London for ever - 31

In the entrance, as we walked through the narrow corridor toward the large ground floor hall, I noticed in the backlight a bit of  smoke coming out, along with a soft but intense hustle of animation. The room had in the meantime been filled. Among the fans, as announced by the outdoor parking, there were numerous "motorcycle-rockers", also called "speedies" due to the frequent use of amphetamines, which they preferred among all drugs then in circulation for the particular charge they give them.  They were sold in slippers similar to cachet for the headache and nicknamed in London jargon "speeds". Their typical clothing consisted of robust boots, jeans, short-sleeved cotton t-shirt, and a jacket, also in black leather jeans, usually covered on the shoulders of small truncated-conical metal studs . Not so often, this eccentric clothing, coupled with their high stature, the black beards on which even longer blond hair lay apart, conferred on them  an aspect of metropolitan Vikings.

Nonetheless, these were quitter and more  peaceful than  the most colorful and folkloristic "punks" who  began to show themselves in  the second half  of the '70s, shocking with their appearances the London streets.

Even in the hall, the sight  had changed: a lot of young people were now knocking at the billboards, behind which many young barmaids were very busy  running  from one point to the other in the long counter, satisfying quickly the various requests of the many enthusiasts consumers.

Around the platform, now illuminated, with the musicians already on the stage giving the final touches to the instruments, sat in a semicircle a discreet crowd who was  waiting the music to start laughing and cheerfully joking between a sip of beer and a smoky.

Between the counter and the platform, in the middle of the room, other players had gone to the billiards and were playing  under the gaze of friends and enthusiasts. Above the pedestal, in the right wall, were now visible the sofas I had not noticed before.

I directed my friends straightly to the first floor through the large staircases that were already filled up with spectators, almost a natural queue of that crowd gathered around the footpath. Numerous compartment tables had been busy, and large shelves of beer and drinks could be  noticed up on theim.

Giampiero immediately understood the situation and thought well, followed by Michelle, to go back after asking what we intended to drink. We had seats at the end of the sofa at the back. From my place I saw a nice portion of the footpath, where an athletic  man wearing a black, adorable tights, with long and black hair ending in a thick tail, tried  the efficiency of the sound system with style cries of proof .

"How long have you been  staying  in London?" I asked Martine.

We took sit  on one of the dark circular stools that were scattered around the tables.

"Four months," she replied after a half-voice mumbled count, pulling out of the bag of strange, thin cigarettes from a brown and crumpled package.

- "And what are you doing, right here in London?" I insisted, looking at her as she whispered a voluptuous mouthful from  her strange cigarette.

- "I started a new job two weeks ago; I distribute female magazines at the Metro exit, but I hope to find something better; Also because, working twice a week, I do not earn enough, do you understand? "

"Do not worry," I replied half  serious and facet, in order to shed the sad and worry air that, as I later understood, was a mirror of her most intimate being, rather than a momentary mood .. "" You can join the great family of the street-traders and this should not make you feel alone, at least! "

- "But I do not feel alone at all!" She protested, always with her melancholy face.

- "You don’t miss Paris, then?"

"Certainly I don’t," Martine said in a convinced tone of voice- "I've run away from a boring job as a secretary; My parents are Baptists who observe and pretend to observe strict rules of life; Moreover, I had a boyfriend  who wanted to dominate me so bravely and possessively as never before. You know why I cannot have any kind of  nostalgia .......... "

- "How did you first arrive in London? - I asked her again after pointing to a distant guy who seemed to have come out straightly from the "Woodstock" movie, with a wide band that held her long hair and with numerous necklaces hanging on his neck on a pink shirt and a hallucinated look, fixed in vacuity while turning his hands open, slowly, as in trance, following with  the movements of his body, a music that only he had to hear.

Martine laughed, hiding her mouth with her hand before answering.

- "I turned to an au pair agency, and so I came to the airport. A family of teachers with two children, home in the greenery, at North Finchley, on the Northern Line, do you know? I had to work for  six days a week with them  always out and I at home watching children and eating, or rather not eating, the impossible English food. I  could go out only once a week and I had to come back early in the evening, before midnight.  Even  worse than my parents. Not to mention that I also had to clean the room and the stuff of the children! All for a wage of nine pounds a week. My friend Michelle got me out of  troubles ............ "

As evoked by Martine's tale Michelle appears from afar. Launches a festive cry, cuts the crowd  for herself and for Giampiero who  looks like an eight-handed equilibrist, a sort of goddess Kali. I try to help  Giampiero. I can get some bottles he  holds under his arms; he smiles to me on his  flaming face.

31. to be continued...