Seguramente todavía están traumatizados por aquella primera Carta del Yagé, donde William Burroughs hace un recorrido por los bajos fondos del Panamá de 1953. Todos sabemos dónde está el Hotel Colón y el Hospital Santo Tomás, pero la identidad de la taberna “Blue Goose” había permanecido envuelta en una bruma de misterio… ¡hasta ahora!
Recordemos el pasaje pertinente:
I had a magazine article with me describing a joint outside Panama City called the Blue Goose. ‘This is anything goes joint. Dope peddlers lurk in the men’s room with a hypo loaded and ready to go. Sometimes they dart out of a toilet and stick it in your arm without waiting for consent. Homosexuals run riot.’
The Blue Goose looks like a Prohibition era road house. A long one story building run down and covered with vines. I could hear frogs croaking from the woods and swamps around it. Outside a few parked cars, inside a dim bluish light. I remembered a prohibition era road house of my adolescence and the taste of gin rickeys in a mid west summer. (Oh my God! And the August moon in a violet sky and Billy Bradshinkel’s cock. How sloppy can you get?)
Immediately two old whores sat down at my table without being asked and ordered drinks. The bill for one round was $6.90. The only thing lurking in the men’s room was an insolent demanding lavatory attendant. I may add that far from running riot in Panama I never scored for one boy there. I wonder what a Panamanian boy would be like. Probably cut. When they say anything goes they are referring to the joint not the customers.
Hace un par de días tuve una epifanía. Salió en mi Instagram esta foto de @abdelitohtroy y de pronto todo hizo sentido.
¿Qué creen, la encontramos? ¿Habrá Burroughs leído mal el letrero, transformando Blue Grotto en Blue Goose? Las palabras Grotto y Goose se parecen lo suficiente para confundir a cualquier junkie. ¿O habrá sido un problema de transcripción/interpretación? La caligrafía de Burroughs era terrible, y todavía da de comer y pone a especular a sus editores.
Mi corazón me dice que sí es. La “Blue Goose” existe y funciona. ¿Se anima alguien a acompañarme a buscar hipodérmicas en el baño de hombres?
Ñapa 2: Más notas de Burroughs sobre Panamá, esta vez de la libreta-diario latinoamericana que compró Ohio State. Y dice:
July 17, Panama.
Ruins of 1910. Limed Trees – Wooden hospitals where people died in rows from yellow fever. Walked around with camera. People always know when you are taking their picture. Concept of soul loss. I was trying to get picture of young indian on boat. Such languid animal inocence. He knew i was trying to take his picture and would always look up just as I was swinging camera into position. [corrugated iron roofs, wheeling albatrosses.
Every cell vexes like junk sickness, what do I want from him? sitting leaning against the bow of the boat, idly scratching one shoulder — a long white scar on his right shoulder — looking up at me with a trace of sulkiness. Walked around, started cooking. Need to see Angelo again.
Photography. There is something obscene here, a desire to capture, imprison incorporate.
What persistent pimps in Panama. One stopped me chewing my ear off about a 15 year old girl. I told him. “She’s middle aged already. I want that 6 year old ass. Don’t try palming your old 14 year old bats off on me.”
Everyone here is telepathic on paranoid level. If you look at anyone he knows at once he is being observed and gives evidence of hostility and suspicion and restlessness.