“I had heard Alma was dating an eccentric German guy. He talked about runes and said he could predict the future by gazing into a bowl of water. But then, so what? I’d met plenty of astrology consultants for the rich and famous. Sydney Omarr studied in Mexico City before making his way to Hollywood. Psychics like Jeane Dixon appeared in Parade. I had lunch with Alma and Ewers and he was polite, charming. He didn’t seem odd. We didn’t even talk magic that first time. Then, I attended one of Ewers’s séances.”
There was a pause as Urueta contemplated his glass and downed its contents swiftly. “There was food, drink, music. It was like any regular party except he said we would summon a spirit. Around one a.m., Ewers had us recite several phrases. He had us chanting, in fact. In one hand he had a little bell, which he rang at certain intervals.
“I was drunk, and I was not very interested in all of this, but as the chanting kept getting louder and the bell rang, Ewers began to make motions with one hand, as if asking someone to come closer. He kept doing this with one hand and ringing the bell, and at one point I felt there was someone standing directly behind me and then that someone brushed past me and stepped forward. It felt like a breeze, almost, but the windows were closed and there wasn’t anyone behind me, we were all in a circle with Ewers at the center of it. It was the first time I believed Ewers was in fact a sorcerer as he claimed.”
Tristán was about to say something, but Urueta held up his open palm and shook his head.
“No, you don’t have to tell me about the power of suggestion. He had a gift. When he wanted to, he’d flip a switch and shine, and you’d fly to him, a moth attracted by the light. He made magical charms for me and for my girlfriend, invited us to other séances. We began talking about magic.
“Ewers believed in willpower. It was the engine of magic. This was not particularly novel. He got many of his ideas from Golden Dawn, and I’m sure others said the same thing. But willpower alone is not enough for magic; you also need rituals. Ewers was fascinated with movies. He thought the merging of sound and visuals could produce powerful magic. It was the perfect ritual.”
“And post-synchronization was the way to cast spells? But how exactly?” Montserrat asked, remembering their previous conversation.
“We would shoot a regular horror film. But we would also have three short scenes with a small amount of dialogue throughout the movie. Those were the key magical components. The dialogue was the spell, and the three people on screen were the magicians. There were runes, which he designed, and those would be projected during the credits, before and after the movie. The act of post-synchronization was what brought all these components together.”
“If he only needed three scenes, why shoot a regular movie at all? Why not borrow a camera and record all three on a weekend?” she asked.
“Weaving the three into the film was what helped give the spell its shape. It granted it a certain cohesion. Otherwise, it would be too…hmm, I think he said it would be too crude,” Abel said, frowning. “I can’t remember what word exactly he used.”
“Maybe it was like tape splicing,” Montserrat said. “If you cut and join tape at a ninety-degree angle, it gets the job done, but you end up with a ‘click.’ It’s better to slice at an angle. More elegant, I suppose.”
Abel snapped his fingers and nodded excitedly. “Yes! That was the word! It was more elegant. Besides, Ewers thought magic built up, a bit like a pressure cooker. Day one of shooting the magic was weak, but by four weeks it was getting much warmer in the pot.”
“I guess a Polaroid needs to be exposed to the light for a while for the film to develop,” Montserrat mused. “Do you know what spell Ewers was trying to cast?”
“A good luck spell. Alma had been out of work for a long time. She dreamed of making a comeback. The spell would rejuvenate her, return some of her old beauty and therefore ensure she would get new parts.”
A magical face-lift, Montserrat thought, but she was careful not to say that. Next to her, Tristán seemed amused, and she wondered if he was thinking something similar.
“Who were the magicians that agreed to perform on screen?” Montserrat asked. “I imagine Ewers was one of them, but what about the other two?”
Abel stood up and reached for the bottle of whiskey, refilling his glass. He topped up Tristán’s drink and then stood in front of them, glass in hand pressed against his chest, before letting out a sigh. “I was one of them. Ewers thought you needed three spell casters. The father, the all-powerful male force, was the role he played. Then there was the son, the innocent. That was me. The ‘Kid Urueta.’？”
“Who was the third?” Montserrat asked.
“Originally, it was Alma. She represented the mother, the feminine principle of magic. But then Ewers confided in me and said he wasn’t going to cast a spell for Alma after all. He was ill, you see. He needed a spell to save his life. We would cast a different spell instead. But he couldn’t let Alma know because she wouldn’t agree to it. So, he recast the part.”
“You went behind Alma’s back and got another woman to read the lines he needed?” Montserrat said.
“I didn’t want Ewers to die, and I loved Clarimonde.”
“Your girlfriend was the third magician?”
Urueta clutched the glass and spun around, his back to them. “Ewers believed she was more powerful than Alma, and it solved the problem of the modified spell. Alma wasn’t supposed to know about it. But then José went and babbled to her, and also told her that Ewers was sleeping with Clarimonde.”
Tristán opened his mouth in surprise and let out a snicker. “Wait. Your girlfriend was banging the crazy German? Did you know about that?”
Urueta turned around and looked at the younger man angrily. So much for Tristán’s tact and for letting him speak. Then again, the men had been pounding back the whiskeys as if they were water. Montserrat was certain they were both a little drunk or Urueta wouldn’t be talking so freely.
“After we met Ewers, Clarimonde became interested in magic, in occultism, like I did. Call me stupid, but no, I didn’t think she had an interest in him beyond that, and neither did Alma. José was another member of our circle, and he somehow learned about it and told Alma, then told me. We were in post-production, and I had to stop our work for a few days because Alma was furious. Then Ewers died and everything went to hell. Alma wouldn’t let me finish the damn picture. She cut off the money and had the film confiscated. It was a bad memory for her, she said.”
“He was mugged,” Montserrat said, remembering that detail. “So it wasn’t disease that killed him in the end.”
“No, it wasn’t. It was bad luck. Bad luck followed all of us after Alma shut down our production. My relationship with Clarimonde didn’t survive. I heard she married a guy who made his money in real estate and she had children with him, but they all died in accidents. The scriptwriter? He fell down the stairs and broke his neck. The stuntman? He was thrown from a horse and never walked again. The musician who was supposed to compose the score? Died of a blood clot at the age of thirty-five. My career ended after The Yellow Door. I made smaller and smaller movies. I was done less than a decade later. I couldn’t even shoot a shampoo commercial.”