Writer 1978: I Need to Give the Literary World a Lesson

Chapter 561 Gabriel García Márquez: The Conscience of an Era
Departing from Panama, it wouldn't take long to reach Venezuela. However, their destination wasn't Venezuela's capital, but rather nearby Maiquetía, not far from Caracas, the Venezuelan capital.

Especially the nearby Simón Bolívar International Airport, which is more than 20 kilometers away from Caracas.

McThias is located in the northeastern corner of South America, and the plane essentially flew in an arc alongside the South American coastline. Shortly after taking off from Panama, if there were no clouds below, the South American coastline could be vaguely seen.

As they approached their destination, Cao Yu and Qian Zhongshu put away their magazines, rubbed their cheeks together to make themselves look more refreshed.

Seeing A-Cheng looking like a sleepyhead, Cao Yu couldn't help but tap him on the head with a magazine: "Young man, why are you so sleepy? Are you a little weak?"

Acheng was greatly embarrassed: "Dean Wan, I've always been in good health, but the noise from the plane and other factors have made me feel very tired."

"We're almost there, pack your things." Qian Zhongshu stretched his arms wearily, then gently rubbed his eyes with both hands and started doing eye exercises.

Professor Huang Jinyan of Shanghai University of Foreign Studies pushed up his glasses with delight and couldn't help but say, "I have a lot of experience translating 'One Hundred Years of Solitude,' and I never thought I would have the chance to communicate with the author. When I get there, I must ask him some questions that have been bothering me."

Liu Yimin looked at Huang Jinyan and said quietly, "Professor Huang, I think you'd better not talk about your translation of 'One Hundred Years of Solitude' anymore."

“Comrade Yimin? Why is that? Although I am a translator, I should also be qualified to communicate with Mr. Márquez.” Huang Jinyan said immediately with dissatisfaction upon hearing Liu Yimin’s words.

The rest of the delegation looked at Liu Yimin, who explained, "Professor Huang, where is your translation of 'One Hundred Years of Solitude'?"

"Of course, it's going to be published!"

"Published? Did you get the author's permission? What we're publishing are all pirated copies. If you let Márquez know that his books are being pirated in large quantities in China, and that you're the ringleader of the piracy, do you think he'd still want to talk to you?"

Liu Yimin smiled, his sharp gaze making Huang Jinyan feel momentarily ashamed.

Huang Jinyan stammered, "Oh, is that so? This shouldn't be my fault, right?"

By the end, Huang Jinyan was losing confidence. After a moment's thought, he asked, "Gabriel García Márquez is an internationally renowned writer. He should understand us, right?"

“Professor Huang, to put it bluntly, what makes him think he understands us? Most writers cannot tolerate their works being pirated, even though piracy exists all over the world,” Liu Yimin said calmly.

Qian Zhongshu had heard Liu Yimin talk about the issue of piracy before, so he decided, "Professor Huang, since we've met with Márquez, let's avoid this topic for now. After all, we're here for an exchange; if something goes wrong, we'll be the ones who look bad."

"Understood, Comrade Yimin, thank you. I was a little petty just now," Huang Jinyan said with lingering fear. If he had ruined this exchange, he would have been condemned by everyone when he returned home.

Once the plane reached Venezuela, its altitude began to drop rapidly until it was low enough to land. At that point, they could see the diverse architectural styles of South America.

Next to the airport, journalists from various South American countries and writers including Márquez had been waiting for a long time. They smiled as they watched the plane circling and landing in the sky.

"It seems our guests from the East are arriving!" Márquez said with a smile.

Many reporters surrounded Marquez and other writers, asking them for their opinions on the invitation to visit their Chinese counterparts.

Márquez said, "Literature is never closed; it requires constant exchange. I believe that this exchange will benefit both South American and Eastern literature."

Who is the author you are most looking forward to seeing this time?

"Without a doubt, it is Liu. He is a young man with a sense of justice. He and I are both concerned about the fate of people who are suffering. There is a volcano buried in our hearts, just waiting for it to erupt and burn evil and oppression to dust."

There are many writers in the world, but few with a strong sense of justice. My Chinese counterparts are a unique group; they are concerned with the fate of the nation and individuals, and they possess a unique culture and Marxist ideals. In fact, the country they live in is the same country I fought for in my youth.

At this point, Márquez spoke without restraint, even loudly denouncing the CIA's surveillance of him and its attempt to induce Liu Yimin to defect: "The Americans are the bullies of the world. They reach out to every place, and every finger of theirs is stained with blood and oil!"
They would rather die of overeating than return their wealth to the oppressed nation.

When the topic of being monitored came up, Márquez's anger flared up instantly.

As a world-renowned literary giant and a proud man, Gabriel García Márquez was subjected to surveillance by the CIA and had humiliating words recorded about him, something he could never forget.

Amidst Márquez's condemnation, the plane landed smoothly on the runway of Simón Bolívar International Airport.

Venezuela was one of the South American countries liberated by Bolivar, and the airport is named after him in honor of this father of South American independence.

Cao Yu stood at the front and led everyone off the plane one by one. Venezuela is tropical, but fortunately they had changed into jackets and shirts when they left San Francisco. If they had been wearing the cotton-padded coats they had taken when they left Beijing, they would have suffered from heatstroke not long after getting off the plane.

The group felt the South American air and did some light stretching exercises.

Before long, a group of people walked towards them. For Chinese people, all unfamiliar foreigners seem the same, and for a moment they couldn't tell who Márquez was.

Just as the man was about to reach them, Liu Yimin whispered, "The old man on the side with a bald lower jaw and a white beard."

“Yimin, look at all of them,” Qian Zhongshu said.

Liu Yimin said again, "The tall one is Márquez!"

"They all seem quite tall."

Seeing that they still couldn't tell, Liu Yimin looked at Márquez and nodded with a smile.

As the other person approached, Márquez exclaimed, "Liu, I recognized you immediately in the crowd!"

“Mr. Marquez, you are equally eye-catching in the crowd!” Liu Yimin said with a smile, while Huang Jinyan quickly translated.

"Hahaha!"

Cao Yu extended his hand and said, "Hello, Mr. Márquez, my name is Wan Jiabao, also known as Cao Yu."

"Hello, Mr. Cao, you are one of the Chinese writers I respect most. Your play scripts are very impressive."

"Mr. Márquez, let me first introduce the members of the Chinese delegation: Mr. Qian Zhongshu, Mr. Ma Shitu, Mr. Wang Zengqi, and Mr. Zhong Acheng, a very outstanding young man." Márquez shook hands with each of them. He knew more about Qian Zhongshu, but not so much about the others.

“Mr. Cao, this young man may be an excellent young man, but I think your student is a great young man.”

Marquez walked over, took Liu Yimin's hands, and then hugged him: "Professor, we've finally met. Ever since I learned of your existence and received your replies, I've often sat in my study looking towards the western Pacific. I enjoy communicating with young people, especially outstanding ones."

In Colombian etiquette, one is usually addressed as "Professor" or "Doctor" upon first meeting, and then as "Mr." in formal settings.

"When I received your invitation, my heart had already flown to South America, and countless readers were looking forward to a friendly exchange between us. But our friendship has already begun and will never end."

The two embraced for a long time, giving the surrounding media plenty of opportunities to take photos from different angles.

Amidst their mutual compliments, Márquez began to introduce them to the South American writers who had come to participate in the exchange.

"Peruvian writer Mario Vargas Llosa, Chilean writer José Donoso, Brazilian writers Jorge Amado, and Paulo Coelho."

Paulo Coelho is best known for "The Alchemist," which has been a bestseller in more than 170 countries.

As Márquez uttered names one by one, Liu Yimin and the others stepped forward to greet them. Fortunately, they had already learned about South American writers and were familiar with their names.

Otherwise, after listening to Márquez's introduction, I would be completely confused; the name is just too long.

Nevertheless, it still took some time to connect the name with the person.

Marquez looked at them with a puzzled expression: "Gentlemen, is there a problem?"

Seeing that no one spoke, Márquez looked at Liu Yimin, who said in a low voice, "Mr. Márquez, do you know what the most difficult part is for Chinese people to read your works?"

"Where?"

“Names. Your names are very long. Chinese names have a maximum of four characters, or at most two characters,” Liu Yimin said frankly.

As soon as he finished speaking, the South American writer smiled knowingly.

Márquez said, “Then we’ll get to know each other slowly, Mr. Cao, Mr. Qian. We’ll head to the hotel in Caracas first. Our Venezuelan friends have already prepared a hotel for us. Please adjust your time difference first. There will be a grand seaside dinner tonight.”

After boarding the arranged vehicles, the group headed towards Caracas. Everyone assumed that Venezuela, being an oil-producing country, must be doing well, but upon arriving in person, the poverty in Venezuela surprised them.

On both sides of the road are low houses and poor people scavenging for food in the garbage. In the distance are red mountain desert landscapes, and low tropical shrubs are not everywhere.

In 1987, oil prices fell, and Venezuela's total foreign debt accounted for 70% of its GDP, with foreign debt interest accounting for 70% of its total exports. The country's annual earnings were not even enough to cover the interest payments.

In order to repay its debts, Venezuela had no choice but to accept the neoliberal reform plan of the International Monetary Fund and the World Bank, which allowed American capital to plunder Venezuela's resources, control its economic lifeline, and support a pro-American government.

Poverty worsened and American economic colonization directly led to the rise of left-wing political forces in Venezuela. When Chávez came to power in the mid-1990s, he began to pursue anti-American policies, and under Maduro, the anti-American stance became even more thorough.

However, Maduro has a knack for giving gifts. Just after China held its September 3rd military parade, Maduro immediately erected a themed square and statue in Venezuela to commemorate the 80th anniversary of the victory of the Chinese People's War of Resistance Against Japanese Aggression and the World Anti-Fascist War.

Look at the gifts they're giving!

Marquez and Liu Yimin were riding in the same car. Seeing the pity in Liu Yimin's eyes, Marquez asked, "Liu, what are you thinking about?"

"I can smell the Americans, I feel like the Americans are coming soon."

"why?"

"Because Venezuela has oil, and the Americans want to control the world's oil, they will definitely not let Venezuela go," Liu Yimin explained.

Márquez opened the window, closed his eyes, and gazed at Venezuela. After a while, he murmured, "I wonder when South America will be able to win true independence like China! I also worked for this when I was young, but for some reason, a free South America is becoming increasingly unattainable."

The people here have endured suffering for generations. "One Hundred Years of Solitude" is not fiction, but a true story that unfolded on this land. Generation after generation has endured pain, and what makes it even more despairing is that suffering has never truly left. Cuba has maintained its independence, but under the US blockade, it is uncertain when it will ever become prosperous.

With a look of pity and helplessness in his eyes, Liu Yimin said, "We paid the price with the blood of countless predecessors. Without sacrifice, there is no freedom. I heard that you have a good relationship with Castro."

“I worked as a journalist in Cuba and met Castro a few times. He was a charismatic man. But he told me that there was someone even more charismatic than him.”

"Who?"

“Your Chinese teacher. Castro regretted not being able to meet the teacher. He said that if he had seen the teacher’s ‘On Protracted War’ earlier, the Cuban Revolution would have been victorious sooner.”

On the 100th anniversary of the old man's birth, the Castro brothers held a grand commemorative gathering, during which they sang "The East Is Red" in Chinese.

“Mr. Márquez, I believe that justice will surely prevail over evil. When the sun rises in the east and shines over the world, I believe that the world will usher in lasting peace,” Liu Yimin said with a smile.

Marquez looked at Liu Yimin: "China has been getting closer to the United States lately."

“Mr. Márquez, we are exploring a new path of socialist development. Poverty is not socialism. To get rid of poverty, we must learn to make use of all kinds of resources.”

After arriving at the hotel and settling Liu Yimin and the others in, Márquez and his group began to leave.

At the seaside dinner that evening, Márquez and the other writers were to give speeches, and someone next to him curiously asked what the topic of Márquez's speech was.

Márquez said with a smile, "The title of my speech is 'The Conscience of an Era'!"

(End of this chapter)