Fragrance (novel) [16]

Pr. Dr. Dorin Octavian Picioruș

Fragrance

(novel)

*

„The words are for fools”, Constantin believes, and he gives us another unworked conference. Another one and another…The avalanche of words, the machine gun of words, is my immense fatigue. Too hurried to think. You must be too thoughtless to learn your role so well. I saw the draftsman actor tell the same show twice and he stopped and made the same joke in its place, he said something else, the second joke, learned on the clock, learned by heart: and words and gestures and fake laughter. I was frightened! So impotent in thought? So predictable? Because there was nothing to chance. Nothing was done on the spot. I, on the contrary, would have made another show on the spot, taking into account the eyes of those in front of me, their unspoken intentions, their smiles with meanings. My minutes of poetry were a revelation of those in front of me. They were a living dialogue with their interior. We talked to them about them. About who we are and what we do, but, above all, about what we need to do. And the poetry, like the theater, is a continuous contextual conversation, it’s a conversation about you with yourself, about them from you, about you from their perspective. And those who are attentive understand the real need for dialogue, for abyssal speech. For we need to write about ourselves and about others: the practical definition of the novel, but also to dialogue among ourselves and with history, this poetic dialogue being our sincerity.

Hulking, with amnesiac grimaces, eager to make famous friends. He is not, but he looks for people who will cheer him up. In fact, he climbs on the notoriety of others so that he too can have a mirror. One in which to swagger, because he can’t do anything else. And the most shameful thing is precisely this helplessness of the lazy man, who leaves the worry of the day for later. What would it mean to work every day? It would mean to be consequent with his thoughts. For if you still want to be great, to be famous, start, my brother, with the beginning: with daily toil! This beneficent toil makes you no longer have the airs of a lady, of an effeminate, but to show evidence of your inner greatness. Because the great man is the man who toils and brings to light unique values. And in the middle of the road was that caterpillar, who didn’t know he was crossing the street. I passed by her, I let her be free. To be herself in her ephemeral life. I, for my part, had a hard time putting up with the dust in the car, even though my window was open. But the worker doesn’t look at the dust, but at the salary! That miserable salary that means the difference between being social and asocial. He was in a good mood, he told me about his own, how his wife caught a cold from the air conditioning, we passed behind the settlement, on the country road, and reached the road. And when we reached the road, I enjoyed the spring water. Remembering now the fountains with plenty of water from Putineiu, that continuous flow of cold and good water, and the crickets after the rain and those days of poetry. Of painfully written on the pages. Which, if it hadn’t been written, everyone would have enjoyed. Or it’s hard to be believed even when you write, but when you don’t write and talk about your writing.

Uncle Dumitru remained a fine smile, full of childhood, many misunderstood tears and a 5-year suffering lived in a neighboring house. Because his family left him. The two, mother and daughter, buried him on a sunny day, thursday, and his peaceful face was introduced in his grave. Liviu washed him, like others, and care for the dead is on the path of disappearance. Because people no longer touch the body of the dead to wash it, but the hose solves things in a hurry. The hose from gasoline, the hose from the yard, the hose from the barrel: images of auxiliaryity.  And if you swallow the still cloudy wine, you can stay there, in the cellar. And the coolness may seem like an illusion to you, a fall into your dreams, into your unbridled emotions. Every family has stories they don’t want to remember anymore. Or, if they do talk about them, they talk without stringing them in the joyful ones. Because there are things you enjoy and things you want to forget, and you forget, a very good thing!, so you can be serene. Serenity is the peace of the face. No facelift solves the problem of serenity. Serenity springs from your kind heart, from your mercy towards people, towards all of creation. And when a grimace comes that tries to paraphrase the serenity, but blasphemes it to your face, then you realize that no devil can be an Angel.