On a friend’s blog, I came across this photo, depicting Captain Carlos Fortino Sámano, facing a firing squad in 1917, during the Mexican Revolution. Please don’t ask me any details about that revolution/civil war, because it’s even more complicated than the Russian revolution/civil war. Maybe the officer of the Constitutional Army was so confused himself that he preferred to be shot rather than be entangled in the 10-year battle between Federalists, Constitutionalists, Conventionists, Carrancistas, Felicistas, Huertistas, Maderistas, Magonistas, Margaritas, Orozquistas, Porfiristas, Reyistas, Villistas, Zapatitas and the Germans, who, as I have noted repeatedly on this blog, are pretty much responsible for all the mayhem ever caused in human history.
Hands in the pocket, shirt, hat, cigar and cool, I was eerily reminded of some of my own photos. Like this one, taken after discovering Clint Eastwood’s stash of cigars in a small town in Andalusia.
Or that one time at the cemetery in Piura in Peru, where I was caught in the crossfire of a photographer’s rifle, I mean lens.
Because I had never seen the photo from 1917 until now, I am seriously wondering about the coincidence. Have I finally discovered whose reincarnation I am? That would explain how I could suddenly speak Spanish.
Anyway, I think one should always leave home looking as if one was about to be shot. And you wouldn’t want to be captured for posterity in shorts and flip-flops, would you?