My name is Flora Botton, and I studied literature at UNAM. One of my teachers was Rosario Castellanos many, many years ago, in 1961. She taught comparative literature. She was a sensational teacher, direct and gracious to share with the class, and no, she didn't boast about her books or herself as a writer. She was, however, extremely friendly, even more so outside of class.
Flora, who has read since childhood, chose a university degree in literature and took the comparative literature class taught by Raúl Ortíz, an exceptional teacher. When he traveled abroad, Ortíz was replaced by Rosario Castellanos, who had been her close friend ever since. That's how Rosario and Flora met, in the classroom.
The Rosario Castellanos that Flora, then a student, met at UNAM had a very pleasant sense of humor that she enjoyed outside of class when she told him anecdotes about her life. She especially remembers one about oranges: when her father, returning from the United States, brought the discovery to Comitán: oranges can be squeezed and served as juice. One might hear that with disbelief today, but in the 1960s, things were different, Flora says.
She adds: another anecdote Rosario would tell, with that sense of self-irony, was when she repeatedly said she couldn't drive a car. Of course, she knew how to drive and owned one, but one day, at two in the afternoon in the middle of the Insurgentes roundabout, she couldn't take it anymore, got out of the car, and left it there. Flora remembers her telling her she didn't give it any importance or worry about what happened next; she told it with such grace that she never drove again.
