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The last three years of Luis Eduardo Aute's life, considering his career, his spirit and his absolute predisposition towards any form or manifestation of beauty, seem to us as if they belonged to someone else, as if life were not his own , but borrowed. The heart attack he suffered in August 2017 completely annulled his will, maintained with tenacity and love for decades, to be a discreet hedonist, or perhaps it would be better to say that Aute was an Epicurean -all possible pleasures, but in moderation-, and that he had no stoic soul.
But after overcoming the first blow, he had no choice. He received a medical discharge at the end of that year and went to Cuba to continue his recovery. In an article published in Libertad Digital, Manuel Román referred to what his house in Madrid was like: spacious, comfortable, but distributed over three floors and with stairs. Therefore, a bad place for those who, in addition to temporarily losing their powers of speech, had also been bedridden.
He went to Cuba accompanied by the most stable pillars of his life: his three children - Laura, Miguel and Pablo Antonio - and his wife, María del Carmen Rosado. He met Maritxu, who is familiarly known to him, during the counterculture years, amidst the political and student turmoil that rocked Europe and the United States on the eve of the spring of 1968, and they were married. He has been his only wife, the mother of his children, a partner in life.
Aute was given the label of seducer -because his songs exude enthusiastic eroticism, a celebration of life from the intimate knowledge of the fixed or occasional couple-, and although rumors of this or that affair with people of the show business from the 60s to practically the last decade, if they had allowed themselves a little white hair, either with passing women or with metaphysical brides, there is no greater constancy and, as long as there are no sworn testimonies, that will remain in legend .
What he was was an intelligent, calm, insightful conversationalist, who fused poetry and common sense, which may seem like antonyms, but which is needed for the former to be good and the latter to go beyond the predictable. He had the honor of having many real friends, and those friends - from the world of song, the arts, the press, aesthetes and thinkers - know that his company was an unrepeatable gift. He recommended to his children that, the best shield to withstand the harshness of life, is to culture and knowledge, and led them on the path of intelligence.
That same knowledge that he pursued was split between the intellectual and the physical, between the soul and the body. He abandoned himself to some pleasures and some vices , and the moderation in consumption occurred in some cases more than in others: he was an unrepentant smoker, a habit that he had to stop at the root after the heart attack, and he was passionate about bullfighting as much as the songs of Brassens or the poems of Aleixandre or César Vallejo.
He confessed to having tried some hard drugs, cocaine during a tour or a time of excessive workload, but without going over. He preferred puns, stroking the spines of books, following the profile of a female bust, the touch of marble and the taste of a rhyme. He looked for great beauty, and although not in its entirety, he did find a part.
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