Antonio Gala at home. Memories of his secretary
“I did well to buy the estate, didn’t I? How beautiful it is,” Antonio Gala would repeat to Luis Cárdenas, his personal secretary for almost thirty
years, on each walk through La Baltasara. Luis’s memory serves to place the value of La Baltasara in its proper perspective, taking into account the dreamlike origins of its acquisition and the evolution it underwent.
Symbolically linked to the theatre scene. It was also the setting for a period of work on the novels that would take Gala to the zenith of his career in this field, as he had already achieved success as a playwright. Paradoxically, this came about from a retreat. Each memory of the writer’s closest collaborator allows us to understand why this corner of Alhaurín became a separate, different Eden. Let’s listen to him.
● Luis, you say that in the late 1980s there was a certain weariness in Gala with theatre life in Madrid… Do you think that subconsciously you were looking for a place to start your career as a novelist?
It’s not that I think so, it’s that I’ve heard him say so countless times. Besides, he didn’t do it unconsciously, but consciously. He was going through a period of intense work (especially as a playwright) and felt a greater need for rest, because he wanted to make the transition to novels (in fact, all his novels, starting with his first, El manuscrito carmesí, were partly written in La Baltasara). He had been living in Madrid for a few years, on Calle Macarena on the corner of Triana, after distancing himself somewhat from certain contacts, but he wanted more isolation to work, that is, to read and write, and, above all, to feel serene (he has always aspired to serenity rather than happiness). As he said: ‘I want to immerse myself in myself’. In addition, several acquaintances had told him about Alhaurín el Grande as a suitable place for what he wanted and desired. When he finally dreamt of the name (Alhaurín)… that’s when his journey began, first in Huerta del Jorobado, for a couple of years or so, and then, unexpectedly and by chance, he came across the estate, which had been abandoned and for sale for some time: the locked gate was like a turning point. And so it was.
● Did this area of Malaga remind Gala of any particular place? I read somewhere that it reminded her of Tuscany in Italy.
Indeed, but especially once the cypress trees were planted: that was when it reminded her most. Or perhaps she did it (plant the cypress trees) for that very reason: to remind her of Tuscany. Indeed, but especially once the cypress trees were planted: that’s when it reminded her most. Or perhaps she did it (plant the cypress trees) for that very reason: to remind her of Italy, and make it look even more like Tuscany. We must remember that she spent some time in Florence, running an art gallery.
● Why this fixation with the character of La Baltasara?
It seems that he did not know at first that she was an actress. I think he did not want to believe it, since he was somehow distancing himself from the world of theatre. He believed that it was one of the many nicknames that families in the village have: Los Baltasaros. Then he believed that she was a good witch who helped him get here. But when he signed the deeds and saw that it really was a new name for the estate, he realised that it was not a nickname at all. Baltasaros. Then he thought she was a good witch who helped him get here. But when he signed the deeds and saw that it really was a new name for the estate (previously called El Naranjal), and that, indeed, she was an actress from the Spanish Golden Age, he had no doubt: he was unconsciously led to La Baltasara, since, in trying to distance himself from that world, that is, fleeing from the parsley, it was written on his forehead. In fact, he did not leave the theatre, as he wrote his last five plays here: La Truhana, Los bellos durmientes, Café cantante, Las manzanas del viernes and Inés desabrochada.
● Do you remember any particular summer that was especially fruitful, literarily speaking?
I remember the spring and summer of 1993, the year La pasión turca was published. It was the first novel he dictated to me, in the autumn and winter of 1992, here at La Baltasara (at the same time, he continued his weekly collaboration with El País and his daily collaboration with El Mundo). It was launched in the spring of the following year, and it was crazy both on St George’s Day in Barcelona and at the Retiro Book Fair in Madrid: the queues were endless, security had to be provided for those seeking his signature, and it was a real adventure to deal with everything. I think that, after El manuscrito carmesí, it is the novel that has had the most editions. In fact, it remained the best-selling book for months. I also remember, because it was so special, when he received (which was unusual, as it wasn’t the norm) in 1996 the editors of the Planeta publishing house, because they had finally convinced him to publish his poetry (in fact, Planeta doesn’t publish poetry), after much insistence. I remember that the ‘boss’ said to the editor: ‘If you don’t publish this book, I’ll fire you.’ And it was published. It is Poemas de amor (Love Poems), of which I don’t remember how many editions have been published, and new ones are still coming out.
● What has it been like working with someone like Antonio Gala all these years?
Difficult question, for a difficult person. Difficult, in the sense that he is very demanding: first with himself, and therefore with others, especially with me, who am so close to him and in charge of many matters of all kinds. But, on the other hand, I have travelled to many countries, as I accompanied him on each of the trips he made, especially if they were of a professional nature. I remember right now a promotional tour of five countries in Latin America: it was 21 days in which we changed time zones three times. I have also met great people and great personalities, some of whom later became, I don’t know if friends, but certainly more than acquaintances (for example, I remember Terenci Moix above all, because we always went to visit him when we travelled to Barcelona; or Concha Velasco, whom I met in the autumn of 1992, at the Seville Expo, and then I ran into her on many other occasions; or Mary Carrillo, the great actress, who took a special liking to me. And I could name many other people). I have learned, at his side, to read with an eye for typos, spelling mistakes, etc. I can’t help it. As they say, it’s professional deformation. In fact, in this past promotion of the Antonio Gala Foundation for young creators, some of the writers and non-writers chose me as their proofreader and gave me the nickname of philological police officer. And, as I always say, that’s despite the fact that I’m a science person. Above all, I laugh a lot with him, which is very important, as he is one of the people I have met with the greatest and best sense of humour, and with a subtle irony that nothing and no one escapes.
Interview conducted in October 2021