30 august 2010

Jacques si punga de vise

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Jacques era mandru nevoie mare. Se simtea ca scos din cutie, stralucitor si fara pata. Tocmai iesise pe poarta fabricii si inspira prin toti porii fericirea de a fi liber. Spatiul descoperit dincolo de ziduri, soarele, adierea imprevizibila a vantului de primavara, zgomotele lumii din afara fabricii, toate il inveseleau si il faceau sa simta foarte norocos.
Dupa atata timp petrecut in spatiile stramte ale fabricii, in lumina plastica a neoanelor, clipele astea i se pareau fara pereche.

Jacques se simtea in sinea lui fara masura, complet liber de orice oranduiala si conformitate la care fusese supus pana acum. Simtea ca poate evada din limitele impuse de ceilalti si poate fi nici mai mult si cu siguranta nici mai putin decat sine. Jacques.

Cand fusese ales, sub privirele incruntate ale colegilor si colegelor de raion, nu-si putuse imagina macar jumatate din senzatiile de acum. I se spusese ca va vedea orasul, marile magazine de pe strazile elegante din centru si va face cunostinta cu oameni frumosi si importanti.

Jacques tremura incetisor in masina care-l ducea catre toate visele de celebritate. Tanjea dupa aprecierea oamenilor, dupa priviri cu invidie in doze mici.

Furat de ganduri si emotii, nici n-a observat ca timpul il apropia de destinatie. Inainte de a se da jos din masina si-a mai indreptat o data reverul, mustacind multumit de simetria colturilor minutios lucrate, si si-a lustruit butonii de la maneci. Curat curatel, ca apretat, Jacques cobora in lumea noua.

Soferul tacut si cuviincios l-a condus in magazinul central, cu geamuri perfect curate ce dadeau catre strada principala si florile colorate de pe trotuar. Jacques intra in templul comercial al orasului, in Mecca hainelor scumpe si frumoase, a oamenilor scumpi si frumosi, a aparentelor scumpe si frumoase.

Respirand aerul parfumat cu esente de la cele mai mari case de parfumuri si privind manechinele perfecte, imbracate cu cele mai fine tesaturi, Jacques se imbata cu iluzii poleite ale propriului succes.

I se spuse sa astepte la raionul de costume pentru barbati, de unde va fi preluat de catre partenerul sau. Si Jacques zambi, pentru ca asteptarea intre atatea haine elegante si curate il inspira. Cocheta in tacere cu papioane si cravate, incercand sa aleaga perechea ideala.

In mijlocul viselor sale, se simti brusc luat pe sus. Tras cu spatele, nu-si putea infrunta agresorul si nu vedea decat plecarea sa subita din mijlocul universului in care visase. Si cand tocmai trecuse de sectiunea de butoni si ace de cravata, veni si lovitura finala. Contactul cu tejgheaua rece si dura ii rupse coloana in doua si se simti incredibil de sifonat. Reusi sa auda doar un fosnet familiar de punga de plastic si apoi totul se intuneca.


"Daca nu e buna masura, pot aduce sacoul inapoi pentru retusuri?"

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8 august 2010

Nobody's Shadow

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There was a man from Ahrawnd called Nobody Grundy, who took his-self everywhere. Bod, as his few friends called him, was a self-made guy. He'd made his clothes, his ragged sack-on-a-stick, his weary beard, his dry gaze and conversational formulas. He walked around with his own two feet, on his own rhythm and imprecise itineraries, searching for supermarkets, jobs and happiness.
And everywhere he went with his-self, Bod had a constant, loyal companion. His self-made shadow would never leave him. Bod and Shadow were inseparable strangers, each depending, unknowingly, of the other. Most of the time Bod would choose their destination, moving without notice and forcing Shadow to quickly follow in his footsteps. There were days when Shadow would take Bod by surprise and run ahead, pulling his friend along. Bod would then hesitate, mistrustful of his comrade's sense of direction.
At night Shadow would occasionally disappear, leaving Bod insecure and with a divided self. Bod considered Shadow his own and depended on his presence to feel complete and his-self everywhere, every time.
Bod had taken his Shadow along on his journey through world and life to share with Shadow the supreme victory of finding IT. Shadow had always been silent about the nature of this IT, never questioning IT's address, age or general appearance. He'd trust his own journey through life in the feet -and hands- of Bod, feeling that Bod's purpose was just as good or even better than any he'd settle for himself alone.
One night, Bod and Shadow were taking one of their very quiet walks in yet another stranger town, observing the unfamiliar sidewalks, shop windows and passing cars. They were just about to turn the corner when it strangely started to rain. An unfamiliar rain on an unfamiliar street, under an unfamiliar street lamp. Suddenly umbrellas popped out of nowhere, everywhere. Soon, Bod and Shadow were swallowed by an infuriated flock of black and gray umbrellas, each of them stampeding irrationally towards their den.
Bod, unfamiliar with the umbrellas and their strange movements, feared for his umbrella-less self and ran on his own two feet to find shelter on a dark, solitary alley. Strange raindrops were dropping from his hair onto his forehead, sliding delicately on his eyelashes before taking a final plunge towards his lips. His arms bare signs of irrational umbrellas on a stampede, his feet swollen with cold water flushing in and out at every step. He stopped to catch his breath and observe umbrellas rushing by from the comfort of his darkness.
Slowly his newly collected fear dripped away and Bod remembered to care for his Shadow.
He looked in front of his-self, on his back, to his left and right, even upwards and downwards. Shadow was nowhere to be seen. His dear own Shadow was gone.
The panic he had felt earlier returned, only in a swollen form. For the first time in a very, very long time -which Bod could not really estimate-, he called out for his all-time partner. He asked for Shadow all around the alley, hearing nothing but a strange, unfamiliar echo coming from the strange, unfamiliar brick walls.
Bod breathed deeply, gathering all the courage he could find about himself and took his-self back on the dripping sidewalks, tracing his fearful steps back to the street lamp he had last seen in the company of his beloved Shadow. The sidewalks looked all the same and all the same with the dark alley where he'd heard his echo.
The little, dripping town was slumbering in darkness. All the lights were swollen with rain and had stopped giving their artificial glow to the streets.
And in this little pool of darkness and dripping sounds, Bod found his street lamp. He stood there by his-self, dripping sour tears for the disappearance of his all-time, constant and loyal companion, Shadow, victim of the remorseless umbrellas.

Bod was his-self no more.

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