Irma Voth (25 page)

I decided to see the movie by myself. I had thought about taking Aggie with me but I didn’t want her to see Alfredo, her friend’s dad, making pretend love to Marijke. I didn’t want her to sit beside me moaning in agony or pretending to vomit. I also didn’t know how the movie ended and I was afraid that maybe Oveja would be shot, or disappear somehow, and that Aggie would be devastated all over again. Then I thought about how angry she’d be with me if I didn’t take her so I changed my mind and decided we’d go together and that the disturbing picture of a naked Alfredo or a wounded pit bull would be one that she would have to deal with on her own. I guess, at thirteen, there is almost nothing harder to bear than images of dead dogs and naked middle-aged men, but that’s life.

I don’t know how to describe the feeling of going to a movie. We went. Natalie and Hubertus agreed to babysit Ximena and even gave us extra money for popcorn. Aggie put on eyeliner. We took a bus to the theatre and paid for tickets and went inside and sat down in soft chairs and fought a little bit for the armrest in the middle (Aggie won) and waited in the dark. There were a lot of people. There was a lot of noise. And then it got very quiet and even darker
and the curtain opened and the movie started. It was more exciting than anything I could remember happening, ever.

I still don’t know what the movie is really about. I’m not smart enough. Or I don’t want to know. I don’t know. I cried all through the movie. I saw the skies and the cornfields and the faces of people I recognized. Even when Marijke said the lines that I had given her, the wrong ones, lines that were supposed to be funny, I cried. Diego had been right. It didn’t really matter what words they used because all of their thoughts and feelings were being expressed in other more magical ways. Souls communicating with souls. It was amazing. I wish I could explain it. I wish I knew. There were dark circles under Marijke’s eyes that I hadn’t noticed before. She looked a little haunted. There was something about her I could see now, in her movie character, that I hadn’t noticed in real life. For a second she stared directly into the camera and I thought no, no, Marijke, not directly into the camera. What did I tell you? Every thing seemed to be out of place, the faces, the words, time. All the pictures strung together and people in them, walking, talking, kissing, dying. I felt so happy. Or maybe it wasn’t happiness. There was something that I was beginning to understand but I didn’t know what it was. It was like watching my own life. It was a pathway into myself. It was like the man dying in the duct in Noehmi’s play as he hears the voices from his past. Maybe seeing a movie is like dying, but in a beautiful way. There are words that I want to say but they aren’t strong enough to describe how I felt. Or they’re too strong. And suffocating. Somewhere in the middle of those words is a word like, I don’t know, peace or
something. Harmony? That might be right, but probably not exactly.

So there we were. I cried quietly for everything that I had lost and for a few things that I had found and for reasons I couldn’t explain and Aggie was I think trying hard not to giggle. We saw Oveja and she grabbed my arm and said he’s alive! Which I thought was interesting in its way. In the way that it might not actually be true but that it seemed true in that very moment. I saw myself lying under a tree with my back to the camera. Diego had used me as a body double for Marijke who had refused to do that scene because of the snakes. It was amazing. I had never seen a photo of myself, let alone a moving picture. I saw Marijke’s giant face fill every inch of the screen. I almost screamed. When we saw the kids from our campo Aggie said ha! Look! It’s Aughte! And somebody behind us told her to be quiet. The fields and the skies were so empty and lonely and alluring. I asked Aggie in a whisper if it made her want to go home and she said no in a loud voice and was told again to shut up. The movie ended and we stretched our legs out and got ready to leave but then the lights came on and a woman with a microphone walked up to the front of the theatre and onto the stage and said that tonight was a very special night because Diego Nolasco was with us and would now be answering questions from the audience.

I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want Diego to see us and tell someone, anyone, the police, our father, where we were. But the lights were on and if we stood up now and tried to leave we’d be completely conspicuous and I imagined
Diego calling out hello Irma and Aggie,
cómo están
? So I hunkered down a bit in my seat and told Aggie we’d stay for the questions and then leave.

Can I ask one? said Aggie.

No! I said.

The woman behind us had clearly been tested. My God, she said, have you no respect?

I’m sorry, I said. We do, we do. I’m sorry.

Aggie turned around to say something to the woman and I dug my fingers into her leg and whispered in Low German that she should just shut up and stay calm and then the woman started to say something about how Aggie was a kid, a punk, and shouldn’t be there and I thought about agreeing with her but then Diego’s voice was everywhere and he was up there on the stage in nice clothes and talking into the microphone and smiling and there was applause, a lot of it, that drowned us all out and Aggie settled back into her chair and the woman did too and we all more or less listened to what he had to say.

Audience member: How did the Mennonites feel about a movie being made about them?

Diego: There was some interference, certainly. There was some resistance initially. But eventually they realized that we were there to make a respectful film which I think you would agree with, having seen it now. Alfredo, who plays the husband, was very co-operative and helped smooth things out for everyone. For the most part the Mennonites were happy to have us there and were very generous with their time and their land and homes, locations where we shot.

Audience member: Had you considered opening the film in Chihuahua, where the Mennonites might have seen it?

Diego: I had, yes, and I still want to bring it to the community so that they can see it, but the logistics of that, now, are still … complicated.

Audience member: The film is stunning. It’s awe-inspiring. Thank you for making it. My question is, what was the shoot like? What were some of the difficulties you encountered?

Diego: Thanks. Um, thanks a lot. Well, we had to wait for the right weather, often. It was the rainy season when we were shooting, it was supposed to be, but the rain didn’t come when it was supposed to so we had to use artificial rain. That was problematic but it worked eventually. There also, it was often very hot, and in fact we lost … or one of our lead actors went missing for several days because … she had heatstroke and went missing in the desert. She walked away from the shoot and got lost. We had warned her not to walk but … Originally I had a girl from the community that I had hired as a translator and sort of companion but she was … she wasn’t able to stay so … But … anyway … the actress was okay in the end. She had to be hospitalized for exhaustion or … for several days so during that time we shot other scenes.

Audience member: Hello Diego. I want to first of all congratulate you. In my opinion
Campo Siete
is a masterpiece. You are an extra ordinary artist. You’ve transformed a place of austerity and poverty into a place of strange beauty. I don’t know how you do it but I think I can say for everyone here tonight that we are all so grateful that you
do
do it. Congratulations. Bravo.

Diego: Oh, well, thanks very much.

Audience member: Why did you choose to make a movie about Mennonites?

Diego: I don’t care about the Mennonites as a group. Not at all. I’m interested in the fact that nobody would understand their language and that they were uniform. There’s no distinction, one from the other, and so they are props, essentially, for pure emotion. Even their setting, you don’t know what era it is or where, blonds in Mexico, it doesn’t matter, ultimately, when all you want is to communicate an emotional truth.

Audience member: I read something in one of the papers here months ago that there had been a violent incident at the campo where you were making the film. Can you speak of that?

Diego: Yes, there was a shooting.

Audience member: Did it involve your crew or any people involved in the making of the film?

Diego: No. No, no, it was … there was a shooting at the farm down the road.

Audience member: In the paper it said that the shooting was drug related. I found that so surprising, that the Mennonites would be involved in that type of thing.

Diego: Yes, well … it is, I guess. I don’t know the details. I believe it was a debt of some kind.

Audience member: A drug debt?

Diego: Yeah … I think so. The guy who lived there was just … he just stored the drugs for … I don’t know who. It’s a very remote area so it’s a good place for that. The people are very poor. There were … there aren’t many opportunities. And apparently the person came to get the … to get it … and it wasn’t there and he became very angry and killed the … guy.

Audience member: In the paper it mentioned, I think, that the victim was related to a member of your crew.

Diego: Member of my crew? No, no, I don’t think … oh, yeah, well … the person I was talking about before, the girl I had hired as a translator for Marijke … that person … the victim … or … he was her relative.

Audience member: He was her father?

Diego: He was her husband.

Audience member: I understand you used natural lighting in the making of your film. I’m curious about how that worked for interior shots.

Diego: I’m sorry?

Audience member: I understand you used natural lighting in the making of your film. How did you manage to get enough light for the interior shots?

Diego: If there’s not a lot of natural light coming in from windows or with one or two lamps, then that’s how it is. The shot is dark.
(He turns to the woman who introduced him, indicating that he’d like the question-and-answer period to be over.)

Woman: We only have time for one or two more questions. Yes?

Audience member: Are you in the process of working on something new? Are you writing another script?

Diego: Yes, of course. I’m always working on something new.

Audience member: Can you tell us what it’s about?

Diego: It’s not about Mennonites, that much I’ll say.
(The audience laughs and Diego smiles and waves goodbye.)

Audience member: Is it—

Woman: I’m sorry, we’ll have to stop there. Thank you, Diego, for—
(The audience bursts into applause and drowns out the woman and Diego waves again and leaves the stage.)

Aggie and I left the theatre and walked into a park across the street. It was very dark for Mexico City. We sat down on a small wooden bench and Aggie whispered things to me, the consolation of a thirteen-year-old. He came back! she said, beautiful words and sweet promises and hugs, while I wept. Aggie didn’t loosen her grip, though. Then later, at home, after she had fallen asleep with streaks of eyeliner on her face and Ximena had polished off her bottle and flung it at the wall, I took my notebook out and wrote a list of the sins I had committed. It’s good to have an itinerary even if it only leads to hell.

I broke a promise and told my father the truth, that Katie was planning to go to Vancouver, because I didn’t want her to leave and because of that she ended up dead.

I lied to the police about everything because I didn’t want my dad to go to jail and because of that we had to move to Mexico where the life gradually drained out of my mother.

By lying to the police I killed my soul and stopped believing in an afterlife because life after death seemed almost exactly the same as life before it.

I selfishly took a job as a translator which resulted in Aggie being curious about filmmaking and late nights and boys which resulted in her being beaten by our father.