THE BLOODY HEAD

 

THE BLOODY HEAD

 

"Because it is sometimes so unbelievable the truth often escapes being known."

  —Heraclitus, Greek philosopher. 

 

 

DREAM: Guillotines. (July 15, 1989. Two months before my memory returned.)

 I am dreaming about guillotines.

 

This is another one of those one-word dreams that contains telling information. The Spanish language book, La Cosa Nostra en Mexico 1938-1950, recounts the involvement of Virginia Hill, and the mafia, in the trafficking of marijuana, opium, and heroin, during the time of my abduction. "Guillotine," in the Spanish and French refers to the practice of beheading. 

 Virginia Hill was a mafia bag woman. There is a large section in my book about my involvement with her. She was working with the mafia to further the illegal drug trade and used her beauty, wealth, and sexuality to facilitate business arrangements in Mexico.   

Why, two months before my memory returned, would I dream and remember the word "guillotines?

 

DREAM: The Bloody Head. (November 25, 2022. Thirty-three years and two months after my memory returned.)

I am looking out of the kitchen window and see a severed head on the patio. A chihuahua is licking the blood. The house is located on a hill and the scenery suggests it is in Mexico. There are no trees, just scrub brush. Virginia Hill comes out of the house, and we discuss what to do.

What’s interesting about this dream is it feels true but doesn’t feel like a nightmare. What should be a traumatic memory comes off as “matter of fact.” I am looking at a bloody, severed head. No big deal; it is just something that happens. I find myself wondering if I was dissociated at the time of seeing the head and recorded the memory in my dissociated state. That would explain why the dream feels dissociated. Or, another thought, my unconscious is still protecting me.

Although I once adopted a chihuahua which was no longer alive when I had this dream, I believe the chihuahua is a metaphor for the Mexican state of Chihuahua. This is where the town of Juarez is located, just across the border from El Paso.

 Beheading is still practiced in Mexico by drug lords, as seen in the news and in the exciting and informative movie, Sicario, starring Emily Blunt, Benicio Del Toro, and Josh Brolin. The sequel, Sicario: Day of the Soldado, is also very good. I am looking forward to the third in the series which is supposed to come out this fall.      

 

Die Valkyrie Debacle

My first time attending an opera at the Metropolitan was in 1963. I was invited by Irene Koehler, a friend from Lima, Peru. After dining at the Plaza Hotel, we proceeded to the old Metropolitan Opera building, then located at 40^th Street and Broadway, to see Wagner’s, Die Valkyrie.

 A bustle of excitement greeted us as opera lovers reached their seats. The great Wagnerian dramatic soprano, Birgit Nilsson, was to sing Brunhilda, and the famous bass-baritone, Otto Edelmann, was to sing Wotan. Erick Leinsdorf was conducting.

The audience had just settled down when Rudolf Bing, the artistic director, walked on stage. “I’m sorry to announce that Ms. Nilsson is indisposed this evening and will not be able to sing. Miss Margaret Harshaw will perform in her place.” A groan went up from the audience.

 The music soared as Maestro Leinsdorf vigorously waved his arms around during the thirty-minute overture. How long is this opera? I thought. I was about to find out. It went on and on… Four hours of pure hell. To my ears, all of the singers’ voices wobbled. They stood without moving a finger for ten minutes while singing at the top of their lungs in guttural German. I had no idea was going on. A libretto might have helped, but I doubt it would have enhanced my enjoyment. Mrs. Koehler sat stone-faced next to me.

 Two acts passed, and as the audience settled down to enjoy the third act, Rudolf Bing returned to the stage. “Mr. Edelmann is not feeling well and has asked to be relieved. Mr. Randolph Symonette will replace him.” Another groan from the audience.

The third act began. A group of women appeared on stage in “bathrobes” and strange horned hats. “Ride of the Valkyries” began. “HO-YO-TO-HO, HO-YO-TO-HO” echoed around the stage as each woman lifted her spear to the heavens. Out walked Mr. Symonette. After a few minutes of wobbling, he soon was standing in front of the prompter’s box. Grumbling was heard from the audience, and opera lovers began running down the aisle toward the exit.

 Then, in the middle of Mr. Symonette’s growling, the stage curtain descended, hiding Mr. Symonette from view. Another gasp rang out from the audience. Mr. Bing returned to the stage. “Mr. Symonette is not feeling well. Mr. Edelmann has graciously agreed to return and finish the opera. He asks for your indulgence.” The curtain went up and the opera continued to its conclusion.

 The next day when I could find nothing in the newspapers, I called my voice teacher, May Browner, who had a student in the chorus. It turned out that Mr. Symonette, not expecting to sing, had been at a local pub and was “drunk as a skunk.”

 It was an awful evening, and at the same time memorable. I have enjoyed recounting this story to opera lovers ever since.

 As I continued my operatic studies, I began to appreciate and understand Wagner. The new Metropolitan Opera, now located at Lincoln Center, puts on fabulous, innovative, and colorful performances of all of Wagner’s operas. AND the libretto is displayed on the screen. These performances are enjoyable and fulfilling.    

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

November 17, 1971. New York School of the Opera. Vincent La Selva, artistic director and conductor. Parigi O Cara, third act duet from the opera La Traviata, with Jacob Mendelson as Alfredo. Photo by Carolyn Raiggini.

 

Onward and upward.