In all these months since Maria left me, "my" Rotterdam has increased only marginally compared to the Rotterdam I knew from before or to which Maria introduced me; Maria is everywhere, at every place there are memories of the moments we have shared. My routine all these months was to revisit these places and be with her in my thoughts, hoping also that somewhere on the way I would accidentally meet her. Fearing, also, that I would: if she would again avoid contact with me I would again be terribly hurt. But, I couldn't help it. I would pass by a supermarket where she would go to buy Heinz Delicatesse mayonese she loves, and go in. She must have been there recently: I wasn't able to find any Heinz mayonese left on the shelf the other day...
I had an intense week some two weeks ago. It was full moon, I didn't need to sleep much and was going out every night seeking to abandon all the worries whose weight keeps me down, to lose myself in defiant, irrational flights of hapiness. I've met some new -- as I call them -- Angels of the Night: Swavek, a Polish guy, extraordinarily accomplished musician, a guitar player, playing his electric guitar on the street through a small, portable amplifier. (I was convinced it is actually I., Maria's ex-boyfriend -- Swavek sounds like a derivative of the spanish word "suave", meaning "softly, gently", I believe.) I've met Nikita, a dark, charismatic and charming woman seeking money on the streets from passer-bys by selling them coffee from a thermo-bottle she was carrying with her. "Nikita", now there's a nom de guerre if I ever heard one! "You can get sugar and cream in the bar at the corner", she told me. "It's OK -- I'm going right accross the street, to Thirsty Garry's, I'll get it there. My ex-girlfriend, Maria, was working there for six years, maybe you know her?", I asked, to which she just replied with a quizical "Mmmm!" and a significant look. I met Marcel again, I didn't see him from December, another Beautiful Looser, always wearing his spiky, punk "uniform" of a leather jacket and red, carre, trousers. He was in prison, but it appears to have done him some good: he looks very fresh and healthy! I also met some ex-junkies, all colourful characters, in Bouman, an organisation that provides them with free food during the day and work, for 7,50 euros a day. It's in that shop on the corner, opposite the building where I live, where once I've dreamt I saw Maria sad and depressed, pretending not to have seen me passing by, but instead straigthening herself proudly in the chair. I met Fred, a beautiful, graceful, androgynous man -- looks like a Thin, White Duke -- in his mid or late 40s, tall and very thin. I've offered him a drink in my messy apartment and asked him to choose some record to play. He made a very considerate choise: he picked two LPs, Nick Cave's From Her To Eternity (which was prominently exposed, he must have realised it has some special significance for me) and Roxy Music's Manifesto. I felt he chose Nick Cave to please me and went for the Roxy Music: he says he particularly enjoys the "Angel Eyes" song. Such grace. Somehow I feel all these "fallen angels" know Maria (Marcel does, I know that for a fact.) and "watch over us", the two kindred, tormented, lost souls.
But all these experiences, after days of nothingness were getting to me. I was exhausted by the end of the week, there was so much excitement, so much happiness all at once and all of a sudden that it started to feel like escapism; always the sure sign of the crash of the newly found optimism that may follow soon. The extremes are never the polar opposites: the closer you get to one, the closer you are to the other extreme.
Finally, one morning, after a sleepless night It came. I felt terribly lonely and tired of everything. I tried to exorcise the pain with some cruel and tormented music from my proved heroine, Diamanda Galas. She wasn't enough, I put on K. Penderecki on full blast afterwards... I've opened the window and stared down. I let a precious book fall the four floors down to the ground, then watched a vase smash in hundreds of splinters. And then... I took the Poster, the one in which I see Maria, the one I was carrying with me for days, showing it to the people, writing on it; by now it was all wrinkled and torn but Her eyes still piercing my soul from it... and I threw it out. I watched Her fall. I stared down. A couple of tears parted my face and went to join Her, join the angel I finally let go of. I stared... it was so tempting... a moment of free fall and then peace for ever. Instead, I ran down the stairs, picked her up and brought her back. Went to the balcony and screamed, my screams drowned in all the noise coming out of the apartment.
Totally emptied of all the feelings, I went to the bed and spent the next two weeks in bed, up to 15 hours a day. The rest of the time I was walking around the city like a zombi. Empty and unable to find a sense of purpose in anything.
And so I laid my Maria to rest. I see her now as my estranged sister, I still hope to see her but no longer count on it. I still think about her, she gives me an excuse to cast away the worries of all the turmoil that may come my way next month, when my salary will be halfed unless they ask me to return to work. I may have to move out of my apartment even before it ever become my true home, but the prospects of it haunt me every night in sleep...
Post je objavljen 05.03.2008. u 13:54 sati.