Mercedes Barcha, often endearingly called “La Gaba,” was more than just the wife of Nobel laureate Gabriel García Márquez. For nearly six decades, she was his steadfast partner, confidante, and an undeniable force behind his literary genius. While some might have perceived her nickname as placing her in a supporting role, Mercedes was unequivocally at the heart of Gabo’s life and monumental work. This enduring partnership, celebrated on what would have been her eighty-eighth birthday, reveals Mercedes not as existing in her husband’s shadow, but as a central figure, a creative anchor that sustained his writing career until her passing on August 15th.
Theirs was a bond that transcended a typical marriage; it was a profound love story that seemed to permeate García Márquez’s entire literary output. Indeed, the narrative of their life together appears interwoven into the very fabric of his novels. One could argue that García Márquez’s fictional worlds often mirrored and reimagined the enduring love he shared with Mercedes. From their initial encounter, their relationship was imbued with the sense of destiny, a recurring theme in Gabo’s work, shaping the lives of his characters and their own intertwined paths.
Mercedes Barcha was born in 1932 in Magangué, a town nestled on the banks of the Magdalena River. Born to Demetrio Barcha, a pharmacist, and Raquel Pardo, she was the eldest of seven siblings and spent her formative years in Sucre. It was in Sucre that fate intervened, bringing her together with Gabriel García Márquez, who hailed from Aracataca. García Márquez fondly recalled their first meeting in The Fragrance of Guava: “I met Mercedes in Sucre, a town set back from the Caribbean coast, where our families lived for several years and where she and I spent our vacations. Our fathers were childhood friends. One day, at a school dance, when she was only thirteen, I immediately asked her to marry me. Now I believe that proposition was a metaphor for skipping over all the twists and turns that had to be negotiated back then in order to have a girlfriend. She must have understood this in the same way, because we continued to see each other occasionally, always casually, and I think we both knew, beyond any doubt, that sooner or later the metaphor would one day become true.”
As political unrest escalated in rural Colombia, Mercedes and her family relocated to Barranquilla. However, the distance did not diminish her connection with García Márquez. By this time, Mercedes had blossomed into a striking and graceful woman, distinguished by her long, elegant neck, a feature Gabo frequently admired. He even dedicated his inaugural column for the Cartagena newspaper Universal to her, aptly titled “The Giraffe,” a testament to her slender physique. Despite the burgeoning romance, Demetrio Barcha harbored reservations about the relationship. He famously cautioned his daughter, in a foreshadowing remark, that marrying Gabito would lead to her “eating paper,” a prediction unknowingly alluding to the uncertain financial prospects of a writer’s life.
Barranquilla became the backdrop for Mercedes’s young adulthood, where she devoted herself to her family. Unlike Gabo, she did not pursue higher education. Friends from this period remember her as an avid reader, a trait that would later prove invaluable in her role as Gabo’s first reader and critic. She maintained a long-distance relationship with García Márquez as he ventured to Europe. Intriguingly, their extensive correspondence remains a mystery, as both Mercedes and Gabo later agreed to destroy their letters, safeguarding the intimacy of their early courtship. Upon his return to Colombia en route to Caracas for a job, García Márquez stopped in Barranquilla and formally proposed marriage. Mercedes accepted, and their union was solemnized at the Iglesia del Perpetuo Socorro on March 21, 1958. Mercedes was twenty-five, and Gabo was thirty-one. From that day forward, their roles became clearly defined: Gabo would dedicate himself to writing, while Mercedes would manage the practicalities of their life, a partnership that proved essential to his creative process. In a rare comment about her contributions, Mercedes once remarked, “I’ve never worked. Why would I? I don’t know how to do anything,” a statement that belied her immense and indispensable efforts.
“Mercedes had to pawn her hair dryer in order to complete the shipment.”
Following their wedding, the newlyweds embarked on a journey to Venezuela. During their flight, García Márquez shared his ambitious literary aspirations with Mercedes, outlining his plans to write a novel titled The House, another about a dictator, and to create his magnum opus by the age of forty, as recounted by Gerald Martin, García Márquez’s biographer.
After a period of travel across different countries, they eventually settled in Mexico City, a place Mercedes would come to consider home more than anywhere else. By this time, García Márquez had already published his debut novel, Leaf Storm. Mercedes made a conscious decision to abstain from publicly commenting on Gabo’s literary works. When a friend inquired about her thoughts on his first novel, she simply shrugged and replied, “I read it, but I didn’t understand it.” However, privately, she was always his first and most insightful reader, offering candid feedback. As Jorge F. Hernández noted in El País, “What’s certain is that nobody read even a single paragraph before he first read it to her, and that there are sentences that inaugurated a brand new face of world literature that only she—and perhaps the children—heard while sitting in a car heading for the coast.” Her opinion and understanding were paramount to Gabo’s writing process, even if she maintained a public silence.
The subsequent years, now with two children, presented financial challenges. Mercedes assumed responsibility for the family’s finances, navigating periods of scarcity largely alleviated by the support of close friends. During a particularly stressful time, seeking respite from their worries, they planned a weekend trip to the beach. As fate would have it, en route, Gabo had a breakthrough, conceiving the opening line of a new novel. Mercedes immediately aborted their vacation plans, urging him to return home.
For the next eighteen months, while García Márquez immersed himself in writing One Hundred Years of Solitude, Mercedes shielded him from all distractions, creating a sanctuary for his creative process. However, their financial situation became increasingly precarious, debts mounted, and resources dwindled. When the manuscript was finally complete, they faced another hurdle: insufficient funds to mail it to the publisher. Resourcefully, they sent half of the manuscript, and Mercedes, in a now-legendary act of sacrifice, pawned her hairdryer to cover the remaining postage. As they left the post office, she wryly remarked, “Now all that’s left is for the novel to turn out bad.” Her humor in the face of adversity underscored her unwavering support and resilience.
Mercedes seldom spoke about her direct involvement with One Hundred Years of Solitude. However, in an interview with Héctor Feliciano, she offered a glimpse into her first encounter with the published novel:
“When they did send it to me from (Editorial) Sudamericana, I read it in bed, with Gabito lying next to me, waiting to see how I would react.”
“And how did you react to it?”
“I read it voraciously,” she said, using that particular coastal adjective, “avorazada” in Spanish, which was appropriate. Then I asked her if she read any of the drafts of the manuscript.
“I read it when it was printed,” she said. “I don’t much like reading that other stuff (the manuscripts).”
“Which of his books do you like the most?”
“Me? One Hundred Years of Solitude. Right?” She looks me in the eye, surely hesitating before insisting ever so gently, “I’ve read it three times. It’s marvelous. That chapter with the rain and the plague. It’s like a torrent! You go through that chapter and you don’t even realize it. And that Úrsula! Poor Úrsula’s just so wonderful.”
The aftermath of One Hundred Years of Solitude‘s publication and Gabo’s Nobel Prize in Literature is a well-documented transformation. Overnight, he ascended to literary stardom. This global recognition irrevocably altered their lives, yet Mercedes, with remarkable consistency, maintained the quiet strength and discretion that had always defined her. Echoes of the Barcha family history can be discerned in the Buendía lineage of One Hundred Years of Solitude, and the coastal women characters often bear the unmistakable imprint of Mercedes’s personality.
Following Gabo’s literary coronation, Mercedes continued to manage their domestic life, the children’s education, public engagements, and finances. Her decisions were final, even in significant financial ventures, such as investments in the magazines Alternativa and Cambio, and the QAP newscast. Alongside agent Carmen Balcells, she managed the rights and royalties to his extensive body of work. As Colombian writer Jacqueline Urzola observed, “In the house, not even a chair gets moved unless by her marshaling. Mercedes is in control of everything that happens and does not appreciate having her will broken. She doesn’t receive the orders, she gives them.” Her organizational prowess and decisive nature were key to maintaining order amidst the whirlwind of their increasingly public life.
One of Mercedes’s most consistently applied roles was as the gatekeeper of their social circle. Those fortunate enough to be within the couple’s inner circle experienced their renowned generosity. Mercedes thrived in the role of hostess, creating a welcoming atmosphere for friends, ensuring drinks flowed and conversations animated the evenings. She was often the last one on the dance floor, enjoying vallenato music with Gabo. A highlight of any gathering was when their favorite song, “La Diosa Coronada” by Leandro Díaz, filled the air.
“Mercedes made the decision to never talk about her husband’s legacy.”
Mercedes Barcha alongside Gabriel García Márquez during the Nobel Prize ceremony, showcasing her steadfast support.
Mercedes possessed an unwavering strength of character. When a journalist inquired about her astrological sign, Gabo quipped, “She’s the scorpion of the house,” a testament to her formidable will. Urzola further elaborated, “Mercedes has a strict sense of loyalty. She doesn’t forgive slip-ups in that sense, nor does she tolerate any sort of foolishness, regardless of who’s the cause of it. Those who are believed to have betrayed her or taken advantage of the intimacy she shared are banished from her affections, and of course from Gabo’s as well, and should not expect much in the way of clemency. There are no acquittals. The rules of engagement are strict and any relaxation of these conditions must be done either with her consent or without her knowledge. Gabo teasingly ascribes to her the role of managing the family’s grudge department, and she laughs at that. However, it’s clear that he doesn’t dare contradict his wife, and while he has granted forgiveness in the past or may wish to bury the occasional hatchet, nothing moves forward until enough time has passed or the stubborn determination of the exile softens her heart and causes her to change her mind. Something which, more often than not, never happens.” Her loyalty and unwavering principles were cornerstones of her personality.
The novel Love in the Time of Cholera arguably offers the most vivid literary portrait of Mercedes. Fermina Daza, the resolute young woman who captivated Florentino Ariza for a lifetime, strongly reflects the essence of the author’s wife. Fittingly, the novel is dedicated to her, a public acknowledgment of her profound influence.
Mercedes and Gabo were constantly sought after for events and engagements, their lives filled with travel and encounters with global figures from celebrity circles to political arenas. Despite Gabo’s aversion to flying, they traveled extensively, befriending some of the most influential personalities of the 20th century. Mercedes remained discreet about her interactions within these powerful circles, maintaining a strict silence regarding private conversations. However, it was evident that both she and Gabo appreciated their access to these spheres. In a 1988 Vanity Fair interview, García Márquez expressed his contentment with this lifestyle: “You write better with all your problems resolved. You write better in good health. You write better without preoccupations. You write better when you have love in your life. There is a romantic idea that suffering and adversity are very good, very useful for the writer. I don’t agree at all.” Their shared life, rich with both literary creation and worldly engagement, seemed to validate this perspective.
Following Gabo’s death in 2014, Mercedes withdrew from public life, retreating to her home on Calle Fuego in southern Mexico City. She spent her days in the company of close friends, rarely venturing out. She continued to enjoy her cigarettes and tequila, finding solace in the tranquility of her living room, overlooking her garden and Gabo’s study, and remained keenly aware of Colombian and Mexican news. In a final act of characteristic discretion, Mercedes chose not to discuss her husband’s literary legacy, unlike many widows of prominent authors. This final silence mirrored the independent and measured way she had navigated her life. Mercedes Barcha was acutely aware of her vital role in the creation of some of the most significant literary works in history. Her importance was self-evident, indelibly inscribed on every page of Gabriel García Márquez’s oeuvre, requiring no further pronouncements.
Note: All quoted material, with the exception of the quotation from the Vanity Fair interview, was translated from Spanish by Ezra E. Fitz.
© Felipe Restrepo Pombo. Translation © 2020 by Ezra E. Fitz. All rights reserved.
Related Reading:
“Thank You, Gabo”: Translators on García Márquez
History of a Conversion: A Political Profile of Mario Vargas Llosa
The City and the Writer: In Mexico City with Lucia Duero
