Solamidorela

That day, a pretty young lady held a suitcase in one hand, and in the other hand a five-year-old girl, tired and bumpy, who at her turn had a rather heavy bag. They stopped. They stopped next the block where old Adam lived.

He stared at the window, not knowing how to spend his time when the young Adam was missing, whom he argued as usual:

"He said he came today and he did not come. What annoying boy! He's always late when I need him. Is he still in the queue for milk? Long queue! "

Then he changed his mind. He knew the young Adam was a loyal son and loved him sincerely, and he would not let him out, now that he was old. "Well, if your daddy were young..."

 It was not clear what he had done, because he had lived even harder times. He took part in the war, he was prisoner and escaped and came back on foot from Czechoslovakia. Then, he was a refugee and history was long .

 "But maybe it's okay. May it be such a long queue? Certainly, it may. The longest state, to stay at the queue for something: bread, milk or maybe a little salami. Because of the crisis, the stores are empty for a while; and if something is brought to the store, it is given in portions and still does not reach everyone; and the long, long annoying queue: they take up all the time. He knew how the angry and hungry people were pushing there, to buy a liter of milk and maybe, (after other queue) 500 grams of bread. At the camp, at least you were in a foreign country. And there was poverty and famine in the poor an damaged villages after the war. He had rescued a child from drowning, and the relatives of the kid gave him a cup of frozen milk and a hot potato. What a sweet taste they were. But in your own country to know hunger and humiliation: to fight for a crust of bread…”

“Where are you Adam?”

Last time, young Adam stayed, also so much as milk had been taken from a busy cow. As if the sellers themselves were to milk a busy cow. The boy waited till ten. And what if he got up from 6 o`clock? Certainly, my son is somewhere at the end of the queue. If they bring the milk at nine, until Adam's turn comes, an hour goes by. It's better that they do not all have the exact amount of money until they get the old and greasy vendor left until they get stuck, until they fight, if there are 100 people and every one of them has a half minute to take their glass with milk, see that time passes. It's like war time. Hard times of “glorious socialism against the capital”

The old man was impatient with his thoughts, counting the wings of the moments, and waiting for the prodigal son to return. He looked at the bizarre characters stopped in front of the block. He sat down with his elbows on the window, looking at the theater.

"It could be mother and daughter, though they seem like two sisters. Are they sisters? What hospital? Have you got it?”

 Old Adam was telling his jokes as usually to himself. Sometimes, he improvised. Sometimes he repeated the same anecdotes that Adam the young man has known for long.

Of course, that suitcase was very heavy; because she was tired, the young woman had made frequent stops, or she had passed it from one hand to another; that was: she changed her position, alternately taking the girl with the other hand. The little girl hopped when she was in the other, dragging her luggage. In the bag, there were the girls' dolls.

"Wow, what a picture!"

Astonished, the old Adam, had a collection of unusual images, and frequently shared them with his son. Young Adam, also had an impressive collection. He did not want to be a director of movie, or something like that.

"Now you know what's going to happen?" The old man improvised a game of his own, as he usually did.

"Let Adam come. Someone should help the poor women: and who else, if not the young Adam, because I do not know how? Have you got it? When I look at him, I seem to see myself: in another movie, of course. Come, come Adam the young man "he invokes the arrival of his son. He improvised quickly and the frame, a familiar one, quite vaguely, like a memory was called: "The alley was deserted and shaded by the hills of some trees." He had read somewhere, or recalled from another story, as if today's life were composed of many images, placed side-by-side in order to build a larger picture, viewed from somewhere above, a painting composed of many colored points, deja vu. "

Things were quite close to the image built by the old man, from the height of his floor as he looked out the window and tried to tie the pictures. First, they were the gray blocks, whose scarred facade reminded other older images, known by the old man. There were still empty backyards, old trees, the winding alley far into the hills, and even if not all of the old man's window, the courtyard of the church known to him, where the wind flickered intermittently when the leaves of the trees, when the rain fell, shrouded papers on the glass, like unsuccessful pages torn from a log of consciousness, or a tumult of leaves of time, and their strange image mirrored in the sky, or entering the windows, as if designing a film the old man knew, suspected him, improvised him in his lonely play in a strange mix of livestock images mixed with bundles of individual excursions thrown out of life, revealed by their oblivion as a chain of stars, sometimes shown, and the day of the passer-by, mysterious guides, tree peaks projected in the sky. In their metamorphosis, the shingles of the trees became clouds, or the cloud game was drawing out of contours, never to the end, despite the attempt to separate the significant ones, but as the reality was always desolate, the old man turned to live imagery or his play of the imaginary, always repeated:

"Adam will come ... He will come to me and I will take care of him, and he will take care of me, and we will not be alone until the end of the day."

 The young Adam, who usually came in the alley that shortened the road from the center of the city to the suburban neighborhood, could resemble a lot of characters, for example with Chaplin, with hands full of nets, gliding laughing especially in winter, when the road was frozen and he was trying to save the bottles with milk. Two, not one! In the summer, when the road glittered with sunshine, and the shadows of the trees were friendly to him: until the old man managed to recognize him. A Chaplin looked from the other side, that is, not going away, becoming smaller and smaller, but the opposite, coming from where the sunlight shimmered through the gray blocks. "Golden Shade," as the philosopher poet said, thinking of someone dear. Just as in a mute, comic, yet sad, gentle yet silent revolt, which the old man would have sometimes expressed (siren), passing his hand over the dirty window to change the image, passing through -and both hands over the face and convulsive through the hair (desperately), or by sucking the noisy (exasperating) thumping noise. But the smile now accompanied the bereaved beings of who knows what a forgotten story appeared at the block where old Adam lived: like a joyous song.

If we were to borrow something from Antonioni's style, we would try to develop something from the bundles of common experiences for Adam the Elder and Adam the Young, "braided images" - something between what was once, long ago, and how it would be much later. The present was just a leaf of time. But the leaf, as a cut-out in reality, opened a landscape of sad angels. They seemed to play with a luminous ray, as the children play with a mirror, a ring, or the clock, sending that bright spot on the old man's face. They often did it, the neighbors from the neighbors when they saw him blinking in the park on a bench. Cutting an old man sitting on the bench: A painting of crooked trees and still life .

The concierge seemed to scold them, or curiously, he wanted to know the story. He asked:

 "Whom do you seek?" But still has not received a convincing answer and how it was believed that St. Peter, wearing gates of the kingdom, able to believe them or not able to leave, or not let them enter the building.

“They're my nieces!” A voice was heard like from the sky: “My beloved nieces!”

The old Adam cried from the window. Then, in the rush of his slow movements, as if walking only on the tips, floating in the rush of his slow movements, as if only on the tips-toes, floating impededly, with bumps of brakes and gallows, with bumps of brakes and gallows, he came down to be as convincing. At first, he had no idea who they were, it was a revolt so, in solidarity with the man in trouble, that is to say, at the gatekeeper's chest, who is known to one day to be in the mood, then in another. When he grabs it, he sweeps the leaves of time and then no one can understand with him.

They were tired and helpless. They either dreamed a temporary nest, where they could shelter and stood before the gates of heaven, but without much hope. The goalkeeper, he did not know what to do. Seeing that the old man calls them in, though puzzled, lets them go in without legitimizing them, or to find out the story. He followed the old man, who made a sign from the head of the stairs, as if he had understood beforehand, and he waited for them.

"My granddaughters!" The old man was surprised by the improvisation, waiting to see a little more of the movie, to remember if he had ever seen it. He waited for someone else, as though he had a special mission and now in front of the goalkeeper's Gestapo, he had to save the situation somehow.

"I'm Solamidorela," said the little girl, dragging her suitcase after her, stepping up.

“My mother just said:`for now, we have to wait for a miracle` and we stopped in front of your block. I think we came too early, before the family we're looking for, your neighbors, knew we were arriving today, or too late if they left. They gave us the address, and I think for any reason they gave us your name. We are relatives of the friend of the neighbor of the young Adam's father`s apartment close to his neighbor. It sounds complicated, isn`t it?” she said shyly.

"You have come earlier, I guess," old Adam admitted. The apartment is closed. They did not leave me the key, but they'll come back, do not worry. Maybe in a few minutes, maybe hours, I could not leave you there by the leaves gathered by the goalkeeper. The wind will blow, he will try to gather them again, he will get angry and all day he will mumble something there. The rest is fine. Except for the days when he's busy and you cannot find him when you need him. If we did not have everyone a key, he would leave it outside the block. We can still cry him. Sometimes he does not hear from little distance, sometimes he does not see and most often he plays ping-pong with his thoughts. I watched him from the window, watching so slowly, and I think he does the same. It is the trouble day, perhaps.

Stunned own thoughts (the picture is beautiful, sweeping leaves the keeper of time, is not it? He showed himself delighted smile inside), old place stood still, allowing them to get over the threshold, expecting a return on the meaning of randomness. What has it been that he hurriedly descended the stairs, who did not go out to buy bread? He always was waiting for the young Adam.

“I am Adam. Old Adam, he completes, as if confusion were possible. My son is the young Adam”, he tried to make things clear. “My beloved son”, he said proudly. But you have no way how to know that.

“Yeah. The neighbor's friend told us. If we do not find our uncle, it is better to get in touch with you, thus not stay out somewhere, so he said. My mother is Eve and some calls her Solamidorela, though everyone calls me Solamidorela , too. But you also have no way to know all that story",the little girl smiled. “Thus, I'm also Solamidorela, really. She knows how to sing like an angel, and I have learned the musical notes on my own. And I am transposed to another scale of the same solfegium, or something like that.

"It's the most melodious name I've ever heard," the old man said convinced, surprised by his own observation. "Yes," he nodded.

“Because it's kind of luck, sometimes she also tells me: Do-re-la.”

Her crystalline voice was heard from above: Unusually melodious. He had already stumbled on the seat next to the window ; he took a cushion and got up on a chair to help her sit but the chair that was too tall for her.

“How well it seems to me," she said softly, "that you invited us to yours. You are the best, the most gallant and the most ... (look for the word to add to the superlative and not to add it innocently) handsome man from my life. The rest are a sad memory.”

 The mother and the old man exchanged a glance without saying anything. The little girl came down from the chair where she had held the little speech and opened her arms like a hug. He stopped in front of the cat's inquisitive eyes, the same who would ask the ugly duckling if she could do something useful, catch mice, cook ,wash or what else she could do to help in the house.

"My mother knows to cook," asked the little girl questioning eyes of the cat. She knows how to do many things well, cook and wash and sing like an angel, and I know the musical notes. You are so sympathetic, "she smiled. And I'll take care of each (embracing their mother, grandfather and cat). Like a demonstration, to show she had some experience, she unfastened her suitcase and pulled out the dolls out of her. She tended to make them feel well and smiled tenderly.

 The cat came nearer, the mustache of wonder about the pretty good dolls, and then he showed his confidence firstly to the foot of the scanned, cautious, and ultimately to the little girl's leg and daring, even the dolls.

"I'm Solamidorela ..." the little girl returned, trying to talk about the resonance of her name.

 Then, seeming to her that the old man did not react quite warmly, she asked, turning her face deeply toward him:

“Aren`t you happy? It starts with "do",”re” then "laa" and ends also with "laaa" in any range you transpose, the sound remains like an echo of joy. Everybody like to play with me, don`t you understand? Even my name is a game of joy, a musical scale of joy –as mother said.

“Sure! Oh, yes, "the old man replied sharply, inner contradicting that Adam did not come to solve the situation. If it ends with "laaa" ... it's pretty good… Very good… Incredibly good.

 He was suddenly worried, "How can you bring strangers to the house? And not one, but two women? "

“I am a pragmatic person! old Adam said, though he remembered not much that. The problem had to be resolved. I've given you provisional shelter, "he said, which was what seemed to him extremely important. But you have to give me full obedience! He began to exercise authority. I'm the oldest in this house. You still need shelter, food, and good advice. Especially, a good support of my experience of life. The Neighbor told me you're coming and asked me to ...”

Suddenly, he forgot about what his neighbor told him. Maybe he asked him to do something. Rather, it was a happy event, like the radius sent by a mirror on the wall, a secret call that had made him head out the window, descend to the head of the stairs, intervene, call them, guide them , give them wise advice. A mysterious call, as it was a gesture of tenderness. He had forgotten that the Neighbor gave him the key in case his grandchildren came. Or maybe he did not intend to give it to them, in the known style of: "Come on to us when I'm not home." Something like that. Two women come on your head, it's not easy. This strange uncle, who happened to be a neighbor, was not young. And he had his paths. Even if they understood, he'd also forgot. I parked ping-pong with promises. Well, this is not the case with the neighbor. Please, if it was the Father's Neighbor, you could be given a helping hand.

"And I'm not a goddamn thing," said Solamidorela syllabizing the word on the go, but you would be the greatest grandfather if afterwards you showed us where we could sleep for a minute or two. I, at least, both are broken.

"Food," said the old man, "I do not have much. I was expecting my boy to bring me, but he's always late. Sometimes an hour, two, three, sometimes one day, two, three. But I'll give you some pancakes.

He brought them the pan with the pancakes, congratulating himself that he had not eat them all and covered them so that the cat would not come to them, "that cat that always thinks it's all for it," he said with a sharp imputation, and the cat withdrawn under the table, embarrassed by the old man's tone, less of his betrayal.

“The apple pies are not really hot since I have made them yesterday, but I could warm them up. My young son Adam usually eats them and does not make pranks: he is not pretentious. He prefers cold meals, while I- warm ones.”

“Do not bother. Anyway, you are so kind ",the girl's mother said shyly.

“Well, we'll eat special pancakes! Or supposed apple pies…” the little girl slapped her palms. Then, she observed the surprise: “They are a bit crispy and with ... ants”, she noticed, and excited, amused looking at.

"I covered them," the old man said, excusing himself, shaking the two-three hungry ants, carefully not to crush them, even with a tender smile. “Know that I do not have any more ...”

"They were great," they said, exchanging glances of mutual reassurance, as if playing a piano concert for tedious orchestras and crisp pancakes.

With a very crystalline laugh and cheerful play, the were ready to fight for those “under suspicions pancakes”. That is, they were good and you do not meet every day with such tempting offerings. Headed by the mother and following the old man, Solamidorela almost asleep entered a room where the young Adam usually slept when he remained with his father later. There they both slept until the next day when their neighboring family returned. The old man had forgotten that the Neighbor had given him the key to his apartment.

"How could I forget?" Or maybe he did not, but the neigbors told him the secret place where the key could be found. Or maybe I wanted to do a good deed, and that detail would have prevented the tenderness gesture when the little girl stroked the old man's cheek:

"I would have liked to have such a grandfather ..." Or he had kissed (in secret thought) the girl's cheek , even that did not know exactly, however they had spontaneously agreed that they liked to be together, which you also feel. A glance like a blush ... from which he awoke the next day, when at the door of the old man's apartment appeared the one who was recommended:

"Neighbor friend," he introduced himself with a shadow of irony, but with politeness.

 The friend of Adam's neighbor watched the young mother and little daughter carefully, then urged them to follow him. Mother of Solamidorela was a little confused.

"It's Adam's Neighbor," explained to Solamidorela, pbserving her eyes. I think your mother knows us.

“How do you know me?”she asked.

 She glanced at Adam's Neighbor when he opened the apartment.

“You are the wife of Adam's Neighbor?”

Solamidorela asked. Then she shamefully glanced at Hagyan-Neki-Beki, a strange look of not clear age and sex, with prominent eyes as Adam's Neighbor, but with elf ears unmistakable. She really wanted to say "But you are ... an elf! “

In time, to avoid the somewhat embarrassing situation , mother stopped her with a secret gesture, replacing the phrase "an elf" (which seemed to have heard before it was spoken, probably because it seemed like they were, but it would have been rude, that's why she said something else), something about a fantastic actor (the little girl's eyes were big: no matter if the stature was small enough), the actor everywhere ...

The one who sat with his elbows on the table and his head between his hands, what a face . He or maybe she had some eyebrows arched as a question mark, accentuated with the keratographic pencil or what… and (probably she) was wearing a wig. When she approached Solamidorela, she raised her eyes, staring at her with curiosity, with the bumblebee's tenderness against an artificial flower.

"This is our cousin through the alliance," said mother of Solamidorela, a little confused, again. He used a tricky name.

Solamidorela's name was vaguely known to him, but he did not remember seeing the person anymore. He sat down neatly on the seat of the Neighbor's Friend.

“How's it going?” Solamidorela asked

"Not bad enough, Miss Solamidorela! he said, turning a gallows head toward his seat. We repeat some roles as weird actors that we are. The song is bad, and we are not much more active. There did not rain with talent when we were born. What about the props, we do not have costumes, we do not have any. We do not even have talent, we have to admit. We still shake ourselves like puppets.

"I would like to write a piece to be played at another time," said Father's Neighbor, kind of dreamer.

“A barracks theater: That's what we'd be good for, I suppose”.

"How on the barrels?" Solamidorela asked.

“I was meant to say "on the horns," but so far there is ... However, if we take the middle age at random, the simplest representation would be to climb a barrel and shout, "Cucuriguu!" Or something like that, with to begin and catch the attention.

Solamidorela looked out of his eyes, discreetly, without finding a barrel in the room, and suspected he would not find the whole apartment. That could be the reason: No barrel, it cannot be a job, that is, a theater, she thought. (Or a desperate attempt)

"Still, instead of a barrel, could not we climb a chair?"

“Desperate cases we are indeed, so that such a detail doesn`t matter. Yes, little lady: how many compromises and sacrifices we are about to do… You have no idea. But you gave us an idea ...I, however, find it harder. I went up to change the bulb and had my hands wet. This experience has aged me. It's not the only one ...

"But you are not old at all," said Solamidorela. “You can still find a job if you are not in service of a fairy.“

“Indeed. Not necessarily at the theater. The actors also need to have a second job. Today we are not doing what we want, but only what we can”, the Neighbor said. “Actually, we belong to a subtle theater of shadows”, he added.

“I mean a modern one, dear Miss. The world does not see what's on the barrel, but what's inside.

"If we do not have everything we need, we can imagine it," she said resolutely.

“They, the world today is imagining, but it's hard to imagine. For example, you could see me like a ballerina, but not on this barrel, which is the Father's Neighbor. And I, as a Friend of the Father's Neighbor, and third only with one of them ...”

"Why are you wearing a wig?"

The girl addressed to the more picturesque character.

"To look better," the actor replied, like the wolf disguised as a grandmother in a story known by Solamidorela. It looks like I look better without?”.

He wanted to know and changed the mask.

It was a trap question. Solamidorela shrugged: It was obvious that it did not look good either with or without a wig. Adult games are sometimes very strange. In fact, she looked like Pink Panther in cartoons, but maybe she was not polite to tell her. Would he have enjoyed it? He whispered in the mother's ear, and she smiled, but she drew his attention not to tell her so as not to upset him.

Remaining alone, Solamidorela sought an escape from the circle of strange looks that had escaped from more intricate, titrated cartoons, where you had to read what it was if you grabbed, and went back to the bottom of the room to play with the doll. Old Adam told the story of the Neighbor, that is, briefly and with little flourish, the presence of the two "refugees," he said, but he did not mistake too much.

“Right ?!” the Friend of Adam's Neighbor amazes. I did not know you were orphaned. It looks like you have excess space. Your son is coming, he does not come, you have room for both of you, you can not cry. You have excess space, "he repeated, impressed by the word that echoed something similar to the transgression of the law, something that made old Adam vulnerable, and he gave him a protective air, as though Adam's Neighbor's important role would be acquired a special significance.

“You just do not want these people in the same room? old Adam was amazed. I still have a son who comes almost daily to me. And my daughter would also need her room, did not she, sir ?!” He extended the word, emphasizing the final voice, a sign of irritation.

“She has it! Hagyan-Neki-Beki agreed, after a moment of concentration, as well as myself, if I had more space, I would open a ballet school for a modest, unqualified team of beginners. We looked for a protector or a proctor he said observing a light in the eyes of Solamidorela.

She was looking at them in amazement, seeming to be ready to argue, as if they had to raise their voice to one another to make themselves better understood, which did not match what her mother had taught her about polite behavior.

"You're a ballet school," said Adam neatly, "Don`t you?" It will have Solamidorela who has fun, but how about, Neighbor`s Friend?”

 The friend of the Neighbor who did not know the dance bite his lip a bit with the pointed mustache seemingly changed to his face, but he answered conciliatory:

"That's you, Mr. Adam's Neighbor. And if I say that's enough.

 Not to be understood as an offense, he added, "You like teasing everybody, but you have a golden soul. And that's also why you sometimes make savings, every good word to keep its value or even grow. That's a little different from our scholarship, which we cannot really rely on, is it?”

Solamidorela was now jumping from the seat where she sat and handed the doll to Hagyan-Neki-Beki, who, taking it, would have indicated a kind of peace agreed between the actors. Raising the doll and guiding his hand to the heart, he added, "I swear, I'll be there!"

It was as a kind of codified promise to be the focus of attention, and hopeful support when needed.

The lady laughed, seeing herself imitated by the Neighbor Friend, who sat for a moment in his arms at Mr. Adam's Neighbor, gently swinging his foot, exactly the childish gesture of Solamidorela, but in a comic buff attempt, and most often improvised, often trying to save the grotesque, as if saying "Let's play a little". While Adam's Neighbor was rummaging over his complicated thoughts, the Neighbor's Friend contemplated the game of Solamidorela, ready to learn discreetly and other cute gestures.

"Listen, Friend of the Neighbor," said Mr. Adam's Neighbor, "Can you tell me what feelings about these beings, as far as my degree of kinship is concerned?"

Mother of Solamidorela might have been twenty-seven years old, taking into account the child's age, but she seemed even younger and could go as her elder sister. Hagyan-Neki-Beki looked doubtfully at her, as if to give him a difficult role in her imagined ballet school.

“Mr. Adam, I say we go to books!”

“Is we reading or playing?”

 Adam's neighbor took a pack of cards, mixed them and put them in the middle of the table, in order to be cut. He was good.

“What are you doing, me?” (with the cheating) and supposed comic effect by adding a neo-egoist, "me," here, as a vague euphemistic form equivalent to a curse.

“At the time I was reading>including books of philosophy. I had one of Plotin: Enneade. Actally, I read everything: And the phone book and the instructions from the medicines. The latter, as I read them, woke up with their side effects”, he said.

The neighbor's friend frowns lightly:

“Our habits are our guardian angels. Today I go to the doctor, then I pay him because he also has to live. Then to the pharmacist, he gives me spikes of different colors, and I pay him, because he has to live. Before I get home I throw them: because I have to live, too.”

The Neighbor's friend has highlighted the understanding of Mr Adam's Neighbor: including by gestures.

"Thank you, all right," he said flatly. “Then we can change the scene. That is, the image, or even the character. “Sine ire ... and studio.”

Among other things, from their tangled conversation, it turned out that the Neighbor Friend had left his wife for a younger one, and that new young wife had left him, also for a young man,also. He was an arrogant guy, whom he had managed alive, without much effort, but now he was frowning, a little bloody, cynical, and he did not get his nose. He was a teacher or a doctor, maybe both or acting one and the other. Anyway, the doctor liked to be called a professor, and vice versa. In both cases , with the same vice, he could not practice, or rather sporadically, or do too many things at the same time. Neither Eve nor her daughter knew how to address them, though they were some relatives, between uncles and cousins ​​that life had kept away, and now they would live in the same house or as good neighbors, perhaps. It was their bonne chance even they could be such people that nobody would be willingly (and unwillingly by anyone) in the same house, perhaps. Hogyan-Neki-Beki as their neighbor (acting frm very beginning as a protector cousin, uncle or clown) could be a rewarding experience for the “little ballerina”. Anyway, Solamidorela had to play with somebody.

From the logos of one and the other's monosyllables one could deduce the simulation of one and the concealment/dissimulation  of the other: one had an important function (once), and the other dreamed to play an anthological role (sometime).

"Both, vaguely married, apparently (possibly) temporarily separated from the family, professor without a chair, doctor without a cabinet, unmarried or outlawed lawyer, politician without a portfolio, actor without roles: doing everything for nothing and nothing of all ... " So, young Eve characterized them in a first approximation, not mistaking too much.