Fragrance (novel) [42]
Pr. Dr. Dorin Octavian Picioruș
Fragrance
(novel)
*
People are holding back, because they are learning to coexist. Just as you keep quiet in your family, you keep quiet in your guild, at work, in public. You don’t say them all, sometimes you say almost none of them. Not that the silence is golden, but that the silence, often, is survival, or, first of all, peace of mind. What would happen if you got angry at everything that doesn’t suit you, at everything you don’t like? How many times would you die in a week? But, with a significant silence, with a grimace, with an expressionless face, you are a wise attention to the heart, to health, to the future. Because the future needs your health and not the nerves of others.
When you’re envious, you have nerves, of course you do, and they make you sick. You are filled with demons, nerves, and verdigris. You would like to spit them out, in the eyes of the one you envy, and perhaps you often do. But your spit ends up as pearls on his face! Not because your spit is valuable, but because God turns your insensitivity into much divine glory in his soul. You spit, but God pours out even more grace! You lie about him all the time, but he is with God and not with the disorder within yourself! I know, it’s like in Stan and Bran, but all your evil becomes his good and you sink into your evil. In the loneliness with which you began your inner reckoning. That everything happens in you and not in the other! And you know it too well…
I enjoy the muteness of the city the most. When the city begins to sleep, at least partially, I too am filled with peace, with immense peace. And I listen to the silence as a secret joy, as a great self-discovery, because all great self-discoveries are learned in the silence within yourself. And sleep comes to me too, and I fall asleep, and I rest, and I wake up as if yesterday were many thousands of years ago, although only a few hours have passed, only a few…But my distance from yesterday, from what I already call the past, is astonishingly fast, and that helps me start from scratch. Because if I don’t know when, once, I did some things, now, today, I definitely have to do something! And so I start again without resting long enough, I quickly forget the hard work to start immediately, because today I absolutely have to write something, I have to write, because writing means living. And I write, because my experience is as multiple as yours. I write about all things. And you enjoy this and thank me in your heart. And I thank you that today we are talking, that we know each other so well…
The plumber will come! He has a sense of money, he smells it, he can’t do it anymore for your sake. You bargain with him, he wipes off the sweat, he has a harder time with the work, but he gets it done. The end is the money. You must supervise him, don’t leave him alone, because he can’t be serious. He only works well under pressure. If you take him out of the pressure of the moment, he starts making phone calls, smoking, wasting time. No craftsman brags about his foreman. Everyone has been learning for as long as they can remember, no one has stolen a job. If he tells you about someone, though, it means he’s nostalgic. That it got out of hand. And the plumber, like the electrician, knows what is needed…He knows his job like the back of his hand. He has an inclusive hand. Where 600 hundred goes, the seventh one goes too. It is attracted by his hand as a craftsman, as a professional liar. Knock-knock, he enters, sees the mood of the romanian citizen, how he is, who he is, what he has, and sets the price! A personalized price, one for each. If she is pretty, he lowers the price, adds a cake. If it is with spin, he asks for more, so that he can see what is answered. You can’t bargain with him, that he does not have in his memory this thing. He wants a price before doing things, before seeing you, before any proposal. He’s not an oriental, he doesn’t give up, he doesn’t know how to make you a client. He’s taking it from you now, once, so that you never call him again. I was writing the sermon, I was at the end, and he texted me that I could pick up my picture frames. Someone else made them for him, he was the intermediary. That’s why I couldn’t change anything with him, want anything more, because he didn’t do them. And when you put in the frame, you must put your perspective, your way of seeing things, because that’s why you’re a writer, not a barbecue guy. Although, when you return home without eating and everything is sizzling on that fat guy’s grill, you feel like saying that the smell is good for you, that you get tired of the smell like a few well-spoken phrases.