The Fantasy of Bruno Traven: Macario

Author(s): Sheilah R. Wilson

Source: Latin American Literary Review , Spring, 1975, Vol. 3, No. 6 (Spring, 1975), pp.
17-21
Published by: Latin American Literary Review

Stable URL: https://www.jstor.org/stable/20118957

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 The Fantasy of Bruno Traven : Macario

SHEILAH R. WILSON

When Bruno Traven first arrived in Mexico from Europe, he spent some six years
living with the Indians in Chiapas, a state in southern Mexico bordering Guatamala.
While there, Traven gathered material for a series of related novels dealing with the jungle
and the extremely harsh condition of life among the Indians. He was deeply concerned
about these people; he considered them the poorest and most humble of Mexico, yet he
thought of them as the perpetuators of a long and rich Mexican cultural heritage. His
interest was noteworthy in that he always viewed them from a humanistic standpoint and
not as exotic sociological or anthropological specimens. It was during this formative period
of the 1920 's that Traven became committed to the idea that the economic exploitation of
the Indian was a more devastating and humiliating oppressor than the harsh jungle lands.
His novels were to reflect this theme almost to the point of obsession. The result of
Traven's repeated insistence on this subject frequently had a damaging effect on the
development of his prose. Too often Traven permitted the novel to function as a sort of
moral tribunal where he alone served as judge, jury, and executioner. The novel reverted
to a polemic diatribe, and Traven's sense of moral righteousness condemned it to a rigid,
cliche-burdened expression. Only rarely did Traven manage to restructure his priorities
and focus on the creative rather than the social aspect of the narrative.
Among Traven's writings, the short story, "Macario," has the unique position of
achieving an amalgam of social concern and esthetic expression.1 Indeed, Traven appears
1 There seems to be considerable confusion as to the origin of "Macario.' ' In a personal interview with Mrs.
Rosa Elena Lujan, Traven's widow, in August, 1970, she indicated that "Macario" was written first in German.
In subsequent correspondence with the author, Mrs. Lujan maintained that her husband wrote both the English and
German versions of "Macario" and that Traven often did English-German translations of his own writings.
However, E. R. Hagemann in a well-documented bibliographical study on Traven states that Macario [The Healer]
was first published in Zurich in 1950 and translated from the English by Hans Kauders. See E.R. Hagemann, ' 'A
Checklist of the Work of B. Traven and the Critical Estimates and Biographical Essays on Him ; together with a
Brief Biography, " The Papers of the Bibliographical Society of America, 53 (1959), p. 58.
2 The first ascertainable publication of "Macario' ' in English appears in the New York magazine, Fantastic, II,
in March-April, 1953, under the title, ' 'The Third Guest.' ' It was subsequently selected to appear in a volume of
The Best American Short Stories, published in 1954, by Houghton-Mifflin. In 1961, Regency Books published a
volume of Traven's short stories with the title, Stories by the Man Nobody Knows. Again, the story, "The Third
Guest," was included. In 1963, a partial version with the title, "Macario," appears in Texas Quarterly, and
finally, the complete work is included as part of the collection, The Night Visitor and Other Stories, in 1966. The
official Spanish translation by Traven's widow was published in I960 in Mexico by the Compa??a General de
Ediciones.

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 18 LATIN AMERICAN LITERARY REVIEW

to handle the short story with more ease than he does the novel; there is an economy both
of dialogue and the socially oriented philosophy that tends often to hamper his novels.2
"Macario" is a form of allegoric folk-tale that deals with the theme with which Traven
was so familiar: the simple but terribly difficult life of the Mexican Indian. While
thematically "Macario" does not vary from the realm of Traven's usual preoccupation,
there is a significant difference that distinguishes the work: "Macario" is a lyric in
terpretation of the intrinsic creative nature of one man. True, "Macario" is still
essentially symbolically contrived, yet Traven has eliminated much of the harshly
delineated features of charicature that render the Indian not only impoverished but
unimaginative as well. Here, Macario contests his fate, he does not simply yield to it.
Throughout the major portion of Traven's novels, the Indian is seen as a socially damaged
human being and the reader is made to feel like still another exploiter of this berated and
much abused figure. In "Macario", however, Traven has developed an ostensibly simple
story that through its very simplicity ennobles a man's attempt at survival; where life fails
Macario, death does not. Where a drab and hostile existence weakens him, the intricate
shadings of a skillful appreciation for fantasy strengthens and dignifies him. The sense of
nobility emanating from an image of poetic fantasy becomes the very essence of
"Macario."
"Macario" is the story of a hungry man, a poor Mexican Indian who works as a
woodcutter. Macario's hunger is so persistent and unalterable that it seems the most
concrete representation of his stark life. His diet is plain : frijoles [beans], tortillas [maize
cakes], and a little tea with lemon, sufficient to permit him to return to the forest every day
and chop a bit more wood. Macario does not die of his hunger, he learns to live with it.
Traven must have often seen hunger like this while living among the Indians of Chiapas. It
is part of a gnawing poverty that never quite kills, but then again, never quite permits any
visible change or hope. Hunger imprisons Macario, but even more confining is the
colorless existence of a repetitive life and a sense of futility and resignation. There is only
one remotely liberating possibility from this life : fantasy. Traven not only captures the
necessity for creative illusion, he uses it as the very crux of the story. In "Macario,"
fantasy creates its own iconographical composition, its own life force and its own meaning.
For twenty years Macario has fantasized about a turkey, a seemingly mundane fan
tasy; nevertheless, for a hungry man the thought of an entire roast turkey has a magic and
hypnotic appeal. Illusion has been a tacit means of survival, it sustains Macario far more
than does his frugal diet: "Oh dear Lord in heaven, if only once in all my dreary life I
could have a roast turkey all for myself, I would then die happily and rest in peace until
called for the final reckoning. Amen."3
After some three years of diligent saving, Macario's wife is able to buy a turkey. She
prepares it carefully and gives it to him early one morning as a surprise. Macario goes
alone into the woods with his turkey in order to have a secret feast. Before he begins to eat,
2
xlnother excellent work by Bruno Traven is The Creation of the Sun and the Moon(New York .Hill an
Wang. 1968).
Bruno Traven, "Macario," The Night Visitor and Other Stones (New York: Hill and Wang, 1966), p.
194. Subsequent reference to "Macario" and the story,*'The Night Visitor," are from this edition and will be
identified by page number only.

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 The Fantasy of Bruno Traven: "Macario" 19

however, he is interrupted by three uninvited guests, each of whom will put the wood
cutter to a grave moral test. These tests enable the reader to discover how Traven in
terprets the lyric and imaginistic world of the poor, specifically here, the world of the poor
and Indian in Mexico. First, there is a richly adorned charro, [Mexican cowboy] an
exaggerated symbol of a landowner. Here, as in other writings by Traven, the rich wield
an excessive influence. The charro is gaudy and jingles alluringly with gold and silver.
Under the protective and careful guise of a folk-tale, a repeated Traven theme is em
phasized: the rich landed classes are the symbol of evil. The metalic voice of the charro
devil has only a hollow sound of insincerity for Macario ; he refuses to share the turkey.
It is not the mere possession of money that Traven condemns, for the ultimate
problem is not money but, rather, its use as a means to degrade and vilify the human being.
For Traven, the degradation that always accompanies the concept of money power only
results in a spiritual fragmentation; destruction becomes a self-perpetuating norm. The
result is a disintegration of the individual and eventually the society protecting him. When
man surrenders to the temptation of exterior riches, he relinquishes the possibility for a
spiritual or philosophic integration of forces ; his perspective is limited and his fantasy is
debilitated. An ambitious man is a superficial man, he has no capacity to grasp the
profound depths of creative survival. The charro owns land, but he does not work on it.
He cannot create or procreate because his reality is as sterile as his fantasy. Macario's
being is inextricably joined to the land, he is poor but he has fathered eleven children.
Creation, for Traven, is not only an esthetic expression, but a very real physical experience
as well.
Macario's second visitor is poor as only a humble Indian can be poor: "The wanderer
was dressed in very old, but well-washed white cotton pants and a shirt of the same stuff,
and he looked not very different from the ordinary Indian peasant of the country' ' (p. 200).
The well-to-do charro is immediately recognized as the voice of the devil. In Traven's
writings, the poor Indian, spiritually, is the representative of God. Yet, curiously,
Macario does not offer his turkey, the symbol of his most intimate fantasy, even to this
sacred figure.
Death, Macario's third visitor, is represented as a hungry man, a truly hungry man.
He, like Macario, suffers a physical and concrete hunger than can never be abated. Traven
wisely captures the overriding tone of Death as whimsical rather than horrifying. For a
poor Indian, Death is not a frightening symbol; on the contrary, Death is merely another
facet of life, and at times, Death is far more real and comprehensible than is life. Macario
understands and acknowledges the long and tedious existence of Death. The hungry and
tired Indian sees Death as a compadre, ^companion] he is a companion.
All three figures, the Devil, God, and Death have passed through a series of
"humanizing" transformations. For Macario, as for any poor Indian, these personal
beings, almost devoid of religious implications, are significant components of his very life.
Since Macario is essentially good, his dealings with the Devil are infrequent and cursory.
As a humble and simple woodcutter, his contact with God is equally as infrequent. As a
poor and very hungry man, however, his meetings with Death are far more necessary and
plausible. Macario's familiarity and sense of ease with Death suggests more than a lightly
constructed folkloric approach.

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 20 LATIN AMERICAN LITERARY REVIEW

Traven comprehends the intimate lyric relationship between Death and the Mexican.4
It is Death, therefore, who makes the most successful impact on Macario; only to Death
does he finally agree to relinquish a part of his cherished turkey. Death in return gives
Macario the gift of life. He fills Macario's water-gourd with a mysterious life-saving liquid
that will enable the woodcutter to become a miraculous healer of the sick. By doing this
Traven stresses two important points. First, the poor are a "chosen" people, and
secondly, the poor Mexican Indian finds Death to have an undeniable fascination and
power. Moreover, in the final analysis, Death, apparently, is the sole donor of life. This
curious juxtaposition of life-death suggests an interpretation by Traven of fantasy as a
creative force that transcends a traditional limited concept. Death, too, is a form of
creation or recreation, especially in the case of Macario who envisions Death with a lyric
sensibility. As a woodcutter, Macario instinctively comprehends the need for composition
and restructuring of patterns of nature to develop perpetuating life forces. A man cuts
wood not to destroy but, rather, to create in a different form. Death, too, in the
imagination of Macario involves the experience of restructuring of perspective and fantasy,
thus the gift of the water-gourd to create life. The poeticized image of Death assumes a
viable "plastic" form as Macario carefully reshapes a concept of life-fantasy is the most
important medium for this creation.
Traven deftly lets the reader's attention and admiration shift from Macario to his
singular visitor. Death is not only a charming guest, he is a clever and compassionate
individual. Thus, Death, that is so constant in the hungry life of the Indian, is noticeably
different from the bleak interpretation usually afforded him. In Judeo-Christian society,
the popular image of death conjures up a notion of darkness and lugubriousness. Yet, for
Macario there is no feeling of inexplicable mystery or ominous phenomena to fear. Death
is not supernatural but, rather, He is the most natural companion of man, especially a poor
man. Therefore, in "Macario," Death visits and chats amicably with the Indian during
the day. There are no long, heavy nocturnal periods. Traven goes even further. He rejects
the association ol Death and "time running out." Macario's companion carries a
chronometer, not an hourglass; time does not slowly seep away, it continues endlessly.
Indeed, there is an implacable union between time and death, their separation is extremely
difficult.
Traven, throughout "Macario," has employed a provocative superimposition of
temporal elements. The most obvious, of course, is Macario's experiences of an entire life
which occur in the uncertain span of a dream, since he apparently falls asleep while eating
the turkey. Further, the story is set in the period of the Viceroyalty of New Spain,
sometime prior to 1821 ; however, no other dependable indication is given. The fact that
the story takes place so far in the past makes it unusual among Traven's writings. For a
writer who customarily prefers to retain contact with immediate surroundings, it appears
incongruous that one of his finest stories should be so far removed from the present. Only
at first glance, however. The theme that Traven stresses and delicately molds in
"Macario" is contemporary because he is dealing with concepts that are not confined to
any particular period.
4 A valuable study on the Mexican and his concept of death is found in Octavio Paz ,?/ laberinto de la soledad.
[The Labyrinth of Solitude] (M?xico: Fondo de Cultura Econ?mica, 1963).

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 The Fantasy of Bruno Traven: "Macario" 21

Traven concentrates on a man's fantasy. Fantasy reveals far more of an individual's

being than does his reality. Fantasy constitutes a man's most intimate region, the point at
which the edges of his life cease to function as barriers and turn into hopeful extensions. A
man creates his fantasy where he cannot create his life--his fantasy becomes his life, and
often his death. Fantasy is not a substitute for reality, it is simply a more imaginative
interpretation of it. Macario's sense of fantasy is not limited to the succulent turkey, it
encompasses the possible dimensions of his life, more exactly, of his death. The interaction
of imagination and fantasy provides a visual and inner experience that reaffirms man's right
and need for creativity. A sense of fantasy and a need for illusion do not belong to any
limited time period; fantasy, like death, is timeless.
At sometime during the dream-dialogue with his guests, Macario dies. It is surprising
that Traven, who so openly sympathizes with the poor, cuts off Macario's life when his
fantasy becomes realized. On the one hand, it is the crudest blow of all; the woodcutter
waited so many years for this turkey and just when his life apparently begins to brighten, he
suddenly dies. From another point of view, Traven offers two possible solutions.5 First,
the intimacy with death and this last friendship make Macario's dying at this time quite
natural. In any event, his fantasy always seemed more associated with death than with life.
Secondly, fantasy in its purest, unrealized, and unstructured form sustains life. When a
fantasy, any fantasy, becomes a reality it loses the intrigue and the necessary creative hope
that keep a man alive. For a poor man it is his fantasy and not his reality that permits him
to survive. As Traven shows, when the fantasy becomes a reality, Macario's existence
becomes essentially meaningless. There is no evil, no darkness, and no brooding. Macario
in death is leaning against a tree, smiling. Here, as in his other writings, Traven reiterates
that the unhappiness of a poor man comes from life, not death.

University of California, Berkeley

There is a third possibility that offers an explanation for the ending of "Macario' ' : Traven is exercising the
rights of his own sense of fantasy as a means of creative regeneration through destruction. An earlier story, "The
Night Visitor, ' ' demonstrates the willful act of creation-destruction permitted an author :

Sometime I think that the trouble with people is that we don't destroy enough of the things and systems
which we believe perfect...and by destroying them make room for absolutely new and different things and
systems infinitely more perfect than the ones we destroyed. Have you ever destroyed something which you
loved, or which you thought the finest and most perfect object under heaven? Have you ?
Try it once or more than once. If you're the right kind of man, one who can do it without remorse, you'll
see for yourself how great a satisfaction you'll get out of it and how happy it will make you. You'll feel like
you're newly born. Be like God, who destroys with His left hand what He created with his right (p. 7).
Throughout his career as a writer, Traven experienced an analogous relationship between an author who
"works" his fantasy and a poor Indian who works his land; both have undeniable rights in regard to the ultimate
decision concerning productivity, despite the callous and ubiquitous presence of a ruling class, editors or landlords.
Traven scoffed at "literary figures." He saw writing as a vital means for creating nature, not fragmenting it.
For Traven, nature in its most serious form was always simple and easily discernible. Fantasy renders nature more
accessible and malleable; creative survival then becomes possible.

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