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NEW AUTHORS SHOWCASE
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09-04-09 6M 5 |
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There In Sao Paulo, a Visceral Journey by Roger Pelegrino |
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SYNOPSIS It is from this fix that these love affairs originated in the first place, as at a given moment I started roaming about the world. Not fitting in was in the main to be ascribed to the business I have mentioned of sensibility versus cold intellect. I was to bump into this embarrassment once more with Janine. Notwithstanding the decline of sensibility in the present day world, there is hope yet in as much as artless sensualism may be a doorway to sublime experiences .
I remember the impact of seeing coloured women from close by for the first time. They were climbing up a hill in Rio de Janeiro, no doubt on their way to work or to the market. Their earthliness was something new to me. Once I had taken up residence on the seafront of Copacabana this was to be repeated. In the early mornings, when I stood at my window sniffing in the salty air, black maids in their shifts were playing about in the surf. The beach was strewn with nocturnal offerings such as candles, cigars and bottles of beer to the sea goddess Iemanjá. I was on my way to my teacher of Portuguese, who lived in the hills of Santa Teresa in a ramshackle mansion, which though well worn, maintained a certain style and a touch of romance. The first one had been a defrocked priest who had left his monastery. He had always told me that with a change of heart, all he had to do was to ring at the gate, in order to be re-admitted. No doubt this step would be matched by appropriate disciplinary measures such as the recitation of a considerable amount of Hail Marie’s. Meanwhile, he had chosen to take a closer look at the life of Copacabana. He was a cheerful soul with a ready laugh. Hidden deep down, I may have been a similar type of person, but layers of civilization had made me incapable of such insouciance . This did not prevent me being a well-predisposed pupil, provided with the added advantage of having taken a course of Italian at University, just for the heck of it and for the exotic melodiousness of the language. I had a hunch that if ever my teacher were to fall a prey to depression, it would not have to do with a moral crisis, but with a too liberal partaking of alcoholic refreshments. He taught me an inordinate number of Portuguese words connected with nocturnal occupations, such as, till dawn , I am exhausted , ressaca (hangover), ENO sal de fruta , a farra (a wanton spree), drooping eyelids . At the same time, he insisted that to be happy all one needed was contentment . Furthermore, he admonished me that Christ did not want despondent votaries. That proved to be his send off, because all of a sudden, he was gone. As far as I could make out, he had actually returned to his monastery, to the relief of my entourage who had feared that I would be learning too much about Rio by night. Strangely enough, his successor, though not vested with priestly status, had strong links with the mother-church. He was affable yet dignified. I am not a Roman Catholic, but was sensitive to the lure of church ritual, incense and heavenly music which, now living in a mainly Catholic country, was all to the good.
This new teacher was more academic than the first one, with quite a lot of verbs to conjugate. He was a widower living with a 15 year old daughter whom I had not yet seen and a rather comely maid, who now opened the door. She looked embarrassed and the slight confusion was appealing. She informed me that the professor had unexpectedly been called away and could I please come back the next week. I vacillated; something told me that I was on the verge of adventure. The moment passed and I confirmed I would return the following week. In front of a woman, a man sometimes feels like just before diving into a swimming pool. He may undergo a sensation of resistance, the will not to give in, the same as a woman, possibly, feels when meeting a man for the first time.
My mother used to say ‘faint heart never won fair lady’ and I cannot deny that for many years a certain pusillanimity has dogged me. However, at the same time, a strong appetite for female beauty had managed to neutralize partly this inconvenience. Staying with my parents in a pension as a 12 year old, I remember for some reason entering a room of a Polish lady whom my parents had befriended, finding her stark naked in the middle of the room. I understand I had just stood there, with my mouth open. I had never seen a naked woman before and she was young and very pretty, that I do remember.
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