Bunuel_Luis_My_Last_Breath

instead of the cinematography award, it had really been the prize forbest direction. When the newspapermen protested, Fernandez leaptto his feet and shouted he'd show them the papers to prove it. Theminute he left the room, one of the reporters suspected he'd gone toget not the papers, but a revolver~and all of them took to theirheels just as Fernandez began firing from a second-story window.(One was even wounded in the chest.)The best story, however, was told to me by the painter Siqueiros.It occurred toward the end of the Mexican Revolution when twoofficers, old friends who'd been students together at the militaryacademy but who'd fought on opposing sides, discovered that oneof them was a prisoner and was to be shot by the other. (Only officerswere executed; ordinary soldiers were pardoned if they agreed to shout"Viva" followed by the name of the winning general.) In the evening,the officer let his prisoner out of his cell so that they could have adrink together. The two men embraced, touched glasses, and burstinto tears. They spent the evening reminiscing about old times andweeping over the pitiless circumstances that had appointed one tobe the other's executioner."Whoever could have imagined that one day I'd have to shootyou?" one said."You must do your duty," replied the other. "There's nothingto be done about it."Overcome by the hideous irony of their situation, they becamequite drunk."Listen, my friend," the prisoner said at last. "Perhaps you mightgrant me a last wish? I want you, and only you, to be my executioner."Still seated at the table, his eyes full of tears, the victorious officernodded, pulled out his gun, and shot him on the spot.This has been a very long digression, but in order not to leaveyou with the impression that Mexico is no more than an infiniteseries of gunshots, let me just say that the gun cult seems finally tobe on the wane, particularly since the many arms factories have been