Néstor Pinsón

An eighteen-year friendship

e were acquainted in 1998, at a lunch at the Héctor Lucci’s corner stand in the San Mateo alley. We argued for a long while, about politics, but we said goodbye with a strong hug. Soon thereafter it became a loving friendship.

Ricardo García Blaya accepted a space in my radio program Siempre el Tango and, months later, one evening when we were walking along Avenida Mayo, he exclaimed: «I feel like having an Internet site, will you join me?» I agreed and he added: «We may meet here!…» we were passing by the bar of the Hotel Castelar.

«I would like to invite Julio Nudler» –I said- «Yes, it’s all right. Do that next week or the following one». It took place on three occasions and several sections were arranged and a good percentage of the art work, with much embellishments. A later meeting held at the place of an acquaintance was quite rowdy, but it helped us to find Jorge Vilas, who was much experienced about web design.

Ricardo, for some needs of the moment, relied on his nephew Federico, the sheriff’s horse, who patiently found secret places of much help and so was becoming the living brain of the site. Time later Vilas quit and then came the little dilly, Felipe –the one with the Belgian surname- in charge of the deep difficulties of the Internet.

Nudler, who was a contributor up to that time, later with his articles, recommended the one who was missing, the translator. He warned us: «He’s quite a character, if he becomes uneasy you offer him a glass of wine or some food and everything will be OK, but he’s one of the best». And if Julio said so, we had no doubts and so Laureano Fernández turned up.

Finally, me, Pinsón the writer, along with Ricardo, the boss, who had the final word, gave rise to a large number of swearwords by me and more delicate answers by him. He had a nice way of talking but he was unable to repress hysterical fits. When the conversation was over, always on the phone, all was alright.

Some fans, visitors from abroad, passing by Buenos Aires, wanted to drop by the Editor’s office, which in fact was nonexistent, each member did his own from home. Computer and phone were my tools, because I’m one of those who hardly learnt to turn the compu (PC) on, and with great effort, to know the least necessary to send a text.

Eighteen years together… it’s not customary. Without jealousy, nor decisive arguments. We have to thank the number of contributors who were well chosen.

Last year I sent a large number of notes, around a hundred so that there would be an important stuff in store, but as soon as 2017 began I was unable to write any more. Not even to look at my file. Ricardo’s health was declining and I woke up every morning with his image hurting my head. His shrunk voice, his brave but distant gesture, waiting… waiting for an ignominious end, one which no one should have.

I stopped seeing him about one year before. I did weep for him daily, with real tears, I was beginning to be in mourning, which goes on, with an empty screen full of Ricardo. I talk to him, the dialogue goes on like every day without rest, without telephone, now person to person.

August 31, 2017.