The Major Thirteen
The first time
I dreamed the Major Thirteen
I was just over sixty.
I was dreaming of falling down to sea
With no parachute.
Before to splat the water
I asked the wind
To appease my drop:
So did the wind.
And I started singing.
Say the fishermen
Along the Cornwall coast
If they hear a song
At windy full moon nights.
That’s might be my song.
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07JKFNCDG
Chapter 3
The entry was dark, but after closing the front door behind our shoulders,
we noticed, on the left, an open door, which filtered a weak light. After we
had gone through a poorly illuminated and narrow corridor, we turned into a
staircase. There was not any sign of life all around. At length we found, still
on the left, an open door and we leaned out to see.
" Come in, come in"
said a voice from behind a disclosed glasses’ door.
And before we could do or say anything, a thin face appeared on the
threshold and in a firmer and louder tone repeated:
"Come
in, at last!".
He soon showed us two chairs in front of his desk and started watching us
with questioning expression.
I also observed him with attention and curiosity.
He was the thinnest person I had ever seen in my life. You could rather say
that he was made but skin and bones. He had prominent cheekbones and also the
jaws, the temples and the front were very protruding.
If some incredibly brisk and extraordinarily green eyes had not filled his eyes
sockets, I might have also believed that he could really be made of skull and
crossbones.
But skulls and crossbones, usually, do not speak. Furthermore he wore some
suits which let him to look like a normal man.
"I
am Mr Winningoes. What can I do for you?" –he said as soon as we
had sat down.
" We are looking for a job" - George immediately said after a
brief pause.
" What kind of job are you looking
for?" said the man on his
way. Despite of the appearances, his voice sounded like a perfect job’s agency
employee.
"Everything will be all right" I dared, in my difficult
English, staring at George to ask confirmation of the agreement we had hastily
reached, not to speak at all of Mr Joking.
" Ah!" the man exclaimed "Let’s see, then."
With the thin finger he started pointing up the lines of some sheets leaned on
a skin braid on his front. He mumbled, rather than leaked, without any sense
and, from time to time, he fixed a careful look to one or the other of us and
after, shaking his head, he started over reading.
He had finally arrived to the last sheet, and rather seemed that the finger
already slipped from the sheet to the braid, and from this to the green glass
that covered the plan of the desk, when the old man pronounced with vivacity: - “Here you are! Two intelligent young people,
good health, bachelors and prepared to travel around, we are looking for easy
and pleasant job. Good conditions. No references are required."
to be continued...
Chapter 2
That London summer 1979 had exceptionally been long and mild (London
whether, at middle August, it is usually already cold). Such a whether allowed
me to make profitably the ice cream sale. We sold them to the passer-bys,
leaned out in the street with a freezing machine “Carpigiani” that, in the
evening, after the sale, we located inside a shop of souvenirs along the Oxford
Street. Working together had contributed to strengthen our knowledge and we
became so good friends.
Of George I appreciated the self-confidence that showed in the practical and
small things of everyday’s needs, as for instance knowing how to cook rather
than to be skilful in the use of English language. This assurance of his,
nevertheless, was oddly conjugated with his strenuous internal search that
seemed finalized to understand the deepest sense of our life on the earth. That
after all was the main reason which had pushed me in to London town.
These things I had realized through the great discourses that, alternate to long silences, we had along that time.
George was rather a reserved man, who didn't love very much to speak of
himself, at least not in direct and explicit manner. Neither he seemed very
interested to pick up the alien confidences.
He apparently gave the impression to have something to hide or have run
away from someone he needed to forget, in a city where also a celebrity would
pass unnoticed. But after a short time, I had realized that his silences, his
reservation, his misanthropy were together the fruit of a shyness and the
result of a reflexive and deep character, projected towards a spiritual search
that, absorbing big part of his energies, detached him from the material things
of daily life, except those strictly necessary for living through.
The search of an ideal world, through dimensions and experiences untied
from the normalcy and the usualness of everyday life, had been soon the point
of contact and more important welding in our relationship. Furthermore, apart
all this, I had found on him a disinterested support, without which my London
adventure would have soon ended up. Then the summer, suddenly ended, and slowly
but surely, also vanished the savings put aside in the ice cream season.
to be continued...
Chapter 1
George and I
I had known George, just in
the summer of 1979, in a little snack
bar, in the beginning of my London stay. A snack-cafe not so far from
Piccadilly Circus, where they made a slightly drinkable coffee. I used to go
there, because it was the only place where the coffee was served in the small,
classical, Italian cups, and even if it was served with no cream, it was still
better than that watered black soap that almost all barmen sell off for coffee
in England.
The snack-bar premises were in a large rectangular room. On the right of the entry there was the counter with the coffee-machine, while both on the left and the opposite wall, in front of the entry-door, there was a wood bench, lined in brown colored plastics and, straight above, lined in the identical way, a narrow shelf, plenty of sugar-bowls and ashtrays.
The left wall, for the whole length of the bench, beginning from the shelf and
finishing to the originally white-painted ceiling, was made of a thick
transparent glass that, giving brightness to the place, allowed the visitors to
enjoy a wide outside sight where, just in front, was well visible the entrance
of a theatre with an ample and luxurious atrium. It was there that George seemed to stare up his look, over the round
glasses (like John Lennon’s, I had thought).
His olive complexion, the chestnut hair and the
black moustaches didn't make him certainly look like a probable Queen‘s
subject, but I questioned him, this not less, in English. Also because, after
all we were in London. What other idiom was I supposed to speak?
He burst into laughter, hearing my question. Not immediately, but after turning his head to look at me, with a funny expression on his face, while with my hands I repeated my request for fire, rubbing, at the same time, my right forefinger on the palm of the left hand.
After lighting his own cigarette, as I stood close and steady, much more
interdict than angry, because of his crazy laughing, he told me in a strongly
stressed, though smooth, Italian language:
“Sorry for laughing, but Italian people do make notice of them, when they
speak English. You come from Rome, don’t you?” -, he suddenly added,
smiling with satisfaction to my sad, affirmative answer.
The place, beside the two of us and a girl sitting on the other side of the
bench, was empty. The barkeeper, behind the counter, was preparing a great copy
of sandwiches, with cheese and tomatoes, lettuce and meats and a few others
with all four ingredients together, according to the best English taste.
“And you, where do you come from?” - I asked him in some annoyed
tone for that reference to the Italian’s accent and particularly to that of the
Romans, whose noble descendants I am still proud to belong.
-” I am not Italian” - he answered to me with peaceful voice “but I have lived quite a lot of years in Italy. So I know your customs quite well, and also your accent” -, concluded laughing again tastefully.
This time his laughing, however, didn't upset me at all. Those few words had
been enough to make my anger fade away; or maybe I was just only glad to talk
to someone without squeezing my brain to translate my thoughts from Italian
into English language.
To recognize nationalities through the English speaking accents, was only one
of the so many eccentric aspects of George’s personality, as I had the
opportunity to discover thereafter.
But what struck me mostly among them, determining the consolidate of our
friendship, was his passion, shared by me, for the esoteric philosophies.
Actually ‘till then, I had reputed them exclusive knowledge of the eastern
cultures, while George, rightly in the period we met, was studying at one
(whose study he had to introduce me, later on), that he granted to the
Huichols, a direct descending people of the ancient pre-Colombian populations
that in the present state, according to what at that time he told me, were
still living in the north western mountains of Mexico.
...to be continued...
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07JKFNCDG
Chapter 1
«I will soon be back, make
yourselves at home, please» - said the man going out. We looked at each other,
George and I. It had only been from the morning that we didn’t have a chance to
stay alone, however I swear that it seemed to me as if it was an eternity.
«That’s a real story of madness! » he burst out taking a seat in one of the
four wood armchairs that were around a circular table in the center of the
small room–«This man must be crazy! Let's put him off as soon as is back and
let's escape from here, until we are in time»–he added while I was taking a
seat in front of him.
«Just a moment, George, maybe it will seem strange to you, but I don't feel
afraid of this man! He inspires a sort of trust in me, despite his strangeness».
«But do you realize what you are talking about? Have you gone out of sense too?
This man must have some extraordinary powers: hasn't he hypnotized us just slightly
before? Have you also heard him talk of super-races and brain's experiments or
have I dreamed of it?», George attacked me nervously.
«Be quiet, please, George» - I told him in a calm voice. –«First of all, I
don't believe he has hypnotized us, just before. Secondly, if he is really so
powerful as you say, what could be his reaction, when we try to immobilize him?
Make a point on it: when we arrived here, we were both sleepy. Therefore if
he wanted to use us as guinea-pigs, two punctures were enough for him to
knock us down! On the other hand I have not seen yet neither
cats resembling mice, nor men with a square brain! Who can be sure that
the old man is not inventing everything? It would not surprise me if this story
derived from the imagination of some fantastical writer. I want to go to the
end of all these circumstances. Don’t you also want to know what kind of
job's proposal Mr Winningoes is going to make for us?»
George gazed for a long time into my eyes, thoughtfully. Then, without
answering, he relaxed on the back of the chair, releasing the muscles and
breathing deeply.
He stood with half open eyes crossing at once the feet and the hands softly on
the womb, with the right hand covering the palm of the left one. He seemed to
me almost slept, while only the breath animated his body.
Won by all those unexpected and subsequent emotions, I also imitated him doing
my best on sitting comfortably on the wood ancient chair.
...to be continued...
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CQDFK2JW
Chapter 1
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CQDFK2JW
First Part
Chapter 1
«I will soon be
back, make yourselves at home, please» said the man going out. We looked at
each other, George and I. It had only been from the morning that we didn’t have
a chance to stay on our own.
«That’s a real story of madness! » he burst out taking a seat in one of the
four wood armchairs that were around a circular table in the center of the
small room. «This man must be crazy! Let's put him off as soon as is back and
let's escape from here, until we are in time», he added while I was taking a seat
in front of him.
«Just a moment, George, maybe it will seem strange to you, but I don't feel
afraid of this man! He inspires a sort of trust in me, despite his strangeness».
«But do you realize what you are talking about? Have you gone out of sense too?
This man must have some extraordinary powers: hasn't he hypnotized us just
slightly before? Have you also heard him talk of super-races and brain's
experiments or have I dreamed of it?», George attacked me nervously.
«Be quiet, please, George», I told him in a calm voice. «First of all, I don't
believe he has hypnotized us, just before. Secondly, if he is really so
powerful as you say, what could be his reaction, when we try to immobilize him?
Make a point on it: when we arrived here, we were both sleepy. If
he wanted therefore to use us as guinea-pigs, two punctures were enough
for him to knock us down! I have not seen yet neither
cats resembling mice, nor men with a square brain!
Who can be sure that the old man is not
inventing everything? It would not surprise me if this story derived from the
imagination of some fantastical writer. I want to go to the end of all these
circumstances. Don’t you also want to know what kind of job's proposal Mr
Winningoes is going to make for us?»
George gazed for a long time into my eyes, thoughtfully. Then, without
answering, he relaxed on the back of the chair, releasing the muscles and
breathing deeply.
He stood with half open eyes crossing at once the feet and the hands softly on
the womb, with the right hand covering the palm of the left one. He seemed to
me almost slept, while only the breath animated his body.
Won by all those unexpected and subsequent emotions, I also imitated him doing
my best on sitting comfortably on the wood ancient chair.
Who knows where I've been in the last twenty
centuries?
May be I was a roman soldier
guarding the Adrian Wall
where I met a pale blue eyes blonde love
to warm my winters
to show me love is anywhere
anyhow.
and I was scattered back
on some Mediterranean
coast
groping with the Normans
a new life, which is also
and again an old life;
like that I had as Greek's slave
before my manumission
when I captured those
I had been conquered by.
And when I'll
be searching
for other worlds
far in the skies
will I remember
my Mother
Earth?
