch.
-Don't worry. -Hope she'll be happy with our surprise.
Believe me, she will.
She will.
I think you look beautiful.
You're looking very handsome yourself there, mister.
-Come on! Move! -Calm down, José.
Why do you have to scream?
That was rude.
-Hi. -Oh, Ana.
-Professor, what a joy to see you. -Oh…
-How exciting. -Camilo told us you were living here.
Yes. Yes, I am.
-You look great. -Where are you teaching now, professor?
-Me? No, I'm writing. -Mother.
You're writing?
-How are you? -Oh! Brilliant.
Everything is good.
Or "so cool," as the boys say.
Mm.
Look who came to say hello.
How are you, Mrs. Lucy?
Ana, it's "cool" to see you here.
Excuse me. I'm sorry.
I can't stop laughing.
Oh!
-Why is my mother acting weird? -Oh, José.
Did you come here to be a serious worrywart?
You're annoying me.
Oh, please, Mother. Your language is unbecoming.
José, we should have let her know that we were coming.
There's something off here. What's she up to?
Nothing. I'm happy.
It's been a long time.
Does that bother you, son?
Are you drunk?
Oh, not a drop. Promise. Not even a sip of alcohol.
It's something.
-José. -Hmm?
Mother, are you high?
Oh…
Maybe a teensy-weensy bit.
You know what?
Why don't you try a little bit?
Maybe it'll help you stop being so anxious
and a bitter curmudgeon.
Would you look at his face?
I mean, his eyes are like…
Camilo, any evaluation of an artistic work is subjective.
I obviously understand that,
but there's also a minimum of artistic quality
that should be demanded of all literary work.
Otherwise, the entire literary field will be inundated with crap
because, subjectively, anything goes.
That would be like artistic demagoguery.
Oh, come on. It's not like her poems are that bad.
Yes, they're that bad, Eva.
Some are ridiculous, uh, some are obvious, and all are superficial.
You didn't notice, but… at the university,
at the bar, they were all laughing and making fun of her, you know?
Not because it was at all beyond their comprehension.
It's because they were bad.
And the publisher, even though they were nice about it,
they didn't like the professor's book either.
I know them.
Okay, yes, I admit that the professor's poetry lacks…
-…a bit of maturity. -Yeah.
But it's not about the art anymore. It's become political. Don't you get it?
Erotic poetry that's written by a woman is a wall that's collapsed.
-It is a path that opens. -Even if the work is bad?
That doesn't matter. The quality will come.
Camilo, for that to even happen, there have to be first steps.
I don't know any erotic female poets in Colombia.
It's important that Professor Estela's poetry exists,
no matter the quality of her work.
Oh boy!
I was really thirsty.
Oof!
How's José? Was he pretty angry?
You know your son.
Not only do I know José,
but I'm responsible that he turned out like this.
I had no idea what I was doing when I raised him.
Oh, don't say that, Mrs. Lucy.
You do what you can as a parent.
And no parents are given manuals when they raise their children.
We do the best we know how.
We give them love… be understanding and there when they need us.
Mm.
I'm sure you did all of that for him.
Mm.
But I also closed him off from the world, Ana.
For example,
I've only been in this house with these kids for a couple of months.
And in that short time,
you wouldn't believe how much more I've lived than in my whole life.
I think the reason for that is that there is no prejudice here.
Only freedom.
When José was a little child,
I not only filled him with prejudice but also with prohibitions.
Well… Right.
Because of that, it's my fault that my son's life hasn't been easy.
And I feel guilty about that.
Oh, the irony.
It's only when we get old
that we're able to discover so many important things.
Such a shame.
We don't have nearly enough time to live them fully,
to practice all that we've learned.
Ana, you're young and have so much time left.
Please live your best life. Don't skip out on anything.
Take my advice.
Okay?
I would give it all up in a second just to be 20 years younger.
My dear and incorrigible father, for his part,
had not one ounce of restraint.
Once he arrived home,
he immediately called his sister, Rosa Elvira, in the United States.
What was that?
Well, I think you've been unfair.
You've been behaving like a very bad daughter.
I don't care if this happened a long time ago, Rosa Elvira.
I'm surprised you don't know a mother's pain has no calendar.
Let me remind you of the Parable of the Prodigal Son.
You'll find it in Luke 15…
…Verse 11 to 32.
In the Bible, Rosa Elvira! The book of God.
Did you forget you're Catholic Apostolic Roman?
Huh?
No, no, no. You listen. No.
Let me remind you that my mother left everything in her country
to help you, to accompany you to the United States, when you asked.
And how did you repay her?
With ingratitude, with cruelty.
You can't imagine all that my mother has suffered.
Yes, because of you. Because of you, ma'am.
"She'll get over it." You would say that.
Trickles off your tongue, doesn't it? "She'll get over it."
Well, I want you to listen to me
so you'll understand the consequences of your actions.
How does it feel that my mother, who's also your mother,
is now a drug addict?
I'm not joking. I'm going to pass it to Mrs. Ana so she can tell you.
-Hold this. -I don't want to.
-Oh. Uh, tell her. Tell my sister. -Here.
-No! -Talk to her. Hello?
Rosa Elvira. Hey, Rosa? Rosa Elvira?
Hello? Ugh.
How rude.
How long have you been on the phone with your sister?
I don't know. Maybe half an hour. Can you believe she hung up on me?
Of course I believe that.
What upsets me, José, is that you're here, glued to that phone,
on a long-distance call.
-The problem I had with your mother. -Mrs. Ana, I'm asking you a favor.
Not to mention my mother to me.
Right now what I'm upset about the most
is you supporting the disaster, instead of supporting me.
-What disaster, José? -What disaster? My mother!
Doesn't it bother you that she's become a drug addict?
What is wrong with you? Your mother only did it out of curiosity.
-That's all. Stop the drama. -For you, it's not…
Is it normal that my mother started smoking that crap?
-Enlighten me, Mrs. Ana, please. -It is normal for her to be smoking that.
Your mother is at an age where she can decide what to do on her own.
And she has discovered that smoking marijuana has helped her.
Oh my God.
I also agree with her that maybe you should smoke a little too.
Could do you some good.
I'm telling you all of this out of love.
"Drug addict." How ridiculous.
José.
Dear Eva,
I had a meeting yesterday with the publisher,
and although they were very professional and kind,
they made it clear that they are not going to publish my book.
"It's something I anticipated
after becoming aware of the snickers and snide looks at our readings."
"We can't turn a blind eye to this much evidence
and need to both admit that my work is subpar."
"I am, however, planning to continue."
"I'm going to continue to be contrary, as I have learned,
and will continue to do so as I can."
"I hope you will do the same, my dear Eva."
"Please don't forget that obedient women don't change the world."
"This world, and especially the women in it,
desperately need change."
"We may not live long enough to enjoy that better and more fair reality,
for which we are pledging our lives, but someone has to start the revolution."
"For better, or perhaps for worse, we are among those chosen."
"I am confident that someday you'll carry the mantle."
"Say goodbye to all the boys for me
and let them know I'll always carry them in my heart."
"Please tell Mrs. Lucy that I left her a little gift under the cutlery box."
"Estela."
That's too bad.
She was a woman with gumption.
Wait a minute. Wait a minute, honey.
Try to listen. Calm down.
I know that, but being desperate isn't going to solve anything.
That doesn't mean that the world is about to end, does it?
No.
No, no, no, no.
I'm sure that you're just very confused right now.
You're not thinking with a level head.
I'm helping you.
Stay where you are, and don't make any rash decisions.
Wait for my call.
I am listening to you.
Okay. Good. We'll do that.
Problem, Grandma Lucy?
Hmm!
Right here. Thank you.
You're very welcome. Have a nice afternoon.
Thank you.
-Hello, José. -Mother.
-Can we talk for a moment? -I'm busy right now. I'm sorry.
Your sister Rosa Elvira broke up with Richard.
We already knew that.
She told me that she's absolutely devastated.
So she needs me, and I'm traveling to the United States tomorrow
to be with her.
-Mother, are you pulling my leg? -I'm not, José.
Tell me why.
Rosa Elvira kicked you out of her house.
Your pain caused you to fall into the world of illicit drugs.
Suddenly, her marriage is in shambles, you run to her side?
Mm. Pretty much.
Except for the part about falling into the world of illicit drugs.
But, yes, that's what happened.
Are you okay?
You're not high, are you?
Are you under the influence of the devil's plant?
Don't be ridiculous.
I only dabbled out of curiosity.
Only one time.
Just a couple of more times after that.
-I'm sure you have. -Listen to me, José.
Maybe you won't understand,
but I'm telling you, a mother's love doesn't include any retribution.
-Mm-hmm. -I couldn't care less what she did.
She needs me to be with her. I'm going to be there for her. I'm not--
But do you realize that you're aiding and abetting ingratitude?
In the meantime, us fools are watching a stick of dynamite.
You might be right. But at least, there, I'll feel like I can be useful.
Here, I'm not. No one knows what to do with me.
-I'm just a burden. -That isn't true. It hurts me to hear it.
-That hurts, Mother. That hurts. -Ugh, José.
Stop with all the drama. I'm going to leave you to clean your old junker.
-"Junker"? -I'll say goodbye to Ana.
-This "junker" has fed us for many years. -That one. It's old. Whatever.
Life went on as we reached the year 1982.
Hard times landed on the members of the tribe.
After his failed attempt to start a business
using his culinary skills,
Arbeláez was stuck, unable to get back on his feet.
With some resignation,
he assumed the role of househusband in his relationship with Luisa.
Salcedo continued to combine his work as a disc jockey
with a few sporadic and temporary contracts as a mechanic.
-He continued to indulge in Madame White. -Let's pump it up!
Castro couldn't decide whether he was going to be a soccer coach
or a commentator
and had a sneaking suspicion
that he wasn't going to be good at either of them.
This resulted in his mood, at times, becoming cyclothymic and more aggressive.
The only ones who were doing well were Pabón,
who was still excited about the theater and had set out to advance his group
by finding a place of his own.
Luisa, while in process of finishing her degree,
had already secured a hospital job.
She even had taken on some of the responsibilities
of a full-time doctor.
And my mom had finally graduated from night school
and started working as a professor
at the same university where she had studied.
In those days, it was customary to frame and display academic diplomas.
"Value exchange," as our dear friend Baudrillard would say.
Miss Eva Samper.
That year, Eva and I graduated from our university.
Mr. Camilo Granados.
Congratulations to all of this year's graduates.
You're in public, Camilo. Control yourself.
Oh, your mom is right there.
-Thank you. -Yeah? Good?
Yup.
That's good.
-Yep. -Here.
-Looks good. Thanks a lot. -Thanks, man.
-Looks so good. -So what do you wanna do?
You're about to publish your second novel, Camilo, right?
That's why you should start thinking about reaching an international audience.
Mm. And what exactly does that involve?
It involves you putting me in charge of the publication
and translating your novel into English.
From the moment I started at the university,
I've wanted to be a translator.
And what better way to start
than to translate the novel of the man I love?
So as not to dampen the mood on something
she was so fervently passionate about,
I refrained from telling Eva something I probably should have.
I had just been informed by my publisher
that they had serious doubts about a second novel from me,
which more or less confirmed
that there was no intention of publishing it.
I'm home.
-In here. -What are you doing?
-I'm translating your novel. -Yeah? How's it going?
Fine, but it has some mistakes. Here.
-Oh. Like what? -I'm working on page 40.
There's a change in the time of the narration.
I know, but it's not a mistake. It's deliberate.
I felt that the time change helped accelerate the action.
Okay, yeah, but it's not noticeable so it seems like a mistake.
-Mm. But-- -And also here.
In the first part of the novel,
it seems like the character is clear in his position about the conflict,
but later, on page 50, it becomes lost.
Yeah, that's on purpose,
because the character gets confused by what he knows.
-Mm… -It's about the--
Sure, but it's not… clear enough.
I think it's because the character's motivation becomes unclear.
It's intentional, because I feel that motivation kills character.
Okay, but that makes the narration confusing.
Oh! In other words, you think that my novel is shit.
No, but it does have some problems.
Sorry, but I didn't know that translation work
involved a literary analysis of the novel.
Does it bother you that I'm correcting it?
No. No, not at all.
It's just that the publisher was happy with the text.
So now you want me to tell them what?
That I have to correct it because the translator decided
to become a literary critic?
-I'm making food. -I'm not hungry.
I am.
That afternoon, I experienced firsthand
how difficult it was to receive rational criticism
about something I created from my soul.
It was especially distressing to hear those questions come from the person
who was my greatest inspiration and promoter.
I couldn't separate work from my personal life.
I absorbed Eva's criticisms as personal attacks,
which, unfortunately, caused the atmosphere in the apartment
to become tense once again.
-Reach… high… to the sun. -Gustavo.
-Gustavo, some people are here for you. -Mm.
Hello. How are you?
-Hello. -Nice to meet you.
I'm Julio Carvajal. This is my assistant.
-Marcela Torres. -Hello.
We're in the neighborhood looking at locations, houses,
for a very well-known television production company
and a show we're producing.
-Television? -That's right.
Can we come in, take some pictures, look around a little?
Of… of course you can. No problem.
-Do you pay for that? -Yes, of course. We pay well.
You do? Oh, well, that's great.
Thank you.
I'll show you around. All right.
-We can start with the kitchen. -This way?
Yes. Follow me.
Can we talk for a minute?
The change of times in the narration
and the lack of motivation of the main character aren't
the only problems with the novel.
I couldn't find the…
the central theme, or interesting characters,
or their relationships.
That's what the publishers told me when they rejected my manuscript.
When?
Sometime last week.
Why didn't you tell me?
Because you'd be disappointed.
I was going to find out eventually.
Yeah, but I was hoping that some of the other publishers
would want the book, but that didn't happen, I guess.
I can't keep lying to myself either. I just have to face the truth.
That's it.
Oh, why don't we try reworking…
--…some of the problem areas? -No, no.
-Salvage it. -I worked on it for over six months.
And I need to accept that… that The First Woman was my debut
and now I'm saying goodbye to literature.
Are you serious?
Yeah.
You almost threw up reading my manuscript.
Camilo…
…don't be so hard on yourself.
You're not the first or the last writer to go through something like this.
This also happened to Melville, and to Nabokov, and Kafka,
who almost threw up reading the manuscript of The Metamorphosis.
Look, rejection and missteps are part of the path of any writer.
And if you wanna give up writing just because you write something
that's not as brilliant,
then you definitely don't have a poet's heart, after all.
You might as well do something else.
Like journalism, maybe.
Will you love me still… if I write something bad?
No.
I met you
and fell in love.
I read your words, and I fell in love a little more.
But if you don't give up and keep trying, no matter what happens,
I'm going to love you a lot more.
So are you renting out the 364?
Mm. no.
The director, he liked the neighbor's house better.
-So we're screwed. -Aw, that sucks. What a bummer, man.
Thanks, Marisita.
That money would have really come in handy.
Well, yeah. Yeah, it would have.
But I'm not here to complain.
I want to tell you something I'm really excited about.
-Thanks. -Tell me. Sit down.
-So, listen. -Mm.
I thought about what kind of pull that director has.
I told him about you
and showed him the work we did on that video together,
and… and…
and now you have an interview appointment with the programming department head.
-An… an appointment for what? -I'm getting there.
He said that he's looking for a new comedy writer.
So your friend Pabón thought,
"There's nobody better than my best friend,
who's also a great writer."
Yeah.
Brother, I appreciate you,
but I'm a literature writer… in a crisis.
This writer's block is no joke.
Well, you never know.
Maybe changing industries is what you need.
Yeah, but writing for television?
There's more.
One of the actors in the theater worked in television
and says that they pay way more than you think.
That's another reason.
Mm… It is.
-A pretty good reason. -Mm.
Think about it.
They just released a new comedy by Pepe Sánchez.
And the man directs and writes.
It's very impressive.
Don Chinche.
Don Chinche?
Take a look. You have nothing to lose.
Okay.
I'm interested in doing something along those lines.
So are you interested?
No, yes, of course. I'm really, really interested.
-It's just… -The money.
We wanted to ask a little question before I, uh…
-I was curious… -About the pay?
-Yes, that. -Yeah, that.
-A comedy for television? -Yeah.
I just came from the programming office, and they wanted me to do a test.
Are you gonna do it?
Um… They pay really well.
You're a serious writer, Camilo.
And television is a minor medium
where you have to make too many concessions to make waves.
Sure, but I also think
that television can be a step towards cinema.
What? No, Camilo, that's not true.
Cinema is art, and television, by nature, is commercial.
Right.
A true artist isn't capable of selling out for money.
Right?
And you, Camilo, are a true artist.
You can't forget that.
Eva's reaction brought me back down to earth
and reminded me that I was living with a woman who was not like the others.
This could cause a rift.
There were fundamental differences between being with the tribe
and being outside of it.
Within the tribe, issues were diluted,
but outside of it, they were like walls that were difficult to climb.
Perhaps this was the evidence
that life as a couple was the preamble to loneliness.
EVA LASTING a couple was the preamble to loneliness.