Strange Room Of Alexandre Barito- short fiction

1

Nothing lingers stronger in my boyhood reminiscence than the thought of Alexandre Brito. We both went to the same Junior Basic school and later together to the Central Library to read books.Barito read classics and books of deep content. My choice instead was fairy tales and science fiction. I have wondered often, how Barito acquired this uncanny knack of sticking to the grand and majestic throughout his life. It ought to be otherwise, taking into account that his father was an astute businessman and also a notorious moneylender of our town. But Barito did not have his father’s ways. This earned him a group of loyal friends among whom, I was one.
In his youth, Barito was charismatic and he used to visit our house often.
My house was in the country and a river was at a reachable distance and Barito and I would sit on the bank. We would look listlessly at the barges floating along and the maple trees near the sidewalk whose branches blended with the morning breeze. Those were bright August days. Some boys pedal bikes and later take rest on the grass. Occasionally, tourists will come and go, ask route in altered accent. Most of our chats revolved around books or colleagues. I must acknowledge with gratitude that Barito molded my thoughts largely. It was astounding that he never told a lie nor did he make fun of people’s frailties, unlike pranksters as us. Barito lived in an alluring two-storeyed house behind the Central Library from where markets forked. The library was an old Gothic edifice having
huge marble columns and a layer of concrete steps and a compound of chestnut trees. In those days it was befriended by intellectuals and dropouts. For two years, Barito was my classmate at university before he went to a bigger city for further studies. During those college years, I met him at his house whenever I went to the library. Here, Barito would relax in most opulent splendor in an armed chair, that was once used by his great-grandfather. His room contained all sorts of papers, tools, and chess boards.
The maid always left the room partially clean, as she had to rush for a day- job somewhere near. Though there was no dearth of servants in our town, this lady was kept chiefly because she was his mother’s confidant and perhaps an adviser in some issues of concern. Barito used a cot made of the flexible mattress, guarded by strings and whenever he jumped into it, the cot lifted him up to a moderate height and again backward as if to teach him Newton’s laws of motion.
The greatest trouble, Barito told me once, was his brother. Though his brother was younger to Barito by several years, he did not respect him. Their common disputes focused on issues such as who should engage the modish shower or sometimes over the apparels they shared and as to who the primary owner is. Though these points seem trivial, when they transpired, a minor volcano erupted, sufficient enough to defile a day’s repose. Sadly, the end point was that these divided the brothers to further ends. In some families, I have visited later, the brothers did not fight till they matured. Later the topics of estate slithered in and all of them would have children whose fees they had to meet, or their spouses would prompt them, though with ample reasons, to raise a family of their own. But the same siblings at a yet succeeding state are perceived to embrace a lately generated amity and confess to each other, albeit not getting back the days of youth.

2

In Barito’s chamber, there was a family photograph of a happy Houdini with his mama and wife. It was subsequent to his learning board skills from an acquaintance. He had also finished several portraits with noteworthy merit, emulating some of his ancestors, who as the line claimed, belonged to Utrecht Guild. Those early sketches were deemed as an heirloom and were on exhibit in the foyer. They were principally representations on convivial life and matchmaking and depictions of the countryside. His maternal grandsire had desisted to give them off, notwithstanding several appeals from private collectors. His mama served in the Energy Sector, a modest female who conserved a portion of her payroll without her husband’s knowledge because she had stings of the panic of old age and a forsaken end. One evening, when Barito and myself were hiking along the way of our former academy, he told me that he had no model personage in the family. I suggested that he could be his own hero. Barito smiled and agreed graciously that he is the One he is waiting for. It was, in truth, an echo of a strain we both understood and sang together.

3

My father had business in Salamanca where he spent half of the year. While in Munich, where he studied, he was in the cream company that included probable Nobel Laureates. My father could not continue his studies, mainly due to certain dispositions that channeled his energy to unlikely directions, making him uneasy at formal learning. Later he was to travel extensively, squandering some family wealth, but in course of time, was able to set up business in Salamanca. While with us, he would take solo jaunts to the interior where he had inherited a farm overlooking moors. Eventually, when his business expanded, he bought a bordering land that hosted bald cypress and marsh helleborine. It had many water spots, ducks, herrings and owls.

Further, mother expanded it with her share of turkeys and swans. When I was in the heyday of youth, my father thought me irresolute and lacking fire in activities. He claimed that he had it enough in his youth though he could not particularly apply it in academics. So he sent me to a revered friend of him in another city, to importune advice. When I met my future mentor, he was coming out from a chamber after zazen along with his private students. He asked me of my plight and after listening, told me to write down an area in life where I needed improvement, in case I got a reprieve or a second chance after a calamity. After considering the options of being the richest or the wisest, I wrote that I wanted to be the kindest[ knowing well that I cannot eclipse those saints]. He said that whatever I did, would not matter, so far it is not sabotaging to myself or to humanity in general, but I proceed with ardor. He said that roads will lead to broader roads and I will possibly get guidance. The next morning, I met a poor girl on the street who asked me some money. As I had only the train fare to go back home, I gave the watch. The girl, though perplexed for a second, accepted it.

Forthwith, I found myself surrounded by a group of people who probably mistook me for a prince incognito. Somehow I managed to scram and rushed to the nearest station to catch the rail. Further experiences revealed that my guide was more or less right. That was the year I met my future wife, a dark and sagacious lady.
In our house, there was a room in the upper story and one could reach it only through a spiral corridor. This gave the room an advantage of privacy, where my grandfather, a retired soldier would sit and drink ale. Sometimes he would relax on the balcony writing something in a diary with varied expressions. We had an uncle who was a lawyer and a fan of Conan Doyle and a member of a club that professed good service. When his practice was at an ebb, he wrote mystery plays that were rarely staged.

4

My elder sister also studied in the same college with me. Because of her, many senior students talked to me. She was an active member of the Culture Club which held weekly meetings of philosophical nature. The meetings were largely attended by the senior students of a university nearby. She also served as an apprentice to a Women’s Liberation leader, until she became disenchanted with the latter’s private life, which my sister ought not to have mixed up with the public one. Also, a very unfortunate thing happened in the Club. She became enamored by a man of dubious values though she could not suspect it in the beginning. Later she found out that this man had no love but only private ends. Those were all days of intense vexation for our group. My uncle found out that his father was a culprit in a casino brawl and had a clandestine meeting with dance maidens. The young man took part in our weekly meetings and claimed that he had read all of Spinoza but his rivals challenged that all he could entertain were sleazy thoughts. I must acknowledge the help I received from Barito to salve my sister from the impending depression. Later she was to get engaged to a mountaineer and still further along time, both met with a disaster on their climb to Kilimanjaro just above Barafu camp, making her invalid for the rest of life.

5

Before he went to the city, Barito stayed with us on the farm for a couple of days. We had a good time near water spots and the night owl’s habitats. Then I lost touch with him. We took different routes and had different lifestyles. Meanwhile, my father’s business dwindled and he came to hometown to settle there permanently. Still a loss, as far as wealth was concerned, he retained composure, only knowing rather late that certain things are beyond repair, and we should not incur further loss thinking about those. I married and took frequent trips to hometown to see my parents. Once, from mutual friends, I knew that Barito was there with his American wife. Together with our wives, we met in the tulip garden behind a row of windmills. Barito had slightly gone flabby on the mid-portion, and that evening he told me about the death of his father. Though far from an ideal figure, the old man held tremendous influence over his young son, enabling him to live an extraordinarily luxurious life. That evening, we met at Barito’s residence.

After coffee, Barito invited me to his room. I was surprised by the change. The family photograph of Harry Houdini had given way to the poster of a blue-eyed Italian action hero. Barito noticed the shift of my eye and told that his wife is a fan of Italian actors. After the ’Last Tango’, I had not seen any Italian film and then too, spent half the time in the side hall, hanging around with friends. Now, my eyes fell on the most elegant cot that had replaced Barito’s old flexible one that taught him once Newton’s laws of motion. In the same evening, we met in a newly constructed restaurant in the City Square. Barito had the fish tacos and iced tea. I took sweet yogurt, having had a stomach upset.
After that, probably a decade passed. Or may be more. While traveling in North, once in a train compartment, I met a friend of college days and among many other things, he conveyed to me, the changes that had come to Alexandre Barito. My friend did not know in detail but suggested that Barito was into a new life of religious contemplation. ‘ How about his medical practice?’, I asked.
’Though he attends the hospital, his wife is managing everything ’, the friend said.
Luckily that year, when I came home for vacation, Barito was in the town. I took this opportunity to see everything at first hand and hear from the horse’s mouth. The gardener opened the gate and guided me to his room, that remained unchanged from outside. When the door opened, I saw Barito on a mattress close to ground level. His face had changed. He had shaved his head and the eyes drooped marvelously still. On the wall stood the picture of St. Bruno meditating on a skull. He said that he had a dream of a reaper entering harvest time and that changed his life. He had
prevailed over some unlucky addictions of the recent past. I asked him if he followed the Carthusian Order, but his reply was in negative.
He was only trying to live in the world as if he were in a desert, in order to have the best of both worlds. He chose his Lauds, Vespers, and Psalms at his own notion. He said that he was arriving at clarity, which was fairly evident from his movements. He also said that he was translating a religious text into a Dutch dialect of his ancestry. It was, he said, not for publication, but for focus. When he inquired me of my concerns, I told him that I was trying to speak and be in the company of children as much as possible, in an attempt to get back a seemingly lost innocence. I invited him for a final time to the river bank by my house, and Barito conceded. We walked for a whole afternoon looking at the barges, and on the sidewalks that sold silverware, avoiding pellets of the long-eared owl.

From that, a few years passed and I had no news of Barito. But eventually learned from other sources that he was spending half the year in Vancouver and the other half in the hometown, imitating an Indian king. While he was at home, the gardener allowed only chosen visitors. His contact and contemplation of the world became threadbare. His doctor who was also his classmate visited him at times and prescribed drugs and potions. He was suffering from an unknown ailment. One day, I met a mutual friend at the airport and he told that Barito suffered an internal hemorrhage while driving but had escaped fatality. And now he is convalescing and is able to carry along his routine. I wrote to him. He wrote back if I could make his home, my next stopover. It was a tremendously beautiful letter, better than all the good books I had come across. In this small epistle, he had recollected some old tales. There was neither morbidity nor philosophy. And he mentioned a few old jokes too. I wrote back that we will write a joint autobiography and perhaps some youngster will find it thrilling. I am waiting for his reply.
…………………………………..

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Dreams

Memories took Pappachan to his old master at school, who died of a heart attack one fine morning. He was called Unny Mash and Pappachan and Unny Mash will walk to the school together. Pappachan was interested in literature, and particularly the works of a writer who was known by his initials than his name, for his real name was very long to utter in conversations. This walk was very pleasant partially due to the fine wind that blew in the morning hours and also due to the cherished company of the loving teacher who was like a guide to him in his growing years.He was also his class teacher and was known to his parents.In the evenings the master will be busy with duties and he would come back home with his other friends passing the paddy fields, crossing Ramanathapuram culvert behind the Brahmin households, and there was a row of huge tamarind trees, and the tamarind fruits are very tasty just before they are ripe and they called it ‘puttuppuli and the thought of that fruit was a good source of enthusiasm. They will pass Harikarsa street, passing Purushothaman’s house and also the market square which had a famous ghee store, pure ghee made at home. The market was named after Tipu Sultan, the hero of Mysore wars who fought against the British till death. Pappachan’s mother will buy ghee from the butter shop, and his ambition in the earlier stages of life was to start a butter shop so that he could eat butter and ghee freely. ……..Yesterday , Pappachan went to the Nallly Festival , with his associate, Madhu . It was a famous festival of local interest and Madhu’s aunt lived there. Madhu’s dad and Pappachan’s elder brother were members of the same Shuttle badminton District team which won many National events.They got a limousine to the borough station and then they had another limo to the hamlet. This is a pleasant suburbia from the township headquarters though the buses are not frequent and the road is rocky passing over rubber plantations. When Pappachan reached there, he was almost tired. Madhu’s great-aunt was awaiting for them .The dwelling was an ancient edifice with brick flanks and lacquered with cement and lime mixtures and calcimined. The third story was just a deck and a miniature cabin, used by Madhu’s grandpa to do self- reflection, and this cavalier, it appears expired on an evening due to heart injury. The last nightfall, he had a stroll in the cashew nut sierras and there was the streamlet, and it was beautiful on moonlit nights. He had an evening spent by the brook, and on the ensuing day, he departs.Accidentally, it was the fiftieth anniversary of a campaign he led in his youth and celebrations were going on in the municipal hall… One benefit of village life, is festivities and regular get together. The community is so well bound that the aristocratic folk made it a point to look after the poor members when they moved jobless or critically suffering.In case the rich brother is unwilling for charitable deeds, he will usually be ostracised from the mainstream. But such actions like elopement and secret love are looked down, and members belonging to such families have to face public taunts. And also there is a certain apparel code, which the modern members did not abide often and in consequence, they went to bigger towns which accommodated freedom.In the evening, Pappachan stayed there, in the room, where, Madhu’s grand elder stayed during the last months……….Pappachan now thought about his wife Tresiamma, who will be sitting in the house with their three daughters, Sophy, and Sosma and the third little one who was not named . He thought how God has given him a modest but happy family a mini heaven amidst a life of dilemmas. He skipped his litanies whenever he went to the business to Cochin and had to take the studio near the railroad depot and if he had available time would wander about the aquatic thresholds. He will sojourn three or four days and come back to his family. When he returned, he felt like entering his small cosmos, where his wife will be his queen and they had rugs spread on the ground. This year, they will buy five cents of tract and build a house , a small house and the eldest Sosma will join the pre-degree and as she is very proficient at arts and Pappachan aspired to send her for higher education.Now his moves began to grow faster as he was approaching home through a tiny trail amidst paddy fields and wind blowing from the coconut groves and when he thought that his wife will be anticipating him at the port, a small and hearty simper radiated on his labia.

–[From a work of fiction, that is in progress]

SCHOOLMATES

A fine looking evening when Pappachan came to the city of lights and got inside the cab that stopped in front of him. Two men, one in a full sweater and the other in a mackintosh that had distended sides and a smudge at the base, whose countenances were faint in the twilight, got down from another cab and stood in front of Pappachan. The man who looked taller than his friend grinned at him opportunely and stood in a nonchalant fashion. .A small Dalmatian somehow came out from the vehicle and he also gazed eagerly at Pappachan. They all had the cast of people expecting emergency when there is no emergency.
It was nice to meet you, the taller one said.
Yes, we were looking for you in the whole town, the other said.
Are you somebody from another city? , the taller asked.
When pappachan looked at the Dalmatian boy, he also had an analogous air in his mien.
‘I think so’, Papachan voiced.
‘Don’t bother.’ The elder said, ‘we have come for good discussions.
‘Admirable to learn that’, Pappachan said, “In that situation, you are most esteemed’
“Why not go to a cafeteria and have something to drink?’, The petite looking lad responded.
‘O.K.’, Pappachan said.
Now they all entered a brilliant cafe.It had dazzling radiance on all fronts, with chic portholes that hinted of golden eons.
‘A jerk is I to distrust you, meanwhile, we are farmers employed in huge schemes.’ The junior spoke, and he had the nerve of somebody into altruistic and ambitious activities.
In fact, Pappachan was not surprised. He was more concerned with the vision of his aging great-aunt who was in a terminal scene of illness and lo, poor guy as I have no bills to provide the doctor’s impending statement.My insurance facility is exhausted and I have to petition for the Provident endowment, and conceivably this very activity will draw the ire of my beloved wife, who was no malicious person but cared for her family above all. The companion who used to support him in states like this also had trade quandaries. The landlord of the house has suddenly multiplied the lease as there was a rumor of development in that sector of the town. It was not, in fact, the owner’s fault, as he died last month and the heir has changed and also the law firms that dealt with the earlier lease papers.The Dalmatian boy was meanwhile very expressive and was wiggling his beautiful tail…..The labyrinthine city stood maimed in the mirror of the huge crowd without any fixed route of action due to the sudden crush in the markets.The aftermath of the cyclones. Many pedestrians were frequenting in the winter, in spite of the freezing weather. A man in whiskers came from the sidewalk and entered from nowhere and stood in front of the statue of the former leader and pappachan turned to the hotel which accommodated a small but elegant bookstall.
The bookshops contained old books by well-known authors but there was a crowd in the section that dealt with pubescent paraphernalia. There was an exhibition going on and he wanted to eat Muglai Porotta and the maitre d’hotel entered and beamed but meanwhile exhibiting a face fraught with concerns.
Since Pappachan was a usual visitor, he never hid his feelings…… That same evening, he went to Festival where his friends came to meet him.The show was grand and there were twenty-one caparisoned elephants. And the fireworks were grand, though in the middle there was some cause for tension due to a false rumor.Pappachan saw Leelachechi and her husband Clement and had a chat. They told that their children had gone to the in in –law’s houses. Both looked slightly weak due to old age, although Clement still possessed that encouraging smile that he distributed to everybody he met. There were many visages and Pappachan stood by a banyan tree and watched the whole scene from a distance…..He opened the window and a few rays entered his room that stayed on his sofa and chair. His neighbor had come to meet him and he wanted to accompany him to a native doctor in whom he had great trust. The place was called Anchumury and the doctor always prescribed five drugs for every patient and the patient eventually was cured. The doctor was well read. This was more like a custom than a superstition.The further walk took him to his friend Salim’s house whose father was also his father. Their families were very close that whenever Pappachan wanted some immediate cash he would ask Salim’s father instead of his father. But not always, but only for some expenditure on which his father would sometimes question him before giving him the money.Salim’s father was a very understanding man and he would not divulge it to his father, though Pappachan very well knew that his father will not take it much seriously. The bottom line is Pappachan’s father and Salim’s father were classmates from school and in their youth will go for every romantic movie together, jumping the big queues in the country theatres. But these facts they did not tell their wives when they married because both took alliance from houses that are above their social background. Even now they make the time amidst their businesses to find a time and take the cab to the next town[which was bigger] that was only two hours drive from here and see the popular film of their hero of their adolescence and come back as if nothing transpired. But they lied to their wives that they had a medical emergency had an important function to attend.

-[From a work of fiction that is in progress]

Il solista – 4

Il primo concerto del solista ha coinciso con la sua luna di miele nella zona costiera del Cantabrico. A Roma, ha ricevuto l’assistenza di un vecchio cineasta che era il compagno di suo zio. Questo regista, suo zio, si è incontrato al Chennai Film Festival nel 1991 quando il suo anziano ha realizzato un documentario su un’antica opera di ritratti di pittori indiani. Il cinema è stato un enorme flop ma suo zio ha fatto molti buoni simpatizzanti dopo la serata di gala e ha frequentato l’Europa e gli archivi d’arte e anche alcuni casinò perché il suo parente aveva un debole per i tornei di roulette e carte alte. Il primo album del solista era su un paio di pezzi che scrisse nel pentametro giambico, abba, abba, cde, cde -due sonetti in forma musicale, pezzi sperimentali, sebbene assorbiti da vecchi maestri. Il tema era Dantesque -Canto 2 – Purgatorio- Angel Boatman passaggio i pellegrini sbarcano dalla barca di un angelo barcaiolo e si ergono sulle rive del Purgatorio, uno sguardo e tentano nuove cose e il loro canto insieme e il vano abbraccio e l’amicizia essenziale senza barriere. L’immagine struggente in cui l’amico di Dante Casella vuole per dargli un abbraccio. Casella dice a Dante: anche se ti amavo nel mio corpo mortale, anch’io ti amo libero da queste cose. E ‘stato un enorme successo grazie alla splendida voce del soprano e al merito di un grande bassista e anche per il fatto che il solista era un esperto professionista di tastiera. Il giorno dopo l’orchestra, mentre passeggiava accanto alla Cordonata, la scalinata che porta dal fondo del Campidoglio e intorno ai due leoni in basalto che fiancheggiano il piede, accidentalmente spinge un religioso e si mette in conversazione. Questo particolare gentiluomo era tutto solenne sulla vita e disse al solista che Dio ha dato la stessa percentuale del conto in banca ad ogni essere umano sulla terra, cioè 24 ore al giorno e applicarlo sensibilmente è l’obbligo di tutti. Era uno studioso paolino e studiava nove eccellenze che iniziavano con amore, e diceva che dobbiamo perfezionare queste virtù ogni giorno e rinunciare al nostro tempo per la ricchezza è un difetto fondamentale, che la maggior parte delle personalità fa perché il tempo non può essere recuperato. Il solista invitò quest’uomo al suo prossimo concerto che era in programma quel sabato e venne volentieri, ma questa volta con un amico indiano, chiamò T. Kuruvilla che era il suo compagno di classe all’Università della Sapienza, un decennio prima e che era appena arrivato da Vancouver dove ha lavorato. Stranamente, l’amico indiano faceva molto vino e molto banchetto e invitò il solista e il soprano e loro quattro nei giorni seguenti ebbero molti giorni felici e giorni di studio a Roma. L’uomo religioso non prendeva vino, ma sembrava apprezzare il buon cibo, e ricordò al solista di suo zio e spesso i suoi ricordi lo portavano a una vecchia lettera, che lo zio gli aveva scritto dopo essersi ripreso da un ictus paralitico. Il contenuto di quel primo messaggio può essere riassunto in questo modo: Caro nipote, sai che ho recuperato dalla mia malattia. Durante il periodo della mia crisi, sebbene vivessi in una struttura a otto piani, potevo usare solo una stanza a causa della mia immobilità. Per lo più sono stato trattenuto su una sedia a rotelle. Ogni giorno andrò sulle scale verso il balcone tirando la ruota e guarderò quei dodici gradini, che una volta condussero alla terrazza più bella che era un palcoscenico della mia giovanile festa, tante feste, e ti confessai che ho peccato spesso , anche se rimpiango quelli che bevono giorni. Vorrei andare a questi dodici passi e guardare in alto. Potevo solo vedere, ma non salire quei gradini. A volte mi chiedevo persino se io sia un essere umano. Ma dopo quei primi giorni di angoscia, mi sono insegnato ogni giorno recitazioni di volontà e entusiasmo positivo. Proverò a muovermi di un passo al giorno. Fare il primo passo che ha portato alla bellissima balconata che prometteva un panorama dei paesaggi di campagna, senza l’aiuto di una sedia a rotelle è stato un compito arduo. Devo essere grato al mio assistente ragazzo in questo senso. A mano a mano che i giorni passavano, potevo fare il secondo passo e il terzo passo. Nei giorni seguenti, questa è stata una buona lezione ed esercizio fisico e in due mesi, sebbene tu possa pensare che sia un periodo lungo, potrei salire tutti e dodici i gradini e vedere il balcone. Dopo essere stato completamente rimosso dalla sedia a rotelle, ho fatto pratica ogni giorno per salire questi gradini e vedere il balcone sotto una nuova luce. Più tardi ho iniziato a salire due gradini alla volta e mi sono reso conto che l’uomo ha solo bisogno di dodici passi per completare la forma fisica. Come corollario, scrive, è come se l’uomo vedesse le dieci dita di entrambe le mani, per scontato e dopo un incidente perde un dito e guarda i suoi palmi e riconosce quanto glorioso sia stato il suo stato precedente. Aveva firmato il lettera, come il tuo umilissimo servo-zio – nell’usanza dei signori britannici quando si comunicarono l’un l’altro, come aveva studiato in Inghilterra.. Questi primi giorni del suo concerto a Roma con il suo nuovo amico trovato dovevano influenzare il solista per il resto della sua vita, poiché era l’inizio di un legame che cambia la vita.

– [Da un’opera di finzione, intitolata “The Soloist”, che è in corso]

IL SOLOISTA – 3

In effetti, anche la morte del suo allenatore che era esperto e performer è una cosa dubbia, alcuni dicono che non era ottimista, ma piuttosto nessuno è certo di queste cose. Non è possibile per nessuno affermare che l’uomo che affonda è allegro, a meno che tu non entri nei suoi pensieri. Per quanto riguarda il valore della vita, specialmente degli altri, non ne siamo consapevoli, altrimenti perché tante offese ai nostri cari? Il suo accompagnatore era l’uomo dalle colossali setole, un artigiano del sud che era parimenti un vocalist nel suo santuario di famiglia al mattino dove suo padre era un ministro e sua madre una donna che faceva corone e zari che tessevano cose per la cappella. Aprì un piccolo negozio di stole e tessere cose e ottenne una vetrina. Ha utilizzato due donne più vivaci nel negozio come partner, mentre una volta le stagioni erano piene e c’erano posti per le vacanze adiacenti e case galleggianti e giochi d’acqua e centri di intrattenimento. Più tardi, quando la sua attività fiorì, acquistò una grande fattoria contigua al parco acquatico ed era vantaggioso per lei nuotare, un movimento che aveva lasciato un così grande numero di anni dopo il matrimonio. Lei, a dire il vero, ha ottenuto l’oro a Edimburgo durante un incontro importante e in realtà ha ottenuto conferma in una scuola di giochi per procedere con le indagini sugli sport acquatici. Tuttavia, suo padre immaginava di sentirsi presto sposata e doveva trovare un partner per lei.
A Cambridge, prese la scrittura inglese e organizzò Shakespeare, Ibsen e Brecht. Per saperne di più Ibsen, andò in Norvegia, il suo futuro allenatore la consigliò al principale incontro con lui che era un uomo eccezionalmente privato, incontrarlo per sempre era una sua decisione, non il tuo, è venuto alla pausa della nona ora a – hall – ha detto
Gaelico scozzese, che la tua abilità non è la melodia della performance, ma i tuoi occhi brillanti. Che non posso aiutare, affermò. La mamma stava restando vicina, abbiamo ridacchiato nel suo insieme.
Quel giorno andò ad una visita all’accoglienza del gruppo filarmonico e lì lo incontrò di nuovo, un uomo ghignante dai lunghi capelli facciali, eppure un individuo lascivo nei suoi minuti più privati ​​e disse che era un mezzo di vicinanza e lei non credeva pienamente. Perché gli uomini cercano di impressionare ai primi incontri, ma nel caso dei migliori, il primo è sempre un test, forse organizzato dai ritmi universali per discernere la tua dignità per ulteriori tesori. Ma nessuno può vantarsi in queste righe. Nella vita, le persone sono più incomprese che capite, ad esempio. Per esempio, che conosceva il valore di Kafka quando viveva, nemmeno Felice. Brod in una certa misura. E ha citato Emerson nel senso che quel personaggio è avvolto nel potere. Quando questi colloqui stavano accadendo, il suo allenatore intervenne e disse che era tempo di fare pratica. – scelta di – nocturnes, mazurkas, Shostakovich-preludes e Beethoven-no-24. Domani andranno a Edimburgo.

– [Da un’opera di finzione chiamata “Il solista, che è in corso]

EL SOLISTA – 2

Ayer había estado en la casa de mi primo en el campo. Creo que la presenté en la primera parte de esta epístola, como la soprano. Ella, cuando la conocí, probablemente se encontraba en una situación muy crítica, después de una operación importante de la garganta como resultado de un crecimiento maligno en estas regiones que prácticamente le quitó su hermosa voz. Los cirujanos han utilizado con éxito un émbolo protésico en su interior. cavidad de la garganta para trabajar con sus cuerdas vocales perdidas. Eso en el futuro serviría como su órgano de voz. Pero cuando conocí a mi primo en su habitación en el campo, parecía débil pero elegante. Su casa de campo era un refugio de gallinas, gallinas, perros, ratas, escorpiones y gatos de diversos colores y temperamentos. Su hermano era especialmente aficionado a los gatos porque creía que le quitarían la energía negativa de la casa, pero la soprano no creía en eso. En su habitación, que era una especie de museo de instrumentos musicales, me sorprendió en primer lugar por la pérdida de energía de todo su ser. Ella, sin embargo, sonrió gentilmente para recordarle que incluso una enfermedad más mortal no podía quitarle su gracia y cortesía. Y estos fueron de hecho como extremidades adicionales a su personalidad en todos nuestros últimos años de amistad.
Esta soprano primogénita mía era mayor para mí en un par de años y pertenecía a la familia de mi madre, que fue testigo de un gran número de conversiones en las últimas generaciones. Ella se quedó con nosotros en nuestra familia durante muchos años durante sus años universitarios, porque la aldea donde vivía con sus padres no tenía una sólida escuela de prestigio. La universidad en nuestro distrito era una institución de más de cien años de antigüedad, llamada así por una reina británica que gobernaba las diversas colonias de Gran Bretaña. Pero después de la Independencia, la administración no modificó el nombre de la universidad porque el nombre ya era muy conocido y había creado ex alumnos notables y cambiar el nombre en esta etapa parecerá ridículo.

Cuando ella vivió con nosotros, se le dio una cámara en el extremo oeste de la vivienda principal y con vistas a ella era un jardín de jazmín y, a veces, los niños de las residencias contiguas vendrán a recoger las flores de jazmín. Mi primo, sorprendentemente, no adornará su cabello con flores, lo que normalmente una chica de su edad en nuestra cultura nunca hará, si ella no es una rebelde. Porque las normas culturales del lugar asociaban la belleza de una niña con el pelo largo y las flores en esos tiempos, que lavaban con la aplicación regular de aceite de coco [que era penty] y le daban al pelo un brillo adicional que duraba todo el día a pesar de polvo y viajes. Mi primo no usaba flores y usaba adornos muy desnudos, un brazalete de oro en la muñeca izquierda y un hermoso reloj en la otra muñeca. Tenía un porte digno, aunque su rostro parecía un niño y muchos de los jóvenes que no sabían ella personalmente pensó que era de su edad. Mi primo, cuando ella se quedó con nosotros, asistió al coro de la iglesia rutinariamente y se convirtió en la soprano de la iglesia. Su reunión con el solista fue bastante accidental porque el solista ya estaba en un país europeo que seguía el curso superior de música y acababa de llegar de vacaciones prolongadas a nuestro lugar, y como te dije antes, él era mi vecino.
Cuando la universidad conmemoraba su año centenario, había un puesto musical y exhibía muchos instrumentos musicales orientales y occidentales, tradicionales y actuales, y mi primo estaba bajo custodia del puesto musical. Ella, de hecho, no conocía de cerca el funcionamiento de muchos instrumentos musicales europeos, y buscó la ayuda del solista, que estaba presente en la ciudad y que era un maestro de muchos de ellos, después de haber estudiado con campeones dignos de mención. de la música y se ha sumergido profundamente en la actuación. Este largo contacto en los puestos de exhibición los hizo más cercanos, y más tarde se convirtieron en compañeros de vida. Pensó que la soprano detuvo la música y se fue a otra profesión, el solista continuó su vocación, relatando a todos los que conoció, que existe por amor, y sin música, no puede encontrar el amor. Que finalmente se convirtió en su talón de Aquiles ….

— [De una obra ficticia llamada ‘Solista’ que está en progreso]

EL SOLISTA

“… Hasta que saturemos el tiempo y las épocas, para que los hombres y las mujeres de todas las razas, las edades venideras puedan demostrar hermanos y amantes como nosotros”.

– [Whitman- ‘A Él, eso fue Crucificado’]

Esta es la narración de un solista y una soprano, sin embargo, la título como solista. La soprano era mi primo. El solista era mi vecino. Nosotros tres crecimos juntos. En resumen, esta es una cuenta de percances. Y, además, algunas penas, una historia que es la referencia de una visita digna de mención. Este es mi preámbulo. Puede omitir la introducción en caso de que lo necesite. Simplemente estoy siguiendo la costumbre de creadores extraordinarios como Shakespeare de contar el final brevemente al principio. A pesar del hecho de que su estilo es divulgarlo discretamente. Aunque no soy un as increíble, puedo revelar en el modo más humilde el final de las cosas, que el solista ya no existe. Solo la soprano y yo, los individuos vivos a las experiencias del solista de quien esta historia lleva el nombre. Encontró una travesía en una ciudad escandinava mientras conducía su automóvil, un accidente callejero que muchos dijeron, pero algunos otros me dijeron después de varios años que ya tenía problemas de presión arterial alta por los que había estado tomando medicamentos, y en un día en particular de su muerte, sus niveles de presión arterial se dispararon y murió en el automóvil en una calle concurrida, y más tarde fue atropellado por un vehículo, que de hecho no fue exactamente el motivo de su muerte. De todos modos, el resultado es que ya no existe y fue un gran músico y su timbre y ritmo eran agradables y fue alumno de Brahms, Tchaikovsky, Mozart y Gustav Mahler, y algunas de sus anotaciones musicales están en algunos diarios que él mantenido en privado y una universidad local está investigando el tema.Y la noche antes de su vencimiento, cantó en la sala de Alexandre, las dos secciones de la canción de cisne de Schubert [1 y 2] y algunos cantos gregorianos sintonizados por un famoso clérigo.En este sentido, los académicos se reúnen a menudo, la esposa del solista que vive en un pueblo a orillas del río en el campo y están tomando notas sobre su música y su vida, que nunca estuvieron separadas.

Cuando conocí al solista por última vez en una plataforma ferroviaria en una ciudad del este, accidentalmente, él citó a Tagore: vive una vida simple, piensa en lo alto. Esta era a menudo la cita que mi papá me contó en la infancia cuando se consideraban los valores más importantes que los logros mundanos. Cuando el solista me contó esta cita del poeta, me sorprendió en el sentido de que prácticamente lo había olvidado en los últimos veinticinco años. Mis amigos y compañía estaban de tal manera, que los vestidos y los accesorios son más importantes que cualquier otra cosa. Una vez que la junta se reunió, mi esposa me dijo, debes vestirte bien, de lo contrario, nadie te escuchará. En este sentido, hice un experimento durante un año completo para cambiar mis atuendos de la manera más moderna y presentarme en los lugares cardinales. De hecho, esto ya se discutió en uno de los primeros libros de Napolean Hill y también leí de un escritor que cuando duermes todos los días por la noche, debes llevar el vestido más caro y grandioso, porque dormir no es solo dormir, como puedes pensar por costumbre, pero una entrevista futura [una entrevista que has pospuesto] con un gran rey, a quien no has visto hasta ahora …

– [De una obra de ficción llamada ‘Solista’ que está en progreso].