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Suddenly, one day, on one of those boring trips, I felt the full presence
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of something that turned out to be pure Greek mythology,
which I think confirms Jung’s theory of archetypes,
there is a kind of memory of the ancestors. Through genes and chromosomes,
they send you something that corresponds to their time and not yours.
Thus, came out the notion of labyrinth, the myth of Theseus and the Minotaur,
but I saw it the other way around. In the Minotaur I saw the poet,
the free man, the different man and who, therefore,
is the man that society, the system, immediately locks up,
sometimes in psychiatric clinics and other times in labyrinths,
and Theseus, on the other hand, is the perfect defender of order,
the king's gangster who kills the poet, he has the procedures of a perfect
fascist and kills him immediately.
Inspired by true events
I have the same dream since I was a boy.
Suddenly, I’m a dog,
and I am covered in blood.
I don't know if I escaped if I fought with another dog,
but I am sure they are wounds,
I am very hurt.
I can only see the street,
I know I am going to die
but I feel very good.
The Buffalo Man
Fuck!
I got him published The Invisible Network, which was an article about
pederasty and child prostitution.
I hadn’t seen him for a while, he stopped writing, until
recently he showed up and said to me that he was going to
make a come back and that he needed money and my car,
so I gave them to him.
...it says you're driving like crazy!
No, I'm going 65 mph
Yeah, so the taste of it depends on what you eat, right?
Really?
Yes, I think so.
But what is it?
That which you expel from your being when you arrive
to the ecstasy of life.
But one as a man
And one as a woman too.
Yeah, sure, so you taste like black pudding.
Gross! Black pudding!
That’s bullshit!
Thirty four.
Thanks.
How old were you when you lost your innocence?
Old age.
Really? How many?
Sixteen.
You think that's old?
Well, in comparison to the references that I had around, I was old.
Fifteen.
Almost the same. Was it at your quinceañera?
Something very crazy happened to me, like I had something repressed
because I did not feel anything, literally, nothing.
I mean, I realized I was there because I saw everything and
I was like: Seriously? Is that it?
Is this the whole fuss, really?
So I feel like it all was a total shock.
You destroyed his life.
No, he’s still there insisting.
So it didn’t happen at your quinceañera?
No, but he was my chambelan.
Those fucking chambelans are dangerous.
I mean, if I have a daughter... No chambelans! I'm going to
tell her: “No chambelans, kid. No, no chambelan, no!”
But actually a quinceañera is a party to tell society you're
old enough to get some.
I packed bags in a grocery store.
- Really? - Yes, and she was a cashier.
I don’t know why I follow this fucker.
He doesn’t even remember me.
I could pull out a gun and shoot him.
What is your name?
My name's Jonah and I'm a thug, that is I get jobs done for a living,
you do understand, right?
No,
The truth is I earn well,
and...
that’s how this country works anyway,
if I didn’t do it someone else would.
I already knew I was a thug, that I was going to dedicate myself to it,
you just know, don't you? You know what your calling is
and since I was a boy I was never good at anything, I never really had a vocation;
I was going to end up doing this, really.
For example, my brother,
he is a car mechanic and he works his ass off, really,
and I say to him: "What for? Why do you work so fucking much?
You have to live, motherfucker!
You have to live, asshole!
You have to live the good life!”
Tell me about Eric.
The thing is he already had the bullseye on his head, right?
He was marked since we knew,
since we found out that he was going to publish something new.
What do you want?
To talk
To talk about what, girl?
What do you want to know?
A big head requires a big hat.
I had the misfortune of losing my wife
and I did not resign.
Eric and I had an open relationship and we were also work colleagues.
I met him at the newspaper where he used to write,
until one day he quit without explanation.
I remember one time, at my house, he was sitting on the
terrace railing
drinking a beer.
As he kept drinking, he leaned more and more towards the street.
The first thing that came to my mind was:
"This dude wants to die."
When I grabbed his arm to pull him down, he looked
at me and said, real drunk:
"I feel something under my skin that makes me vomit."
- It’s still clicking.
Yeah.
I was looking at the trailer...
I have a cousin who drives one.
He has some really cool stories.
I can imagine.
My favorite are the scary ones.
The one of the lady in white
They tell that one a lot, don't they?
Everybody tells that story,
in which they pick up a woman...
That is really beautiful and suddenly she is a skeleton.
Someone should make a movie like that, a trailer driver comedy.
About trailer drivers who give a ride to pretty women that turn into skeletons.
I pay my respects to them, I really do.
Yeah, I know. They work really hard.
Yes.
My name is Juliet.
Next week he came back to the market and wanted me to
go eat tacos with him,
I said: “Ok, let’s go if you're inviting”.
So we went and he told me that as a child
he had met a man who took care of him
because he was alone, he told me that the man
was half man, half buffalo.
He told me that sometimes it would appear again.
I liked him.
This absent parents thing made me connect with him.
We went for a few beers and it was the last time we saw
each other until I looked for him.
I was a Physics professor.
They disappeared her,
one night she did not come home,
I went out looking for her.
The policemen told me that they had ratted out on her
and that she was a suspect of criminal association.
Your fucking mother is a suspect!
Now I think I would have liked her not to write anything,
I went looking everywhere for her.
In dumps, in pits
They know that even if your rage is too much,
the death of silence will come to you.
Let them shout whatever they want!
You see?
You could not endure it,
you’re a pussy,
and because you could not stand the beating you ratted out.
I give you your mother's letter, you wait two hours and then you can go.
But let me tell you,
if you write again, it will not be a beating anymore,
I myself will turn you cold.
I don't think that I don't know, I'm not that radical.
I don’t think it’s impossible,
to be with just one person.
It is a penis and a vagina,
everything else is in our minds
and in our weird desires that we impose on those relationships,
don't you think?
25 years of my life eating peppers and tortillas,
and I may believe that I can feed on that my whole life, and maybe
I can, I believe I can,
but when you try steak, cheese
Then you're like: "Oooh!"
Yeah, I don't know. Humans are weird even more nowadays.
There are no streets were those fuckers live.
Are you tired?
Do you have any other family member?
No,
we were just Helen and me.
Isn’t Eric your son?
I have no sons.
Go away. Go away!
Go away!
Go on!
Go away, go away, go on!
When I talked to Eric I thought he was a little crazy, he wanted me to accompany
him to Oaxaca to do his investigation,
I wasn’t scared, I know how to protect myself,
what I thought was that maybe he was a slacker, but he’s not like that,
in fact I think he wanted to do something meaningful and
that made him suffer,
it made him feel powerless.
How come you are claustrophobic?
Just like that, I am.
It’s not like as a child I was locked up or lived something harsh,
no, I just can’t get in the subway and I can’t live in a room.
Yes, for a while it went away.
Just like that, it passed.
How did you find Eric?
Let's see...
I didn’t remember but it was days after I chatted with Eric.
When I was a kid, I also met the Buffalo Man,
I spent a lot of time alone and sometimes when
night came and my mom wasn’t home yet,
I looked at the window and from my building I could see
the building opposite, and there was the animal,
staring at me.
It didn't scare me. It made me feel that I was
not the only one waiting all alone,
that it was two of us now.
That's why I decided to look for Eric.
I have to confess that the Buffalo Man also appeared
to me the same day Eric was killed.
I asked what it was, I also asked about Eric
Sometimes I think what would have happened if I had
not given him the article.
Coincidentally, I came across an article that I thought would be perfect for Eric.
He wasn't doing anything at the time, so I gave it to him.
At first, he turned it down.
When I insisted he write again, he told me he had a target on him
and if he wrote again, they would kill him.
That's why he stopped writing.
That day, we went to bed and did the same routine,
and then I never saw him again.
He had always disappeared for a while, so I though it was normal.
Maybe I should've stopped being a journalist to only be a mother,
but I couldn’t.
They're going to throw my body somewhere, and I'm going to rot.
I can’t stop writing,
I don't care if I get killed.
Fuck you all!
When he investigated, he transformed, he was full of life
He looked like a man with no past oppressing him.
The reason I'm doing this documentary is partly out of guilt.
I want to show the man who was erased
by something invisible,
by a beast no one seems to see
and everyone seems to avoid looking at,
because if you do, it devours you.
We have a software that warns us when they are active
so we find out real quickly, right?
Very quickly we found out what he was doing,
what he was investigating,
about a mining company.
It turns out that there were some fucking Indians
making a mess
and he was investigating about that.
The mining business involves a lot of dough, there are many players
gambling and risking a lot of dough, so none of them likes you to
mess with their money. The thing with bosses
is that you can say whatever you want, you can talk about them,
but when you mess with their money then you’re fucked.
Right?
So when he started to investigate and get more involved with
the mining company thing,
that’s when they sent me.
But I was only sent to scare him.
It wasn’t me who killed him, I don’t know who did,
I was actually just coming back from a forced pause.
I was sick, I'm not sure what I had, at first
I thought it was stomach reflux or some of that shit
you sometimes get,
but then I didn’t know for sure, the food tasted disgusting,
bitter,
the meat tasted rotten, everything tasted
fucking gross, tasted like shit,
I could not eat,
I went to see to the doctor, they did not find anything
so I stopped eating, I lost weight, I lost several pounds
and I was feeling very tired.
Well, you get used to it, don’t you?
We get used to everything,
even to food tasting like shit you get used to.
It started as a game while we were having sex
he drew and drew beautifully.
So he drew stuff, right?
While doing it, and
at the beginning, it was something new,
it was something that we both loved.
I don’t know, it was different, it was cute, you know?
I don't know.
But no, after a while
Suddenly it began to become more often that he drew a
Mr. Potato Head on my back that is, lower back.
Very low?
Well, yeah.
You mean there where it's no longer called back.
Yeah
But, how did he draw it, at what moment?
Well there, meanwhile, doing it.
With any... a marker, a pen, whatever we had handy.
If he didn't draw that, he could not come.
Damn! He was fucking Mr. Potato Head then, right?
No! I don't like to think of it that way, I like to
think that while I felt like
the strokes on my back, it's because a good moment was approaching.
it's because a good moment was approaching.
That’s cool. But why Mr. Potato Head?
Losing one's memory is an act of cowardice
And my father is a coward.
He says he doesn’t remember,
that he doesn’t recognize me. but I think he's fucking around.
I am a journalist just because,
but I could’ve been a terrorist,
it’s the same.
Some of them search for one thing and the others search for another thing,
but it’s the same.
My mother left.
She was killed, but nonetheless she left,
that's what she decided,
she put herself in that position.
I hate my mother and I also hate my father.
But I hate even more the people who are motherfuckers.
Maybe that’s why I’m a journalist.
The truth must be somewhere.
I was run over when I was a little kid.
Really? Where?
In my neighborhood, I was 6 years old.
What?
Did you get run over when you were 6 years old?
What happened?
I have two scars on my head. He had already run over a lady...
...in another street, he was drunk driving.
Oh, it is serious!
Yes, and they couldn’t get him.
I mean, when he hit me he was already being chased,
but still managed to fuck me up and they didn't get him in the end.
Damn, that’s too bad!
Yeah.
And the funniest thing is that my brother
came in the house...
My mom says that he came in,
she was sewing, he came in the kitchen, poured himself
a glass of water, sat in the living room
and after a while he said to my mom: "Oh, yeah! It's true!"
And my mom was: “What? What is?”, “Eric was run over”.
So my mom came running outside.
Since then, she says that I’m not okay, that I don’t think
of the danger and that I accept trips just like that and that I do crazy things.
When he finished the reportage, we agreed to meet at the university
but I didn’t arrive because the police stopped me.
Eric lived in a paradox because he didn’t want to follow
his mother's destiny but at the same time
he couldn’t stop writing, he didn’t want to.
Too bad that his new article is not going to see the light.
Erick was my distant cousin, he came to live with my family
when I was about 7 or 8 years old, I think.
His mother went missing, she was also a journalist,
the party in power at the time made her disappear in the eighties, and Ramon,
his father, went crazy looking for her.
He started to stop sleeping in his home for walking through the
morgues and hospitals to see if he could find at least the body,
and he stopped washing and eating, he had always the same
clothes on, full of stains.
He got used to the streets and the booze.
When that happened, Eric was about 12 years old
and before he lived with us, he was already alone.
His father left him a signed checkbook,
he went to the bank every time he ran out of money.
Then, Eric went to eat whatever he liked at the market,
then he walked back to Coapa.
Do you know how many miles that is?
At least about 10.
I think about that and it gives me the chills, I think that at that age
I couldn't even sleep with the lights off.
Did he ever tell you about the Buffalo Man?
What is that?
Rabbits are tasty. Have you tried them?
Yes.
Do you like them?
Only the ones that my uncle cooks.
His name was Victor, he had a very human-like stare,
that's why it was named Victor.
...He had the theory that it was a reincarnation,
That’s creepy!
But the rabbit grew so big and looked so tasty
that we killed it for Christmas.
I don't remember but in a cartoon show, there was a cow
that was a reincarnation
and had human eyes, so my brother told us:
"See? You see that's possible?”
And we were all like full of Victor, satisfied.
It was a very big rabbit, very fat,
like cat meat maybe.
That's why they say, right? To give a cat instead of a hare?
Really?
Sure.
They say the taste is similar.
An Uber driver told me and I believed him.
So the Buffalo Man told you to come here.
The Buffalo Man just told me to find you,
not to bring you.
Besides, I was afraid to come alone.
Good thing I came.
Yeah.
Why did you come?
Because you invited me and because I like to go out and because
I had to find you, didn’t I?
You can’t speak Zapotec language, poom! A stick to the head.
Teacher, teacher, he spoke in Zapotec,
don’t scold us.
But now is good, is good, Zapotec.
Over there on the hill is San Pedro.
Cajono.
On this side is San Francisco Cajono, over here,
and ahead is San Miguel Cajonos.
So, you’re going down there?
Yes, over here by the stream.
Are they ugly?
It’s their sideburns.
No, but some like sideburns.
Some, not everyone.
No, young ladies, not the nice sideburns, when they give
them their kisses. The sideburns.
Sideburns, yeah, they’re nice.
You see our Lord Jesus Christ, his beard
He also had, right? At least that’s how they portray him.
They like beards a lot,
but we are bald, they don’t want us bald.
There’s for everyone,
Yes, there’s for everyone.
This girl likes them bald.
Really?
Here, here it is, please.
Here, a little further.
My dear friends, how much do I owe you?
Don’t worry about it. Is nothing.
Oh, ok thanks, my dear friend, God bless you, God keeps you,
God is going to pay you, God is going to pay you.
Well, see you later, fare well.
I also saw him lighting up, as if he was awakening.
Then, for like seven months, I didn't know anything about him,
I did think about him but I didn’t want to bother him.
If he doesn't look for me it's because he doesn’t want
me near, right?
I don't go into this town, there is too much death.
Alright.
Well, see you then.
Eric was found dead with two bullets in the stomach.
Since 2000, at least 133 journalists have been killed in the country.
Mexico was rated by the Reporters Without Borders Organization
as the most dangerous country without war to practice journalism,
only behind Afghanistan and Syria.