On the rock
“Sing for me, Ari” dad asks, as he looks at the white beast that he’s just caught.
What can I say. He is so sentimental in his old age. I need to remember to appreciate these moments. They won’t be there forever..
And after the last fight we had...well.. I need to make up for it.
But before I get a chance, to start singing.., he quizzes me, like when i was very young. “So, Ari. Tell me. We caught a whale. What do we need to do now?”
“Gut him? Clean all the yucky stuff ?” i intentionally use the word “yucky” to play along.
He nods in approval, but says “no no no”.
It was funny when i was 9. I’m sure it was.
“Scales. Clean the scales?” i offer.
“Do you see any scales? It’s a whale we got. Not a fishy”.
It’s just a game. I know the answer and he knows i know the answer. Is everything a mind fuck with parents, or is it just me?
I sing and he cleans the crap.
out of the flesh of the dead abimal, he twists out an old rusty harpoon. The remains of a rope still dangling on the cleat. He tests the point.
“Amatures” he mumbles and chucks it into the foam.
Then another harpoon, then another.
Some netting material, some rigging...
“Ha! Look at that!” He says, picking out something entangled in some ropes.
He cleans it a bit. Smiles triumphantly.
“So Ari. You’re keen on those bozos over land, so What is this, then?” He says. Hands me the thing.
Oh boy. I don’t have a clue. But he will push this on me, every chance he gets. This is some educational thing. Or a little chance at revenge.
He reminds me of what happened every chance he gets..
That jerk, Eric. I’m sooo over him.
But Dad will never let me forget...
That jerk , Eric.
That jerk, Eric.
“Gee, I don’t know, Da. I would guess this is a..... A torch!”
“Hemm....nice try Ari, babe, but no. Not even close”.
″ ok, OK... A special tool to hold paint while hanging from the rigging?”
“Ok...how about some bracing for one of their cannons?”
“Interesting idea, but still wrong..”
He is hungry to show off..
“Fine..i give up... What is it?”
“Oh...you kids give up too easily..”
“So tell me already...” I say “pleeease”.
″ fine. Look here. These straps go around something. There used to be a clasp, but i guess someone’s bitten it off..but if they bit it off...it means that....” He leads me...
“That there was something there to eat”.
“That’s right...I’ll give you a hint...it’s something you wanted very much once. The guy that had this wanted the same thing too...but he lost...”
“Yes!...ladies and gentlemen, i give you the amazing Ariel!!!” He says. “Legs. Well. You had them for a while, then you came back under the sea...well...This is...I’m not sure how it’s called, but it’s what happens when humans lose one of their legs. This cup thing fits over the part that’s ...oh...the stump...and they strap it. And they can walk with it...sort of... I should imagine not very well. And they also ...well they can’t swim much either..” He says. “Now...I haven’t seen a wooden leg like this, stuck on a whale before , but this one..this fish is special.. So...maybe the guy minus a leg tried a bit too hard to kill it... ” he says “Amatures...makes me laugh..” He
″ Can you imagine how ridiculous they looked..this guy and his whale...”.
but his chuckle is superficial. He overshot this by a mile.
I don’t know what to say. Whatever i do, it keeps bringing things up...He will never forgive me for betraying him, and he will hold my coming back, the way that i did.. on my knees...well he’ll hold it over me forever..
It’s not fair but...
I don’t miss Eric, anymore. But I can’t help but feel sad for this guy...
I wonder what he was doing?
Why would he just get entangled like this?
What was the point?
I remember going around collecting stuff from sunken ships..
Dad was NOT happy when he found out.. Destroyed the entire thing...
That’s when i really got into trouble..
I guess i also hold many things over him..
Such a tragedy...
Did he have friends?
Did he fight with his parents?
Did they try to stop him from chasing whales across the ocean?
I hope he didn’t suffer..
I imagine the poor guy being dragged uncontrollably behind the animal.
Makes me shudder when i think how afraid he must have been..
Probably drowned a long time before he was eaten, but you never know.
I suddenly feel a tightening. All this sadness, all this ... It’s overwhelming.
I cry for a moment.
I guess i still miss Eric after all...
Dad sees me crying. He knows that like so many times before, he went too far.
“Sorry Ari...” He says.. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. ....this was just...this was only meant...oh...look at me...I’m so ashamed...”
“No, dad. You warned me that this was going to happen, you were only...”
“Yes....only trying to protect you....but you... Eric...I hoped we could put it all in the past...go on a little ‘me and you’ time...and I can’t keep my big mouth shut...it’s not funny...nothing in this is funny. I’m so sorry”
We look at the waves for a while. Crashing on the rocks. Saying more in their rhythm than we could ever say..
“Hey...help me clean
this, and we can cook...” He says and gives me the trident.
We let all the muck float out, food for the seagulls and crabs for about a year.
And then we roast the thing over a nice volcano. Albino porpoises are something special.
Tastes like chicken...
I miss chicken.
I miss dairy products...
I cry a little again as we work. But i don’t let him see it.
Oh, how I miss Eric.....
We go back under the water, i feel a bit guilty that we didn’t bring anything for the others. But this was our thing.
The Plastic Indian
Playing in the shade, the dirt and gravel,
I remember looking for stuff. There were not much there, mostly just rocks.
But a young boy with a keen eye could find all kinds of stuff; a side mirror, from a scooter, an ancient bottle cap for a soda I’ve never heard of, a fossil of what must have been the smallest dinosaur in the world, fins and all.
There were dangers of course.
By the rising boulders, there grew what looked like sweetpeas , but was actually something very dangerous. my grandpa told me later, that it could have killed me, if I put just one more pea in my mouth...
Still I kept hunting for treasure.
Then, on a hot summer day, I narrowed my search to just under the pecan tree.
This is where I found it. A plastic Indian warrior.
I had a few toy soldiers, standing or kneeling with their rifles , on their square bases. But this was new stuff. Cowboys and Indians were not very popular in my time. But that Brave Apache, or Cherokee, or Lakota, was impressive: half-standing, half-kneeling. His spear, decorated with feathers was held raised above his head, poised for a thrust. with the other hand, he held a rounded shield.
A treasure! A work of art! A defiant warrior, standing his ground, fiearce beyond belief. Fearless.
I was interrupted with admiring my prize, when I heard someone asking me something.
It was a man sitting at the driver’s side of a car. The door to the other, opposite seat, the one facing me, was open.
“I said, do you like my Indian friend?” the guy asked.
Rule no. 1: never talk to strangers.
Rule no. 2: be polite to other people.
Not answering will be impolite.
Can I avoid talking, and yet answering with a nod, perhaps?
What if he thought I was rude?
What if he was some uncle or family friend I just didn’t recignize. It always happens in family meetings, especially everybody coming to see the new baby.
Besides, the driver phrased the question as implying ownership of the warior (my indian friend- Not your Indian friend!).
If this is his, he might want it back.
How could I handle loosing something so precious, when I just found it?
“You’re shy” the man says “but I can see you like the Indian very much. It’s yours. I’m giving it to you. ”
As he was talking, he took out a cellophane bag, and started to gently place more indians on the empty seat between us.
“Come closer. See my collection. I might give you one or two” he said, not even looking at me. Busy placing more and more plastic warriors on the upholstery.
What to do?
I decided that it can’t hurt to take closer
I took a step forward, focusing on the bounty that was being arrayed for my inspection: Fighting indians with spears and bows, cowboys with gallon hats and pistol belts and lassos. A Cavalry officer riding a horse with a bugle horn, calling all around him to charge.
I took another step closer.
The guy took the cavalry officer and held it out, gesturing me to take it.
I took another step.
I was almost able to reach it, when the guy moved back a bit, still holding the figure, but now sitting straight on the left hand side.
“Come on and take it” he said.
I took yet another step.
Coming almost inside.
It was then that my mom came running at us. Murder in her eyes.
The guy, seeing that he was going to catch more than he wanted, quickly flipped the ignition and drove off in a flash. He didn’t even bother closing the other door, but I remember it slamming shut as he made the sharp turn out of the parking spot.
I was left without any more indians, just dust kicked up by the car, and my mom.
She was livid.
“What did I tell you about playing here by yourself?!” “What did we say about talking to strangers?!” “You’re a grown boy. Can’t I trust you to stay put while I take care of your brother?”
And so on and so forth.
I knew I was in trouble.
But I would not show her the Indian I got.
She would take it away. For sure.
She would throw it to the trash, where it would sit on top and taunt me to pick it up, just like the dinosaur I found before..
I listened as she raged, as she adnonished.
But I did not open my hand, and placed the Indian in the back pocket of my shorts.
As we walked home, I remember a sharp sensation in my buttocks, wandering if it was the spear doing that.
The police came , asking me questions in the super condescending way that they take with kids.
Asking me questions about the car. About the chickenhawk.
But what could I say?
I didn’t remember if it was a Chevy or a ford. It might even have been a beetle.
I didn’t even remember the color.
All I could remember was how fast it drove out when the jig was up, and how much dust it made.
As for the man, I remembered even less. My eyes were much too occupied with the toys.
Perhaps if I was allowed to actually talk to him, I would have needed to look him in the eyes. All I remember is his hand holding the cavalry officer by his hat and bend his Hand back, so that it was as if it was another finger, curling back , inviting me in.
They did not ask anything substantial about the indians and the cowboys,
But grownups, seem to have a very strange way to look at things. I already knew that.
I kept the Indian hidden for a long time, it was kept quarantined from the khaki and green soldiers in their shoebox.
Segregated for his own good I decided. He was bigger then them and the base he was standing on, was elliptical, and not a square or rectangular shape as they were. Besides he was a completely dufferent story. They wouldn’t have gotten along, I knew...
Just kill me already
I tried to argue as he wrote me the ticket.
I told the police officer that it wasn’t my fault. I was just driving drunk.
They always pick on me.
But he wouldnt buy it.
“You old farts are always ‘I just slipped off the rail’ or ‘not my fault there was too many pills in the bottle’. But i seen it all before”. He says, closing the sitation book.
He hands me the slip.
“Pay the fine, and don’t mess about. You know the rules. Next time I see you with a broken spine or a ruptured lung I’m taking you in, Buddy ” .
And he drove off.
I wobbled home. The medication will kick in soon. I’ll be just another old fart again, and not a dead old fart.
When I walk by the Johnson’s, I see Henry jogging.
Who is he kidding?! I saw him with his head up the stove the day before.
I want to know what fine did he get?!
Or maybe he’s trying to pull off a massive embolism or something?!...
Might as well do a Benjamin Franklin and try to fly a kite with all the good it will do ya...
Well, better go to the post office and pay the fine. Maybe I’ll get lucky...
The happy guy
A: i think I’m depressed.
B: oh. Sorry to hear that. Depressed about what?
A: what’s not to be depressed about.
B: well..give me a clue.
A: my nose is big.
B: so what? My nose is big too.
A: just an example.
B: an example of what?
A: my being depressed..(sighs)
B: oh yeah...well what else?
A: i think don’t have a large penis.
B: look...I’m not going to check.. but Lydia talked to me yesterday, she is always nasty. Your name never came up. I promise..
A:doesn’t prove anything.
B:sure it does. If there was something bad to say, she would say it. And...
A: how would she know?
B:you guys were together for a while.
A:never did anything. Were.
A:were together. Past tense. We WERE together.
B:want to tell me more?
A:I may be gay.
B:why do you think that...i mean, it’s perfectly ok if you are.
A:not in my position.
B: why do you think your gay, anyway?
A:i had this dream.
B:so... Dream about a guy? It’s normal. Everyone gets ambivalent sometimes.
A:I’m gay, i have a big nose and a small Johnson. I’m so depressed.
B:you really are getting strange. You can pick out anything to be depressed about. From all the things, this is what you chose? Not even bad things.
A:so things like what?
B:no. Not going to help you wallow. Let’s get a drink. Or is that too depressing for you too?
A: it is, actually. I don’t think i should.
A:no. I just feel everyone laughing at me down at the pub. Even Ernie.
B:Ernie laughs at everybody.
A: not at you he don’t.
B:he feels ashamed . you know...
B:oh...you know...you know..
A:no i don’t.. what happened? Show me on the doll wherebthe mean guybtouched you..
B: fine...remember my dog?, Schwarzenegger?
A: yeah...poor guy...
B:Ernie did that.
B:yeah...with his fucking Mazda.
A: i thought he had a VW?
A:geez...sorry. I didn't know. Fine..let's go get a drink. I just brought up that thing.
B: no. No...it's ok. You're depressed, happens to everybody.
A:you know what? I was really wrong about all these things. So what if i have.. If I'm... You know...
B:exactly. It's not the thing that makes you depressed it's the depression that gives you the things To Be depressed about.
A:and what if I'm really gay?
B:it's ok. You'll be ok. Just don't be such a let down and someone may actually like you.
A:what do you mean 'let down'?
B:did i say let down? I meant something else...eh..
A:no. You said let down. I disappointed you somehow.
B:i didn't mean anything even remotely like that.
A: yeah you did. I'm a let down for you.
B: ough. Listen you're just running around in circles, trying to justify why you're feeling depressed.
A:no I'm not. I'm running in circles trying to find out what did i do, that dissapoints you so much..
B:you didn't and don't catch me at my words like that.. Becau..
A:because they show me who you really are?
A: you know what i mean! Everytime you hit a moment where your rational clashes with how you really feel you get these slips.
B: no I don't.
A: oh. You just protested that I'm catching you at your words. Catching you with you're pants down. Stop hiding, and tell me.
B:really?! Is that what you want? Is that what you really want?!..Mr 'boohoo...I'm depressed... Boohoo ...i think I'm gay..' Actually, i did have a Freudian slip. You're not a let down. You're just a drag, Buddy. Get your shit together. If you can't do it personally, then you can come to me. But it's 2 o'c-fucking-lock in the morning. I just have another three more hours to go before i need to get up. You whine, and you don't even have the decency to go have a drink?!
Shave!, get a job!, get out there.. Boy or girl is both fine...just do stuff. Don't ...drape your self over the sofa and eat yourself up, like you do.
A:geez, i didn't know I'm pissing you off so much. I was feeling terrible, and i was thinking i could talk to someone... You know...instead of eating some pills. But excuuuuuuse me for living...(starts to walk away)
B:hang on, hang on...look. Come in. Let's get that drink...talk about stuff.
A:don't do me any favors.
B: no. I'll even order pizza if you want. We'll sit and talk...
A:i think you're so full of it..
B:no. Just suddenly hungry. Come in. It's cold.
A: hungry for pizza? Now? Two AM?
B:greasier the better. Meat lover's...
A:oh..fine...Actually ...it does sound good suddenly in a sleazy kind of way..but I'm paying for the pizza.
B:of course you are. Just don't ...yeah..here you go again..are you ok? you always hit your nose on the doorframe..
A slice of innocence
You know, if you smell that, you’ll get sick.
“What? But I like to smell fresh asphalt”
What are you talking about? It is a terrible smell, and you’ll get very sick some day if you keep it up.
A week later, talking to a friend:
“I’m telling you, if you smell the fresh asphalt , you’ll get AIDS”
Went to a dairy farm, saw the cows giving milk. Then the river of cowshit, flowing towards a processing installation. Weeds and oxpeckers nesting by the “river”.
″ now kids, this looks very solid ground” the guide says, taking a break from the ecological presentation. He throws a rock at the deceptively safe ground. It sinks right in. He then tells us to throw our own, have some fun. Then he scares us about “the horrible bog. You step in and sink. No one will ever find you.
I couldn’t sleep for two days, the jerk.
That year, ” the never-ending story” came out. Atreyu is leading his horse through the swamp of sadness, seeking Morla. I screamed and got out of the theater long before he ever found the turtle.
Got intetested in cooking: frying eggs is easy. Just melt some butter and dump an egg inside.
Peanut butter is called butter. it must thetefore be applicable as butter, and I love peanut butter. How great would that be? Omelette that tastes like peanut butter?!?!
The smell of burned peanut butter got my parents running. I still hear about it in family meetings.
Well. just been thirty years...
The pretty butterflies sit on the armrest, and the backrest of the bench. They sit on me too. Enticed by the odour of the Salsa. more are coming. Landing delicately , their triangular wings a beautiful play of colors.
I love these mornings. Mornings here are just serene. Up ahead i have a nice view of the river. Small and large boats float by. Carrying the new arrivals. I really don’t feel that hungry, but i just can’t resist. I take one of the butterflies . dip it in the salsa bowl that forms the end of the armrest. This one is jalapeño flavored. Crunchy bliss.
I used to feel guilty about the butterflies, and the leaf insects that camouflage themselves as strips of sizzling bacon, over by the runny yoke fountain. But you need to remember that it’s not a bad thing. Not here. Just pace yourself. don’t overeat, don’t over drink. Find the middle road. Find the balance..
I hear slow sitar music, fits the scene perfectly. The player gives a bass note and goes wild on the upper clef. Running through an insane modus. The player might be getting ready for the afternoon festivities, or just doing his thing. I eat another butterfly and take in this moment. A bit below, by the riverbank, a guy is planting something. He digs a hole, puts the young sapling in. A bit of water. He steps back. The tree starts to grow. His newly forming branches sway to the rhythm of the sitar. Buds of rich leaves sprout and then it’s done. A new tree in the garden . i take another butterfly. This one is sourcream and chives.
Why can’t all the butterflies be sourcream and chives?
Why must this perfection be spoiled by ketchup -flavored, or teriyaki-flavoured butterflies? They don’t work with the salsa. But I mustn’t think like that. There must be some kind of pervert here who likes that. Must have had a sad background, to like that. Maybe i could form a support group for people who’s lives drove them to like ketchup-flavoured buttetflies.
But It all quickly melts away in the end. Doesn’t it?
We all come to love everything.
Even the ketchup-flavoured butterflies, even them, I’ll love some day. Even they, I’ll grow to love. Grow is the operative word here.
After all, I’ll be better off loving MORE than LESS , right?
I’ll have a preferance, for sure. But I’ll grow to love everything.
And then what? What will I become, when all the things that irritated, distressed, angered and depressed me just merge into new fields to love. Unploughed fields...Will I be able to love Britney Spears? Surly, it would take time for me to come to terms with the smokers. I can conceive of loving aniseed but could I possibly love drunk drivers?
A work in progress, i guess.
And when that time comes, and I forgive and love all those who did wrong, who betrayed their “better angles” , what will happen to me? How will I live with only love and joy? Will there be anything else? Something yet unknown to me? There is so much of this garden I haven’t seen yet.
Will i tour it as a super-content being?
Will I become a butterfly?
Will it be sour cream and chives?
You blew up half the city.
"Yessssss" said Dr. Heinous , "actually just34.6 percent, but the down town area. Now, I'm trying to work on this extortion letter. Could you check if it sounds bad. I'm worried about about the choice of words."
"Yes, master" i reply.
"It's my right to bear arms, i was going to use it for hunting . "
You never liked them , anyway, he says to me and project mayham continues...
Conan the barbarian was just about metallurgy
In a dark time , full of terror and dread, rose a fearless hero. Rising out of the snow mountain slopes of the Austrian alps, With his oiled muscles and limited english, he defended what was right and true. Then he turned to a soulless robot, then became a governor. His name was....
In the beginning, Conan’s dad, forges a great sword. In between work sessions, wanting his son to follow in the family business, he indoctrinates the young boy into the importance of resolve, by telling him that some day he will need to come before their god, Chrom, and answer what is the riddle of steel. He tempers his swords in snow, rather than oil, which causes the blade to be very hard and sharp, but also relatively brittle. The sword looks cool though. it is taken by Thulsa Doom , along with the young boy, just after he kills his parents and massacred his entire village.
Great guy, that Thulsa Doom..
Conan is taken as a slave. Later, his talent for killing becomes apparent and he wins his freedom. He enters an ancient burial mound and finds a sword for himself. It is so old that he just needs to hit it on a rock, for the original sheath to fall apart. Conan sets off to find fortune and revenge. At one point he is caught by Thulsa (the amazing James earl Jones) and the wizard explains to him the riddle of steel, before sending him to die of starvation as he is crucified
. (“That’s the least i could do”) .
Doom explains that steel and sword are meaningless. All that matters is the will of the person. He demonstrates this by asking a young girl to jump off a cliff, thereby crashing into a wooden stage. Her will to take action is supposed to be the reason why the wooden deck was demolished. Finally there is a showdown. Conan with his ancient sword and Doom with Conan’s father’s sword. They fight and at the climax Doom’s sword shatters. Conan kills him.
Now, could you say in this battle, whose will to action is greater?
It’s a fight to the death! Both of them have advantages on their sides. Both want to survive. What gives Conan the victory was the simple fact that Doom’s sword was made of such poor quality that it didn’t hold up even to an ancient sword.
Lesson from this is that there are truths that can be beyond what we can objectively measure. But when we are presented with irrefutable proof that the physical nature of things is present AND measurable, there is no need to go into convoluted explanation. Positivism is not a lie, just because it doesn’t have the tools to all our answers. All ye deniers of science beware. The riddle of steel is mainly a manufacturing question.
Scriptwriting sketch no. 1
Mr. Knot (Knot)- a man of simple pleasures.
Sam I am (Sam)-a mysterious man
Scene: a park bench lit in early morning sun. Mr. Knot sits on the bench, checks
his watch. Folds one leg on top of the other. Takes his newspaper. Starts reading.
Straightens his leg, checks his watch. He seems uncomfortable. Nervous.
Sam rides his scooter past.
Knot (aside): Sam I am! Sam I am! I do not like this Sam I am. Been disturbing
my calm. Offering me dubious breakfasts. Last time it was a plate of green
eggs and ham. Drove me mad until I caved in and tried. Had the runs for a
week. Hope he stays away.
Sam(approaches, slides his scooter in a neat turn.) Stands over Knot and beams.
Knot pretends he isn’t there.
After a while, Sam clears his throat.
Sam: would you like some herbal tea?
Knot: no thank you, Sam I am.
Sam: I see. You’re angry at me..
Knot: you think? You pushed that awful mess in my mouth the other day. You don’t
take no for an answer. I’ll give you that. Now, go away. I’m having my morning
(Sam sits down by him on the bench.)
Sam: would you like herbal tea? It really cleans you out. I can see you are a
person that values his health. Maybe I can even say ...
Knot: don’t say, Sam. Don’t say. I will not,would not , may not and muuust not
drink your tea. Not in a boat or with a goat, or with a fox, or on the rocks. If you
came here to give me a bad time, just lay off.
Sam:give you a bad time ? I wouldn’t. No. I want to make it up to you, Mr. Knot, by
offering you some herbal tea. All natural. Good stuff. I drink it myself.
Knot: oh. I’m sure you do. But I’ve been burned once...you really can get a job for the
CIA or something with your brainwashing stuff. Now, seriously Sam. This isn’t cool what
you’re doing... I’m actually waiting for someone. Business stuff..I think you better leave.
Sam: sure. Whatever you say, Mac.
(Sam gets up, body language shows a let down.)
Knot: eggh...fine. Don’t get all emotional on me. What kind of herbal tea is it
(Sam sits down again. Pulls out a thermos, a box of cardboard. Appears to be food supplements.)
Sam: oh. This? Just try. It’s Sage, Rosemary and thyme. I think there’s also some
ginger. Here, let me check....(checks) ..yup. Ginger and Nettle. Good stuff.
(He pours hot water to the cap, hands it to Knot. Then with his hands free, he
pours a packet of the herbal extract into the cup) there you go. Bottoms up.
Seriously, you should drink it slowly it’s really hot.
Knot sips. Face lights up.
Knot : hey, that’s not bad at all, nettles you say?
Sam: huhh. Yeah..nettles. Thyme too..
(Knot drinking the tea for a while, Sam looking hopefully.)
Knot: not bad not bad...(drinks more)
Sam: would you like to buy a box?
Knot: oh. Here it comes. I knew it.
Sam: jusuuut joking...but if you wanted.. You know..
Sam: it’s this self promotional thing I got into. I sell tea to you..other health
Knot: Pyramid scheme? Aren’t you a bit young?
Sam: no. It’s all good. They sell things in bulk, so very cheap. I set my own
commission. And if you buy from me and sell, I’ll get a cut from your sales
But you won’t feel that. The supplier.. company gives me that bonus...
Knot: kid, you’re in trouble. It’s a dead end. Google ’Pyramid scheme’ . Nothing
good will come of this. Trust me..
(Sam looks disappointed.)
Sam: but they have such good product.
Knot: so what!? Still not worth getting in bed with them.
Sam: but...don’t you like it?
Knot: the tea? It’s not bad actually, but I wouldn’t get in business with them..
Sam: no? Not in the train? Not in the...
Knot: don’t start that again.
Sam: fine. I was really hoping I could get you interested in this exciting business
venture. But I respect you, Mr. Knot. So I’ll leave you alone. It’s a shame
though. I was about to give you the antidote. You know, there’s more than just
nettles in this..But you want the mystery in your life, so best of luck. Be seeing
(And he rides away)
The drug baron’s mansion / Interior decoration dream
I’m led in to this mansion; big , with trees, and bushes in an orchard , and a walkway to the front door. Men holding Uzies, guarding.
They lead me inside.
There is a corridor, on the one side a line of doors, on the other side an open courtyard, with flowers and bushes , and even a tree in the middle. The court is surrounded by a low wall , about 1 meter high, with benches and sofas on the corridor side. I sit on one of the sofas , my back to the courtyard.
The walls of the corridor, are decorated with paintings, vases. I see all around a collection of string instruments; a cello , a double bass. Here are also strange string instruments, such as a large (double bass-size) instrument, only with an oval shape. Instead of having the instrument lean on the wall (vertically ) this instrument is propped up by legs like a timpani and is horizontal. I see several of these instruments, some with the smooth lacquer-covered dark wood, like cello, and some damasked intricately, like an uod (Arabian string instrument). After waiting, hearing chirps of birds, I am called to the office of the baron.
The room has a desk and chairs with dark leather upholstery.
He offers me a drink, I decline. He’s smoking a cigar, and eventually puts it out in a glass ashtray , that has a geometric shape, with many facets.
The baron looks like a middle aged man, not fat, with a calm, soothing strangely benevolent face. But I know, through the dream narrative, that he is not. I know that he is very dangerous. He looks a bit like my grandfather.
I don’t remember what we talk about. I only remember him telling me “you better be useful to me” then the phone rings, he answers, and after a few words asks me to wait outside.
I am seated again on a sofa in the corridor , one of the strange ornate string instruments is just in front of me, where a coffee table should be.
The instrument is beautiful and the strings seem to vibrate by themselves, softly calling me. I can’t resist the urge, and I pluck one of those strings. The sound that it makes is deep and mellow and so different from anything else.
Suddenly the baron’s door is opened and two guards (they are wearing business suits) come out straight at me, and drag me back to the baron’s office.
The baron’s expression is cool, an Al Pacino-like cool, he doesn’t seem benevolent anymore though.
I remember telling myself that there is a gun pushed at the side of my head.
“now”, he says, dryly “we have a problem. You played on my strings and for that I should kill you , but on the other hand you could be useful to me” he says. “so here’s what we're going to do , I’ll be fair and give you chance. All you need to do to save yourself is to tell me how can you be useful to me. Can you understand?” he asks . I nod.
I strain to find a reason, nervous. I remember thinking what a useless waste of air I am. The baron is waiting patiently. His expression turns from cool, and focused, to bored. He’s bored by this. he’s going to snap his fingers...
Finally, I understand, and tell him “I can make it interesting” . I don’t know what I meant by that.
He smiles, he strokes his forehead with his right hand, the plume of his gray hair brushed back. He’s thinking . He then turns his look away from me , as if looking at a man standing behind me. He tells them to let me go. The ending of this dream is a feeling of relief. I’m saved..