The Red Scorpion, Chapter 6a

SHORT STORY MONDAY

During our year in Mexico we visited Cuernavaca twice, and on one occasion went to Tepotzlan and saw the Day of the Dead festivities which are featured in the opening of John Huston's film based on the Malcolm Lowry novel Under the Volcano. For the wonderful flavor of this town, and a step back in time, check out Huston's film. Or even better, the film about making the film.

The Red Scorpion

6a

Comstock reached Tepotzlan a little after ten. Unscathed by all things modern, Tepotzlan is a secluded world where legends and myths live. Only twelve miles from Cuernavaca, the narrow winding road makes it seem further than that.

The bus stopped a half block from the small outdoor market. Beyond the market Comstock saw the dominating, centrally located monastery. Everything was neat and orderly.

The monastery, erected by sixteenth century Dominicans, has since become one of Mexico’s national treasures. For Comstock, the monastery created a mood -- somber, almost ominous -- set back away from the town in the midst of a broad expanse of lawn surrounded by isolating walls of rock and ivy. Within, the spacious rooms are nearly barren, except for the sanctuary, filled with artifacts, incense, votive candles and other regalia of Third World Catholic tradition. From the monastery’s arched fortress-like windows the view is wholly other, a majestic panorama of surrounding hills and two active volcanoes.

Comstock entered the sanctuary of the cathedral first. A sister came forward to assist him, but he slipped out without an exchange of words.

He then entered the monastery itself, which now served as a museum. He passed from room to room, till he came into one that was barren and devoid of furnishings. There he found Chuchui, gazing from a window that faced east.

Chuchui called him to the window and pointed to the mountain. “That is where we will go.”

“What is it you are taking me to see?” Comstock asked.

“The Cave of the Dead,” Chuchui replied. “The cave leads to the depths of the earth, to the resting place of the dead. Mictlan.”

* * * * *

The climb, leisurely at first, became arduous with the approach of evening. Comstock’s head throbbed. He perspired heavily. It began to dawn on him that if this boy were speaking truthfully, he had stumbled onto something remarkable. Or perhaps, that something had stumbled onto him.

Comstock could hardly believe his luck. The Nahuatl youth was going to bring him to the very cave where the legendary god/man was last seen.

As they crossed a catwalk-like ledge Chuchui began telling Comstock of how Los Diablos came to be. “Quetzlcoatl was banished from his people for having done a terrible thing. A Nahuatl appealed to the god and changed his mind. The father of Quetzlcoatl relented, and said that his son could go live for a season with the dead and then return to be with his people, the Nahuatls.

“His eldest brother Camaxtli, who was born red, was angry and hated him for what his brother had done. He was determined that Quetzlcoatl should never return to his people. Using the deep magic of the mountain, he called forth the red scorpions from the center of the earth to guard the exit of the cave. Quetzlcoatl, even if he tried, would never be able to escape alive from the cave of the dead.”

Comstock imagined other possibilities. Yes, perhaps there was a great leader named Quetzlcoatl who was banished from his homeland. To save face he made a big show of promising never to die and to one day return. He decided he would hide in a cave till the coast was clear, then sneak off and live as a free man in some other country far away.

“You believe this?” Comstock asked Chuchui, when Chuchui finished his story?

“How could I not? I have imatini,” which is to say he had first hand knowledge. He had seen the cave. He had seen the red scorpions.

Comstock could scarcely restrain himself. This was beyond all things believable, and even as he climbed he was disbelieving. Yet he was eager to see. The native had been so matter-of-fact.

Comstock knew from his studies that these people were good people. Their mission in life was to side with the sun in the cosmic struggle between light and darkness. They were people with a mission.

So why was the youth leading him here to this cave? Why was Chuchui betraying his people? Comstock did not understand.

CONTINUED

Under the Volcano

“The novel explores the Consul’s past and present, relates his private doom to the tragic fatalism of the Mexican scene…” ~ Stephen Spender

Under the Volcano is a novel written by critically acclaimed Malcolm Lowry. The book eventually became a film starring Albert Finney and Jacqueline Bisset, directed by John Huston. Both the film and the book failed to reach a wider public despite the brash, braying praise of critics.

Like Lowry, I lived in Mexico for a time, from fall 1980 till late 1981. During that time we traveled to a number of places including two trips to Cuernavaca. I loved Cuernavaca, the city where this story primarily occurs, the Land of Eternal Springtime where Cortez established his winter palace. Like Lowry and the tragic hero of his novel I, too, was present in Tepoztlan on a holy day when the dark-faced peasants in loose white clothes and wide hats brought out Christ and the Virgin from the shadows of monasteries, parading, holding high large displays and brightly colored pillars, burned incense, celebrating intently the blended religion of the peoples.

This story covers 24 hours in the life of an alcoholic, his last 24 hours, with his singular preoccupation on where he will get his next drink, simultaneously immersing the reader into his internal despondency, hopeless self-wreckage, introspection and hallucination. It is a tragic life culminating in a tragic end, perhaps intended to be the mirror of a forlorn culture shrouded in apparitions of death.

I originally took an interest in the book because I’d read that it was supposedly structured like the Cabala, the chapters being a series of steps toward enlightenment. My first effort to read it in the late 80’s left me flat, however, and I placed it back on the shelf for a couple years. The second attempt ended about a fourth of the way through with the same frustration. A couple more years passed, and upon beginning the story I was transported inward to the heart of the characters, the culture, and the bleak futility of the hero’s quest.

John Huston took this very complicated ball of knots and attempted to straighten it out into its essential story. The film, inadequate to the task, did capture facets of the book’s essence. There is no way it could capture the spinning surrealistic writing, compelling inner monologues, and painfulness of Lowry’s heartfelt bloodletting.

Malcolm Lowry wrote the first draft in Mexico while living in Cuernavaca in 1938. Director Huston does an outstanding job of giving the feel of Mexico during this time frame. And the film brings to life many vivid memories of our time there…

Despite its shortcomings, I found myself still moved by the film. This is the second time I’ve watched it and this time I did enjoy the performances of Finney and Bisset, whom some have been especially critical of. Finney is nearly perfect throughout in his portrayal of a wrecked man. Bisset is equal to the task she must perform, confused, frightened, compassionate, pained.

The weakness of the film is perhaps the feeling that it was put together by a nostalgic older director who could have done more with the music, the camera work, the edits. Great films often grab you from the opening images, credits and soundtrack. I found myself having to overlook what I considered a weak appetizer that insufficiently lured me into the depths of our hero’s heart, mind, soul, struggle.

Huston could have done more with the film, but did not. Perhaps it is because of the era. He did not feel it necessary? I can’t say. The grandeur of his foreign setting is hinted at, but hollow. I cannot blame the actors for this. Finney was remarkable throughout, almost over the top. Bisset’s broken heart shone through with clarity.

It’s a good film and a rich, but difficult, book. If it is too depressing or too convoluted and enigmatic, you’re under no obligation to finish. But if you can’t put it down, then don’t.

“Time is a fake healer anyhow. How can anyone presume to tell me about you? You cannot know the sadness of my life…. Alas, what has happened to the love and understanding we once had?” ~ Geoffrey Firmin, Under the Volcano

All photos on this page are original, shot in Kodak Ektachrome, property of Ed Newman

Copyright 1981, Ed Newman

Permission to use is granted when attribution is cited.