For some reason I was expecting a man in a button down collared shirt and tie, or maybe at least a polo style collared shirt. I was misled by his pictures online. Google images skewed my perception! (in retrospect, they could have been photos from performances. He is an actor/director afterall). Also, he always seemed short and unfriendly on the phone. I assumed that to be a professional demeanor, or maybe even a quiet resistance to an interview to which he only consented to appease a friend. So I was a little scared to ask him (again) exactly where the facultad de bellas artes was located. I didn’t even call to confirm the interview although we made it over a week ago. When I suggested I call the day before to confirm, he asked me, “para qué? Acabo de decirle que si, estaré en la oficina el martes.” Um…Ok. So no confirmation call. In my notes I only wrote “Juan Pablo II” and “antes”. (note to self: take better notes) I figured I would ask around the university and someone would know so I did not have to bother him again. Well, that plan was NOT foolproof. After being led to not one, but two incorrect offices, and only 15 minutes until our appointment, I decided to call.
In an
almost friendly voice he let me know that he too was running late and would not be there for about 50 minutes; however, he gave me directions (again) even though we were cut off the first time, much to my cab driver's dismay.
I wondered where he was coming from that would take 50 minutes, but did not dare to ask.
I arrived on time, or 50 minutes early, and took an unguided solitary tour of the satellite campus, walked around open hallways, accidentally walked in on a dance rehearsal in the dome (oops! Sorry!), and read some of my book. I asked a few times for the office of theater and almost every time (although some people had no idea at all) I was led through the double doors next to the café, immediately on the right hand side, to the same closed wooden door. It was a door that had both a half and full door handles, as if it was in fact an entry door. Half open, it is an entry office. Fully open, a small office space. I patiently waited in the main hallway on a half broken bench reading my book…or gently dozing off... or some socially tolerable mixture of the two. No one looked at me funny, or if they were, I was sleeping in those moments so I didn't notice :-)
After an hour and fifteen minutes, I was convinced I was in the wrong place, and I asked yet another person for the office for the school of theater. He pointed me to different student who he knew to be a theater student. This light skinned chubby helpful man of at least 30 years with graying hair not only showed me where the office was (same closed wooden door) but when I gave the name of the man I was waiting for, he let me know my interviewee had just arrived and was right in front of me buying a coffee. “esta joven te busca”
When he turned around to face me, I was a bit taken aback. This man was not in a suit. His shirt had no collar. His round wire-rimmed glasses, faded gray stonewashed hat, worn khaki pants and “the clash” faded t-shirt were not at all what I expected. He looked too casual, too accessible to be the same stiff unfriendly man I imagined. Unlike the photos I saw online, his facial hair was shaved off almost completely, leaving a faint trace of a day old five o’clock shadow. His outfit made him seem younger than his 50 years, and for some reason the absence of facial hair made him much less intimidating than I imagined him to be. “Ariana?” he asked, without a smile, but all the same extending his hand to greet me. “Desea algo para tomar?”
He was a difficult read: polite, but not overtly warm. We were strangers after all. (But yesterday’s lunch-with-a-stranger meeting greeted me with a kiss on the cheek. I could see this meeting would not follow suit.) “no, no. tengo una botella de agua. Estoy bien, gracias.”
Since his office was locked (the closed wooden door) and he did not have the key, we went outside, found a bench and began our interview. We warmed to each other. I found his demeanor not aloof or cold, but instead cautious and enjoyable. Despite his being outside of the office, students found him to ask questions. He always excused himself, answered them, and quickly returned to our conversation. When the rains started, we were forced inside for cover and found the closed wooden door was finally open!
Inside this infamous door lay a dreadfully small office. Three worn wooden desks very close together formed the office of teatro at the University of Panama. His desk was in the left most corner of the room. He offered me a seat at the center desk, that of his secretary who was out sick (long story, perhaps to follow), as he put on a black university of Panama jacket to combat the high level of air conditioning. His old leather chair had visible stuffing budding from both arms and I thought to myself: no director of university program in the US would tolerate a chair like this, would they? Once we sat down again, he asked me how I spell my name. I thought it an odd question, but I wrote it out for him anyway. He reached up, grabbed a book from his shelf, and dedicated the copy for me to keep. I was surprised and moved by the present, given my initial (and completely wrong) perception of him. From the hasty way in which he executed the giving he seemed almost embarrassed by the gesture and, once the book was in my hands, wanted to get right back into the interview. I was able to persuade him to read a few poems inspired by his struggles during the 1989 invasion before returning to my premeditated inquiry.
This chair of a university department, a friend of a friend, kindly spent about two and a half hours with me, answering my questions and reliving some extremely emotional and personal moments about the 1989 invasion, the 20th anniversary of which is December 20, 2009. For 16 days he was detained. Last year was the first year he could bear to hear the christmas fireworks, and even still, loud noise make him unseasy or angry all together.
When the questions were definitely over, he walked me outside to say goodbye. The hand shake he gave me in closing was more or less the same as the one I received in greeting. However, it was accompanied by a smile.
