“But he never got into movies. Except for Beyond the Yellow Door and his bit role there. Three scenes,” Montserrat said.
“Did Abel tell you about the book?”
“The House of Infinite Wisdom. He let us read it.”
“Then you know about Ewers’s magic system,” Marisa said. “An eclectic mix of occult learning, with digressions into the nature of the elements, and a theory about the importance of sound, film, and spectacle. I said he wanted to act, not that he wanted to be a movie star. The ‘act’ was the magic.”
The smoke rose from Marisa’s parted lips, shrouding her face for a second before she waved the thin veil away and smiled.
“My aunt paid for several…I suppose you’d call them ‘screen tests,’ except Ewers wasn’t trying out for a part. He was attempting to find the right combination of film, light, sound, movements, voice, that would allow him to cast spells. He thought cultures of old strengthened their magic with pyramids, even embedding spells into the stones that served as foundations for these buildings. He thought you could do the same with film. It’s all there, in that book, if you read it carefully. Of course, that’s what my aunt said. I never saw a copy of it. She got rid of his possessions ages ago.”
“She financed a whole film for him. One would have thought she would have wanted to keep a few of his things, seeing as she loved him that much. Why did she confiscate the film rolls and destroy them?” Montserrat asked.
“There was no point in finishing the film, not when he was dead.”
“Even though it was practically finished?”
“It was not practically finished.”
“Abel believed everyone connected to the movie suffered from bad luck because it was not concluded. When your aunt called him, she wanted a bit of film that he had kept. She told him he’d be sorry if he didn’t comply with her request. I think she was worried about the magic Ewers embedded in the film, like those pyramids you mentioned.”
Marisa raised her glass, holding it at eye level and looking at Montserrat above the rim, frowning.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Not if you’ve read his book. Which I have. Why did your aunt destroy that film?”
Marisa’s eyes narrowed sharply, she pursed her lips.
“He started a cult, recruited followers. She loved it, at first. He did his magic tricks, and they seemed to yield results. And she’d always had a hankering for that sort of game. She believed in magic, in a special power controlling the universe. Besides, he was handsome. Charming.”
“What happened?”
“He wasn’t quite as charming anymore.”
“He had a new girlfriend, was that it?”
Marisa stubbed her cigarette in the ashtray. Her manicured hands now toyed with the glass, which was practically empty.
“He wanted power, that’s what my aunt said. No, I don’t know the specifics of what that means, but I do know his cult and his spells were making her nervous. Ewers was becoming reckless. It’s one thing to cut off a rooster’s head, and another to steal a corpse from a cemetery.
“He was always trying to perfect his magic. When he died, my aunt destroyed his things because some of the people in that cult were crazy. True fanatics who would have done God knows what with his possessions. She thought he’d died, and that magic nonsense should die with him. Abel passed away, right? Well, you should ask Clarimonde Bauer and José López about that, they were his most beloved disciples and they both are practicing magicians to this very day.”
“You’re kidding,” Tristán said. “What, they’re still following his teachings?”
“Clarimonde Bauer kept reprinting his works for years and years. She only stopped with the book because she fell into financial duress. José López still goes around with a flask of graveyard dirt under his shirt and a chicken foot to cast hexes. And if you look around the city, you’ll see Ewers’s runes pop up here and there, among the graffiti.”
“His runes,” Montserrat said. “You mean his cult is still active?”
“My aunt doesn’t only spend time in Acapulco because of the weather. A few years ago, when she had that stroke, she felt it was related to Ewers. That someone or some people were casting spells using his magic system. She saw runes on an abandoned building, not far from here, and recognized them. Since then, she tries to stay away from Mexico City as much as she can. There is still magic in these streets, magic Ewers once wielded. His congregation may not be as numerous as it was when he was alive, and Clarimonde’s money does not stretch as far as it once did. But there are always true believers who recall the good old days.”
Tristán felt a shiver go down his spine. He remembered an empty lot near his apartment, surrounded by a tall wooden fence that was plastered with posters for concerts, boxing matches, and even pornographic movies. Sometimes, the posters were covered with graffiti before another wave of posters camouflaged the scribblings. He wondered if, underneath layers of cheap paper and colorful ink, there were symbols of old magic, like corpses bricked into walls.
“Would your aunt have contact information for Clarimonde and José?” Montserrat asked.
“No, she wouldn’t. Clarimonde married and I think remarried, but that must have been a long time ago.”
“And she became a publisher?”
“Sure, I suppose. She was certainly not going to make it as an actress,” Marisa said scornfully. “Not that she tried to stick to it after Ewers died. José kept writing, but I’m certain he hasn’t had any credits in ages.”
“He was a writer? What did he work on?”
Marisa seemed surprised. “Why…on Beyond the Yellow Door, of course. He co-wrote it. Abel and he were friends, they’d worked together.”
“José López is Romeo Donderis?” Montserrat asked. Now it was her turn to sound surprised.
“You didn’t know?”
Abel never specified what José López did for a living, only that he worked on the film. Montserrat looked thoughtful. “Abel said your aunt gave him money one time when he needed it. She might have his contact information, after all.”
“No, she would not. She does not wish to talk about those days. Spells? Cults? You understand why I asked that this all be background? And why you can’t tell anyone that I was the one who mentioned these things?” Marisa said. Her words were calm, but her eyes flitted quickly from Montserrat to Tristán. “Anyway, I’m busy, and I do have another appointment.”
“We understand. But could we ask you one more question? And, if necessary, could you relay this question to your aunt? We can leave you a number to call back.”
“It would be awfully kind,” Tristán added, the implication in his tone being that he would write down his phone number.
“Very well.”
“What do you know about Ewers’s death?”
“Nothing. They said he was mugged.”
“That’s not nothing.”
“That’s not anything, either,” Marisa said. She looked at her wrist and tapped at her watch with her perfectly manicured nail, as if indicating, not so subtly, that this conversation was at an end. “You’ll forgive me, I have to go.”