Francisco Ibáñez left without receiving a Princess of Asturias award, but his indelible comics remain with us. He leaves us Mortadelo and Filemón, Rompetechos and, of course, the building par excellence of children’s literature, 13, rue del Percebe. The cartoonist has been the subject of a lengthy tribute on social networks while the electoral campaign got even more muddy.
Ibañez was capable of mixing doses of social criticism with humor, so absent in this angry country. If the cartoonist had portrayed the environment on Twitter in his property during these suffocating days of July, he would have represented Pedro Sánchez in the first left with a serious gesture. He is with a dog named “Perro Sánxe” and tells him: “President, I like the nickname.”
In the first right, Ibáñez could have drawn Feijóo with a shirt that reads: “They are not lies, they are inaccuracies.” The ghosts of Silvia Intxaurrondo and Carlos Alsina flutter around the room pointing a light at him and whispering to him that the PP did not always revalue pensions with the CPI.
In the second left I could draw Yolanda Díaz trying to add. But by her side is the leading core of Podemos, visibly angry because the candidate does not have Montero, who knocks on the door but no one opens. Knives fly.
In the second right would be Abascal. He carries a megaphone: “Either we enter the government or don’t count on us.” There’s Meloni. An all-seeing eye with the EU flag looks trembling.
The third is a family home. Some new parents. The father teaches his offspring to say: “May I vote for you Txapote.” The mother looks at the scene stunned. “If we sing it at the wedding or at Sanfermines, the child will have to learn it,” he defends. The baby cries.
Ibáñez’s genius pen could also draw a diaphanous fourth floor. Many people. Young people who cannot pay their rent, a family that does not make ends meet, the unemployed, the LGTBI collective. They have a banner: “And when do you plan to focus on what really matters?”
At the top of the building is Alcaraz, the current king Carlos of tennis, hugging his Wimbledon trophy. But a light blinds him. It’s Brad Pitt, gleaming at 60, eating chips in the London stands.
The comic has a special guest. It is René Merino, a cartoonist who has drawn Mortadelo, Filemón and Rompetechos asking to enter heaven after Ibáñez: “Can’t we go with him?” But the gatekeeper stops them and exclaims: “You are immortal, I’m sorry.” Have a good trip, Francisco.
