Sometimes is the time to explore the depth of our soul, and not fear the abyss…
Sometimes is the time to explore the depth of our soul, and not fear the abyss…
-Do you have problems, Jack?
-None. I am problems free.
-How’s that possible?
-No space for them at home…
-Gee! What do you do with problems?
-I give them to the poor. They have nothing, so I give them problems. At the end, they feel as they have something of their own.
Some people say that Time is a healer, but it depends on each one perspective. You can be wounded a second time. I am a living proof that this may happen. And not every city are good for people looking for love, but Budapest certainly is. Just to give some weight to my statement I suggest you the reading of the novel entitled “Budapest”. The author is the famous Brazilian singer and writer, Chico Buarque de Hollanda. Brazilians, despite being citizens in one of the most politically chaotic countries, they have practically all the paradise corners on Earth. So, this is my humble contribution to the legend…
Széll Kálmán tér, formerly Moszkva tér, i. e., Moscow Square. It is one of the city’s busiest transport interchanges. The central metro station. A crowd crossed the plaza in a busy mood. He have met her a few years before. Well, to be more accurate in Time, twelve years before when he was a Visiting Professor at Eötvös Loránd University, the largest university in Hungary. Now, at his middle age, he returned to give a selected number of talks at Eötvös on political philosophy, and the Department gave to him one apartment contiguous to the apartment where once she lived as a student. Where their passionate relationship had started. That coincidence triggered all memories back again, even if they exchanged only a few letters since that time.
He pulled out from his coat a small piece of paper with straight handwritten instructions, left by her during the previous day in the mailbox. «Take the train at Moskvá Tér in direction of Hösök tere. We meet there».
He took the deep steep descent with the escalator toward the caves of Pest. In the platform, several clocks displayed with rigor the exact time of arrival of the train. With a midst of roar and speed, the train headed to Hösök tere. He was afraid to be in delay, knowing that she was displeased by late arrivals. When he reached the destination, she was already there, near the exit of the underground.
– Just in time! I’m surprised… – she said, with a smile on her face enchanted with deep blue eyes, luminous pink skin, and a blonde hair. “She looks like an angel”, he told himself.
– And you look gorgeous!… – He replied, doing his best to be at her level, a penetrating mind, eager to discover the arcane side of life.
– Oh, you are a gentleman. Thank you … – she clearly appreciated the compliment – See? This is Heroes Square, in front the Andrássy Avenue and this semi circular pillared colonnade is the Millenium Monument, displaying the statues of our kings and leaders that fought for our freedom.
– Oh, you are proud of your country! – He exclaimed, amused, looking deep into her blue eyes.
– Aren’t you of yours? … – she stopped with a gentle interrogation on her face and a melodious tone of voice.
– Not really! … – he replied bluntly.
They visited the nearby museums that surround the Heroes Square, the Museum of Fine Arts, and the Kunsthalle. After the visits, they started silently walking down Andrássy út. This is a magnificent avenue of Budapest with typical buildings of Eastern Europe, certainly enduring in the memory of the refined traveler.
-Are you still fond of your wife? She asked suddenly with a naughty voice while gazing at the majestic buildings.
-How can we define passion? If we like someone, if we are attached to someone, is that passion? – He attempted to defend himself, like in a political cause.
-You are weak… You live with someone that doesn’t love you, that probably even doesn’t make love with you as often as you desire, and you are fond of her. Shame on you! – she riposted.
-And you? Are you now fond of someone? – He tried to divert the focus of the conversation.
-My passion is Life. I am not looking for nothing else but a lover, someone who makes love with me – she stated with a clear voice and no vacillations, looking straight up into the avenue – A lover, a really good lover, is all I want. All the rest has no importance. You guys are all the same.
They continued walking a few more meters in silence until he felt a need to speak.
-You should know that I loved you a lot. You should know it.
-Yeah, yeah. And why you avoided me when I needed you, when I request your company when I begged for your support. So many times. You, big Professor! …
-I am not a “big” Professor, you know that.
-Of course, I know. I surpassed you! I have a better position than you now in my university. It was all about, wasn’t it? You were so occupied with your career in Academia, with your stupid wife that didn’t love you.In a certain way, it is true what you say now. But I made a judgment error. Life is not about a career, it is about love. And, “at my age” – he stressed intentionally, with a gentle smile on his face – I realized that love is the most important in life, nothing else matters…
-In a certain way, it is true what you say now. But I made a judgment error. Life is not about a career, it is about love. And, “at my age” – he stressed intentionally, with a gentle smile on his face – I realized that love is the most important in life, nothing else matters…
-And … “Never opened myself this way, Life is ours, we live it our way, all these words I don’t just say, and nothing else matters” – she sang the old song of Metallica.
-See? I knew you loved that heavy metal band. We still share something – he completed the phrase, looking to that beautiful face and erotic body with a deep desire to make love with her, again, after all these years.
-What? … – she stopped looking straight at him with a kind of feeling, intuition. You still love me?!
She stopped in front of Franz Liszt apartment and proposed to visit what is now a museum. The old lifter was broken and they had to descend the stairs. They descend in silence, again, until she stopped at a corner of the staircase. She undresses the blouse showing her breasts with her typical candid look gazing on him. He took her to the dark corner kissing her lips, neck, and breast with delicacy. He was sure to love that girl, a lot younger than himself.
-Do you still love me? – he asked while kissing, touching her, trying to undress her mini-skirt.
But she was enjoying the moment, just that moment that she waited for so long, with luxury and detachment, not responding to him, however.Do you still love me? …
-Do you still love me? …
-No, I don’t love you anymore – she finally replied, gazing at him with a detached feeling, while he looked at her, surprised, with a profound sadness engraved in his soul.
Then, she pushed him away gently and started to dress again, button-up slowly that white shirt that she often wears without a bra. They descend again the stairs, and he looked at her while she walked away.
Babylon is a marvel of our times with beautiful gardens and temples, crossed by the Euphrates river and carefully defended by canals through which people from all the world can enter the city by many gates at disposal. Finally, I was there for the first time in my trading of timber, after a long and tiresome journey in a caravan from my hometown, Sardis.
I was walking along Marduk Street on my way to the Market when I saw a beautiful woman who I have seen before when traveling across the Royal Road and coming from Sardis, my hometown in Asia Minor. She crossed to a straight transversal street and attracted like a magnet, I went back looking to where she was heading. Her pose and fine traits were outstanding, I may say with certainty. Maybe she was a lost princess, possibly from distant lands of Anatolia, I told to myself.
– I saw you before when traveling across Ecbatana – I told her at the moment I finally reached her, with my voice trembling.
The woman was surprised but with fine manners started to excuse herself for not noticing me before.
– It’s me that ask your pardon, beautiful princess. I was on my way to the Market where I hope to sell some gold coins. And you, where are you going if it is not being too audacious to ask.
– I was looking at the Market, too, but these small streets seem so full of life…and I got lost inside their meanders.
– No doubt…May I join you? – With a gentle smile, she accepted.
They walked along the narrow streets inside the Imperial city when they found some people gathered around a squared table, like a chess game that instead of pawns, queens and kings, had naked statues of female and male. The game was simple, each player chooses the statue and another player had his/her choice, and they touched each statue, feeling an unusual shivering. He was surprised for the libertine context around and the woman becomes genuinely embarrassed. Then, as if she were a sinner, she told him: «I need to leave to the Temple…»
They continued to walk again together and further down the corner, two women were apparently playing with each other, the youngest holding the oldest by the back, by the cheeks, having their bodies static but after a short while the youngest start forcing the cheeks in a clearly painful way and then the oldest start saying, «Stop, my daughter, you are hurting me» and the youngest replied, aloud, «Why did you spend my money in the lotteries! Why??».
Then, already near the big Temple were the Princess were supposed to stay, several clay figures of blazing woman holding their hands over their chest were being sold, and the seller was repeatedly telling what anyone foreigner would say in respect for the Lord, that ‘I am, and there is no one else besides me.’ I was attentive to all my surrounding, a habitude I developed as a necessary condition of a successful young trader when I heard two old women telling to each other in a conspiracy mood: «See? In this Temple, priestess indulges in sex from behind **…»
Finally, while we walked silently towards the entrance of the Temple I become aware that I could possess the heart of this princess provided had more time to build a true and respectful friendship with her. Then, she stopped, looked at me, and said in a mood of confession: «I know that my redeemer liveth». Then, I held softly her hand and, maiden-like, I returned: «You will come in my dreams».
Now, I live with this insane thought tormenting me all along my longest and loneliest journeys crossing the most beautiful desertic lands of the Earth, because in my pure soul of a simple citizen of Sardis I knew that Babylon corrupted me.
** During Roman times the expression “coitus a tergo” was used.
Walking along the streets of the city, he realized that since a long while she hadn’t called him back, as she used to do before. The cold air from the mountains and the gray lights from the Sun perpetuated his feeling of loneliness. He was in his mid-fifties and his wife, much younger, left him for that same reason. He was too old for her. Until then, he had a total and exclusive relationship with her. He loved the nonchalant way she walked, when he caught sight of her in the distance, from his office at the Department of Literature, just before the lesson she attended. His Lessons. One day, she went to his tutorial class, and while he discussed the philosophy behind English drama, he was thrilled to see her look back at him with intensity, while slowly unbuttoning the coat. The reminiscence, L’écume des jours, as we might say, were frequently in his mind, trying to understand the reason why she left him so early (he thought).
“We must leave before separation happens…It is the classic move, everybody knows.” Oh, so many times he saw that strange look when a woman wants, wishes to abandon her lover.
“Catherine, let me in!” he whispered with his trembling voice while attempting to unlock the door with his cold hands. She opened the door, one more time, and then splashed some water on his face, laid him on the bed, undressing him slowly, warming his nude body with her nude body. And in a faint, insatiable voice, he begs her “Don’t leave me, don’t leave me”. What he thought to be unbreakable bonds, were in fact, miracles of the existence.
– Sara, what a lovely day! Let’s go out, walk along the streets and enjoy this bright day!
– Calm down, Josh, please. I am not right now in your mood.
– But I want to go outside, walk with my wonderful son. Son, let’s go together.
And the little boy, at first surprised, finally jumped to his father. Sara looked out the window with an absent mind.
Walking along the street, Josh was euphoric, being together with his lovely son.
– Look, my son, look to the Sun! It is even rhyming… You are my sunshine! Wow, you are so light, my son.
– But father, let’s return home… Mom is alone at home.
– First, open your little eyes to the beauty around you!
And Josh walked a bit more carrying his son on his shoulders.
– But, yesterday, the neighborhood seemed more… magical. What is going on today, son?… Do you understand?… I feel tired…
– Father, let’s go home, father… I am good for today – insisted the child.
– But, look, son. The broken windows, the dirty street, the dispersed needles, the discolored trees… What’s happening???
Please, my love, call me. I miss your joy, your lovely jokes, your heavy breathing after you talked about little sexy things… I’d like to know that someone is with me, you know, just in case.
I understand today why Edgar Rice Burroughs or Rudyard Kipling has shown such a passion when writing stories about the life of some animals. These worlds are not so different from ours, supposedly more rational, and the morality they reveal can be beneficial for the evolution of our human conscience of the strangers worlds with which we are supposed to coexist, but that in fact we still almost completely ignore. I would like to tell you this true story that was told to me by an old African hunter, the last time that I visited a small island of African West Coast.
This is the history of a monkey baboon that lost her mother, the Queen of Baboons when she was still a child, assassinated by a leopard, the biggest predator of the island where they lived. Alone, orphan, during all that tragic day, Lau rose above the grass with her small legs, looking in all directions, making those typical sounds of the monkey’s babies, “roh, roh, roh”. The body of the mother lay inert, disfigured on the branches of a tree. During the tough days that followed, Lau fought for her survival with all the forces of her small being, until one day, three-year old, she was able to take care of herself. Lau played with the new others little monkeys affectionately, despite times to times she had strange behaviors, abducting for short moments the children of other monkeys, that didn’t react for respect of the hierarchy. After all, despite that weird behavior, Lau was the daughter of the old Queen…
One day, by mere casualty, she glimpsed from the high branch of a tree, the small son of the leopard, assassin of her mother. She remained quiet for long moments while observing the unskillful movements of that small creature. Humans, we are accustomed to the tragedy, and we can imagine what would have crossed in that small animal mind, the emotions that the small defenseless being would have roused inside the mind of Lau.
For a short moment she seemed to want revenge, wishing ardently the suffering of the old mother leopard at least as much as she suffered in the past, she, orphan of the mother, mother that had been long ago the Queen of the Baboons in that remote island of the African coast. At that time, among the group lived a thug, that we can here call by the name of Rau, an adolescent and marginal monkey who had the habit of playing affectionately with the other little monkeys around one high tower made by termites, but that revealed himself particularly cruel with Lau, pursuing her too much often, biting her with ferocity, and making the difficult life of Lau an authentic hell.
The years were passing in that distant forest of Africa and Lau showed signs typical of the adult age, as it was evident in her salient and reddish tail. Then, one day happened the unimaginable. Undoubtedly, the unimaginable happens in the life of the monkeys. Between Rau and Lau the papers had been inverted and Rau started to show evidence of a strange fascination for Lau. One day, when Lau was in the meditative mood at the top of the highest acacia, Rau came close to her, insecure, almost falling of the tree when attempting to advance in her direction with small steps on the vacillating branches of the old acacia, in truth, a romantic place for one first meeting. Rau revealed to be rendered to the enchantments of Lau, excited by an uncontrollable hormonal tumult, a pawn in an unpredictable game. But no, no. Lau was absolutely not interested in Rau, not even exchange a look with him, disdaining Rau with all the soul of a monkey. For moments, the old hunter, intent observer, felt compassion for Rau. This was also the last day that Rau was seen among the group of the baboons…
In the impetuous sequence of time that takes care of the baboons in a way similar to the humans, Lau had later the first baby, who she dealt with extreme affection. Showing a huge wisdom, she took care of the father of the daughter with an exceeded care, at all very unusual between the baboons. The wise Lau instinctively understood that the better form to protect the daughter, the only one that could possibly be seen as the future queen, her successor, was to cherish the father, and the father, clearly thankful, paid back with affection, with a redoubled attention to the daughter, protecting her from all threats, including the intrinsic wickedness of the species.
One day, a calamitous fire destroyed half of the area where this group inhabited. Involved in a cloud of leached ashes, walking on the burnt and still smoking land, that small horde of baboons seemed convicted to death, immersed in an apocalyptic environment, and disputes burst in the group. And it was then that, one more time the destiny disclosed its imperative. A small dispute between the two sisters was decided in favor of Lau, and from that moment Lau becomes the Queen of the Baboons. Walking on the burnt and still smoking ground, she discovered that the roots of the vegetation, then in plain view to all, was bursting from the subsoil with the force of the heat and that these roots were eatable. Such discovery fed all the monkeys and calmed the spirits. With another happy signal that would last along the new reign, the sister of Lau did not reveal herself annoyed with her new status in the hierarchy, and the two sisters continued to coexist in peace, a change that was beneficial for that small endangered horde.
With the flow of time, Lau had some children and grandsons, always very dedicated to her numerous family, having gestures of affection and tricks that remember in many ways the tricks that humans use to entertain their familiar relationships. And, as I referred to, one of the daughters would become the future Queen of the Baboons, as it happened since generations.
However, the life of Lau was not easy, although she was at the top of the hierarchy, showing that power is not synonymous with happiness. She had been seriously bitten by the son of the leopard that had assassinated her mother, she had survived to a temporary blindness provoked by a bite from a snake. Beyond what it would be expectable, she also survived the death of some children, although emotionally shaken, carrying several days with her the inert body of the dead children, until the moment she had the courage to abandon them. The son of the old predatory leopard, the assassin of her mother, also died from a wound, and all the other opponents of Lau had had an equal end. Against all the probabilities, Lau had survived to all its enemies…
However, in her twenty-fifth winter, Lau was manifestly weak, visibly accompanying with difficulty the group. We, human, and the monkeys as well, we cannot be certain of tomorrow. In this natural order of things, the day arrived when Lau went up for a high tree with remarkable difficulty, to discover that she was alone. Alone, all the group had left for another place. She looked in all directions during hours, looking for signals of her people, crying out for them in their proper clamor, albeit now weaker, much weaker, glimpsing the mysterious ways and the strange branches that met beyond the swamp that was interposed now between her and the remaining portion of the forest. She cried out the last time for all of them, in a similar way she did in her childhood, crying out in vain for the presence of her mother. Finally, discouraged, she went down from the high tree and penetrated, determined, into the swamp. And she was not seen ever more.
ut animus eius in pace.
Oh, mother, mother, I am old now but I still remember well when I was a child traveling with you in the middle of the African savanna. At that time, in that location of East Africa, they didn’t have schools for children and, while you worked, I was waiting for you, patiently waiting for you, mother. Me, a three, four-year old boy, walking all day long with my black guardian, a boy barely older than me. Waiting for you. I have in my memories some pictures of him, seen from the corner of my green eyes, almost always timidly behind me, taking good care of me, while I was observing in wonder the other kids playing with a ball in the yard, or with their toys in strange soliloquy. I think that, from that time, I turned to my inner thoughts and didn’t use to speak much, too. And do you remember the school inside an old and dark building at the corner of the park? I was mesmerized by the small and dark room where the teacher infused knowledge to the other kids, certainly older than me. How strange it was, mother! And magic, too. Mother, mother, what is knowledge? I remember well your fears, that I clearly perceived when you talked about them to me, your feelings of insecurity, obliged to work among men in an alien world, far away from the country where you were born. Then, me, a three, four-year old kid, I felt obliged to be strong for you (and me…), to become precociously adult, to advise you in the complex situations of your life in the colonial times, to take care of you. You were everything to me, mother… But I was a little boy still discovering the strange meanders of life and I got my security from a small wheel that I always had in my pocket. Do you remember? I touched this wheel every time I felt insecure, too, mother, because that small idle piece was my imaginary car, the meaning of freedom in a child’s dream. Mother, mother, I still remember well when one morning I wake up turned to the wrong side of the bed in that silent distant lands and I didn’t see your gentle face!… I was so afraid, mother, and I cried, I cried a lot. Later, I was ashamed because I was supposed to be your guide. Sorry, mother. And you, tenderly, embraced me with all your love. Mother, mother, how can I forget it?…
– Where have you been? – she inquired with an authoritative facial mood.
– Why do you ask me? I waited for you for so long. It was hard, you know?… – he replied with calm abandonment.
– I had stuff to do, had to reorganize my life, my mind… – She attempts to justify herself, displeased.
– Well…Me too. I am leaving this place, this country. – He responded, again with abandonment.
– But where are you going? – She, asked, annoyed.
– Where’s home?!…
– Somewhere, in the wilderness of Anatolia, in the jungle of Amazonia, at the verges of Congo river.
– Is that a joke?…
– Nope. I want to live under the shadow of a tree, surrounded by three lovely wives.
– Why three?…
– Three. Is the number of vertices in a triangle, is the most stable structure of nature.
– You are insane.
– I am. Totally. I want to reborn again. – And he savored for the first moment the sweetness of insanity.
– And you are supposed to live from what?…
– I will suck their nipples every day. I will spend the day discovering all the female emotions through the deepness of their eyes, studying the variation of luminosity of their naked bodies when the sun leaves the immense horizon, give a new interpretation to the exquisite lines of their anatomy, embrace their bodies with tenderness, feeling what is the mystic Pythagoric meaning of numbers. Ah, and I will tell them about my dream of flying together with our own wings.
– You got totally laughable!…
– I know.
– Are you serious?…
– Okay. I don’t want to hear from you again. Are we clear?!
– Clear, as never before.