Bunuel_Luis_My_Last_Breath

eview of his latest book. Araquisth retaliated by slapping him; theybegan to scuffle until some concerned passersby separated them. Thefight caused a certain uproar in literary circles, particularly when wedecided to organize a dinner and circulate a petition in Araquistan'ssupport. At the rime, I was preparing slides for Cajal at the Museumof Natural History, so my Ultraist friends asked me to talk him intoadding his prestigious signature to the petition. Already well advancedin years, Cajal refused, explaining that the review ABC, forwhom El Caballero Audaz wrote regularly, was due to publish Cajal'smemoirs, and he was afraid that if he signed the petition, the journalwould cancel his contract.(I too have always refused to sign petitions, albeit for other reasons.The only reason to sign is to assuage the conscience of thesignatory-a debatable position, I know; but should something happento me, should I suddenly disappear or be thrown into jail, pleasedon't bother signing anything in my behale)Another important figure in our Ultraist group was Rafael Alberti,who came from Puerto de Santa Maria, near Cadiz. We allthought of him first as a painter; many of his drawings, embellishedwith gold leaf, hang on the walls of my room."Did you know Alberti's a great poet?" kaso Alonso, thepresident of the Spanish Language Institute, said to me suddenly oneday while we were having a drink together.When he saw my surprise, he handed me a copy of a poem thatI still know by heart:La noche ajusttciadaen el patibdo de un arbolalegrias arodilladasIe buan y ungen las sandalias. . . .*At this time, the Ultraist poets were constantly seeking the*Night hanged 1 on the gibbet of a tree 1 pleasures on bended knee 1 kiss and anoint hissandals .