A simple Wednesday - Weekday. A trivial excuse to plan a sort of gathering-dinner at Miss Deenadayalan home, for example. Not so trivial if there is gazpacho for starter and ratatouille for main course, then the evening becomes desirable and exotic from this side of the planet. Everything is delicious. Everything is exquisite - tasteless and vulgar things are exquisite too. Talks amongst friends, among the drinks. The silence is cozy. There is no commitment.
Mr. Bista is on the balcony drinking red wine - in a plastic glass. Staring at the moon and presumably thinking about tomorrow, when a story like today will be repeated and which he is probably already tired of.
Mr. Schäfer and Miss Deenadayalan are flattering, stretched on the couch, cuddling and pampering themshelf. With beer and wine, respectively.
Miss Chauhan takes half an hour on the phone. And for half an hour holding an empty plastic glass.
Mr. Sharsar, Kingfisher in hand, is lying in bed enjoying the air conditioning, and snooping - for nothing more than to do something - the pile of things that are above the bed - magazines, newspapers, DVDs.
Mr. Bista is on the balcony drinking red wine - in a plastic glass. Staring at the moon and presumably thinking about tomorrow, when a story like today will be repeated and which he is probably already tired of.
Mr. Schäfer and Miss Deenadayalan are flattering, stretched on the couch, cuddling and pampering themshelf. With beer and wine, respectively.
Miss Chauhan takes half an hour on the phone. And for half an hour holding an empty plastic glass.
Mr. Sharsar, Kingfisher in hand, is lying in bed enjoying the air conditioning, and snooping - for nothing more than to do something - the pile of things that are above the bed - magazines, newspapers, DVDs.
Among the clutter of culture above the bed, Ingmar Bergman's film "The Silence", blinks - which I, Mr. Boldú, gave to Miss Deenadayalan for her birthday.
I run to the living room. "Yamini, did you see The Silence?" I ask Miss Deenadayalan excitedly.
"I was disturbed."
"I was disturbed."
"She cried." Her boyfriend says.
"But did you like it?"
"Yes, of course. But the whole atmosphere is very distressing and bewildering."
"Ignmar Bergman´s." I answer with a snort.
I go back to the room with my glass of wine and with Mr. Sharsar. I want air conditioning too. We do not say anything. A silence.
His task of prying ends with "The Silence". He holds the DVD and watches it from top to bottom, obverse and reverse. "The Silence," he sighs and with an exquisite and witty naivety he puts his bottle of beer on "The Silence".
"Yes, of course. But the whole atmosphere is very distressing and bewildering."
"Ignmar Bergman´s." I answer with a snort.
I go back to the room with my glass of wine and with Mr. Sharsar. I want air conditioning too. We do not say anything. A silence.
His task of prying ends with "The Silence". He holds the DVD and watches it from top to bottom, obverse and reverse. "The Silence," he sighs and with an exquisite and witty naivety he puts his bottle of beer on "The Silence".
Jordi Boldú. Barcelona, September 7, 2011.
Exquisitely rendered! The haunting brevity of the sentences and the ironies lurking in their shadows capture the trembling mood of the evening well. And even though that evening seemed raucous and confused you have captured well the essential silence that persisted throughout.
ResponderEliminarLoads of grateful´s hugs!
ResponderEliminar