Neither the surgical mask - the "chinstrap", he says - that covers his beard, nor the sailor's cap that covers his bald head, manages to hide the glare of his blue eyes, clouded, yes, by the veil of nine decades seeing miseries and wonders.
He waits for the visitor standing upright, as upright as his years and his legend allow him behind his back, and he does not sit down until one takes a seat, with that gentleness at once invisible and evident of old-fashioned gentlemen.
We talk in the ambiguous of the Infanta Isabel theater in Madrid, where tonight he will recite again, for the first time since confinement, the old lines of León Felipe with no more props than José Luis Merlín's guitar, and his voice as a tamer of silence.
Here it is explained.
Héctor Benjamino Alterio Onorato.
With that name, he seemed predestined for something great.
Well, it
was not
on purpose
, I suppose.
Héctor was a warrior.
Alterio, the other me, is the family's last name, lifelong Italian.
Onorato means honorable.
And the thing about Benjamino is because I was the youngest of the family.
We were four brothers.
They all died.
I have been an orphan of brothers for ten or fifteen years, and here I am
What's it like being the last survivor of a race?
With nostalgia, with affection, with memories that assail you of things that happened to us, good and bad.
We are less and less.
What is the best age for someone who has lived for almost a century?
Each one will have their own.
For me, from 40 to 50 years.
Others, in that decade, are in the midst of a midlife crisis.
So they say.
For me it was magnificent: waking up to things that were there and that had to be used then or never.
At 40 I got married, I began to live in this profession, because until then I was doing amateur independent theater.
At 40 Ernesto was born, my first son.
At 43, Malena, and at 44 they were fleeing my country to come here.
At 40, that other me of Alterio began.
Why does one keep acting?
Because I live on this and I have to pay for things, And because I do what I like.
I love that alertness, that being in suspense that the theater gives me.
That keeps me alive.
In which of your jobs would you stay to live forever?
So many ...
Father
was a role that gave me a lot.
But these verses by León Felipe give me a lot of happiness, a lot of ego, in a good way.
I am managing an audience that, from absolute silence to the loudest applause, is responding to me.
And that gives me power.
I know that I do like that, whatever it is, and they look at me, and they follow me.
I'm fighting my vanity, too.
But either way, I feel powerful.
On stage, I still am.
Down, I don't know.
In other words, he manipulates us on a good basis.
What I handle is silence.
I'm trying to be heard, seen, cared for, understood.
I am speaking.
You paid for that, and I am up here and I have to convince you that these words, which I have said hundreds of times, I say for the first time and for you alone.
That's the game, and it amuses me a lot.
It is one of the great living classics on the scene.
Is it very believed?
You have to believe it to go up there, if you don't believe it, nobody does.
Vanity plays a big role, but I try not to get affected.
I have colleagues who are very aware of that, and I think I am not that kind of vain, that I detect after ten minutes and it produces rejection.
I notice it and say: 'with this no;
I'm never going to see it again. '
Who is he staying with, then?
With the person I like, with simple things, but true.
I stay with the truth, with generosity, with simplicity, with joy.
These are things that do me a lot of good.
They are not always achieved or found, but hey, I'll stick with that.
From what sources do you drink so that you can later portray anyone?
From the street, from what you and I are doing now, from everything.
The response of the people gives me a wealth that accumulates inside me, which I then sow on stage and have just germinated in the viewer.
Did you think you would live to see this pandemic that has us knocked out?
That is a huge question.
I try to do what they say, but what will be the end of all this?
I have no idea what is going to happen.
It is the most disconcerting thing I have ever experienced, and I have lived a lot.
Are you afraid of the virus?
Well, the righteous.
I'm happy, because I haven't taken it, but I can take it tomorrow.
I don't lock myself in.
I go out to dinner with friends.
In that I have not changed.
I am very urban, here and in Buenos Aires.
My wife is younger, she has that talent, and I always go after her.
What are you afraid of, then?
The body does not respond to me, having to use a wheelchair.
To have to wait for them to push me, to clean me, to take me and bring me.
To lose my independence.
I know that moment will come, but I don't think about it.
Are you a believer?
No, nothing.
I don't bother anyone.
What nails do you grab when you see the wolf's ears?
I solve everything with people.
There are those who give me answers and who do not, but I am not waiting for someone called God or the Virgin to solve it for me. Everything around me will solve it.
Everything is in the people around you.
Well, his wife is a psychologist.
So any.
Note that I never had the need to go, although I have been going for a long time without leaving home and I didn't even realize it.
Now he goes to the psychoanalyst a lot, and he's fine: he used to hide.
But not me.
Not for nothing: it is simply not part of my needs.
What is the pleasure of your days?
Sleep, sleep soundly.
It's horrible when you lie down and your head starts working and you don't fall asleep, and you go round and round.
I know that.
I sleep diete, eight, nine hours straight.
And besides, I take a nap.
What envy.
That requires a clear conscience.
Sure, and be totally relaxed, and not be hungry, and have a comfortable mattress.
Sleeping is the easiest and the hardest thing in the world.
Sleep is the other life in this one.
Do you still learn something every day?
Yes Yes.
With everything, with the good and with the bad.
And I like.
MUSIC IN THE VOICE
Héctor Alterio (Argentina, 91 years old) was told that if he had “dropped a bandoneon” when he spoke when he began to perform in Spain, exiled from his native Argentina half a century ago.
Since then, he has tamed the accent to his exclusive taste based on the same memory and discipline that he shows off when he recites, on a run, the 1940 Chacarita Juniors line-up with which he gives us in the video that accompanies this interview.
Courteous and very cordial, Alterio cannot avoid a shadow of anguish when speaking of a pandemic that he, witness to so many glories and miseries, did not think to face in his life.
Meanwhile, he acts, which for him is synonymous with life.
This afternoon he recites León Felipe again in the performance 'As 3,000 years ago', at the Infanta Isabel theater in Madrid.
Awaits them.