Strange Room of Akexandre Barito

Munich, where he studied, he was in the cream company that included probable Nobel Laureates. My dad could not recapitulate his studies, principally because of specific dispositions that channeled his energy to other shores, making him jittery at formal learning. Later he was to tour extensively, squandering some family wealth, but in the course of time, was able to set up his business in Salamanca. While with us, he would take solo trips to the interior where he had inherited a farm commanding moors. When his business expanded, he bought a bordering land that hosted bald cypress and marsh Helleborine. It had many water spots, ducks, herrings and owls.

Further, mother extended it with her share of turkeys and swans. When I was in the prime of youth, my father thought me

8

irresolute and lacking fire in activities. He claimed that he had that enough in his youth, though he could not particularly apply it in academics. So he sent me to a revered friend of him in another city, to seek advice. When I met my mentor, he was coming out from a room after zazen with his private students. He asked me of my plight and after listening told me to write down an area in life where I needed improvement, in case I got a reprieve or a second chance. After considering the options of being the richest or the wisest, I wrote that I wanted to be the kindest [knowing well that I cannot eclipse those saints]. He said that whatever I did, would not matter, so far it is not sabotaging to myself or to humanity in particular, but I proceed with ardor. He said that roads will lead to broader roads and I will possibly get guidance. The next morning, I met a

9

poor girl on the street who asked me some money. As I had only the train fare to go back home, I gave the watch. The girl, though perplexed for a moment, accepted.

Forthwith, I found myself surrounded by a group of people who probably mistook me for a prince incognito. Somehow I managed to scram and rushed to the nearest station to catch the rail. Further experiences revealed that my guide was more or less right. That was the year I met my future wife, a dark and sagacious lady. In our house, there was a room in the upper story and one could reach it only through a spiral corridor. This gave the room an advantage of privacy, where my grandfather, a retired soldier would sit and drink ale. Sometimes he would relax on the balcony writing something in a diary

10

with varied expressions. We had an uncle who was a lawyer and an aficionado of Conan Doyle and a member of a club that professed good service. When his clientele were at an ebb, he wrote mystery plays that were rarely staged.

4

My elder sister also studied in the same college with me. Because of her, many senior students talked to me. She was an ardent member of the Culture Club, which held weekly assemblages of erudite quality. The conferences were chiefly haunted by the older scholars of an academy nearby. She also served as an apprentice to a Women Liberation leader, until she became disenchanted with the latter’s private life, which my sister ought not to have mixed up with the public one.

11

Also, a very unfortunate thing happened in the Club. She became enamored by a man of dubious values, though she could not suspect it in the beginning. Later she found out that this man had no love, but only private ends. Those were all days of intense vexation for our group. My uncle found out that his father was a culprit in a casino brawl and had a clandestine meeting with dance maidens. The young man took part in our weekly meetings and claimed that he had read all of Spinoza, but his rivals challenged that all he could entertain were sassy thoughts. I must acknowledge the help I received from Barito to relieve my sister of the impending depression. Later she was to get engaged to a mountaineer and still further over time, both met with a disaster on their climb to Kilimanjaro just above

12

Barafu camp, making her an invalid for the rest of life.

5

Before he went to the city, Barito stayed with us on the farm for a couple of days. We had a good time near water spots and the night owl’s habitats. Then I lost touch with him. We took different routes and had different lifestyles. Meanwhile, my father’s business dwindled and he came to hometown to settle there permanently. Still a loss, as far as wealth was concerned, he retained composure, only knowing rather late that certain things are beyond repair, and we should not incur further loss thinking about those. I married and took frequent trips to hometown to see my parents. Once, from mutual friends, I knew that Barito was there with

13

his American wife. Together with our wives, we met in the tulip garden behind a row of windmills. Barito had slightly gone flabby on the mid-portion, and that evening he told me about the death of his father. Though far from an ideal figure, the old man held tremendous influence over his young son, enabling him to live an extraordinarily luxurious life. That evening, we met at Barito’s residence.

After coffee, Barito invited me to his room. I was surprised by the change. The family photograph of Harry Houdini had given way to the poster of a blue-eyed Italian action hero. Barito noticed the shift of my eye and said that his wife is a fan of Italian actors. After the ’Last Tango’, I had not seen any Italian film and then too, spent half the time in the side hall, hanging around with friends. Now, my eyes fell on

14

the most elegant cot that had replaced Barito’s old flexible one that taught him once Newton’s laws of motion. In the same evening, we met in a newly constructed restaurant in the City Square. Barito had the fish tacos and iced tea. I took a sweet yogurt, having had a stomach upset. After that, probably a decade passed. Or maybe more. While traveling in North, once in a train compartment, I met a friend from college days maybe and among many other things, he conveyed to me the changes that had come to Alexandre Barito. My friend did not know in detail but suggested that burrito was into a new life of religious contemplation. ‘ How about his medical practice?’, I asked. ’Though he attends the hospital, his wife is managing everything ’, the friend said.

15

if he followed the Carthusian Order, but his reply was negative. He was only trying to live in the world as if he were in a desert, in order to have the best of both worlds. He chose his Lauds, Vespers, and Psalms at his own notion. He said that he was arriving at clarity, which was fairly evident from his sober flourishes. He also said that he was translating a religious text into a Dutch dialect of his ancestry. It was, he said, not for publication, but for focus. When he inquired me of my concerns, I told him that I was trying to speak and be in the company of children as much as possible, in an attempt to retrieve a seemingly lost innocence. I invited him for a final time to the river bank by my house, and Barito conceded. We walked for a whole afternoon looking at the barges, and on

17