The Paris of Satie

Satie's alive and playing Chopin in Paris. Drops of Impromptu are thrusting in the dark skin of his face exploding its pores with light of divine revelations. His fingers are toiling the piano's keys like tools of faith, hard and harsh, allegro agitato, no breathing room, no excuse for the sound to be other but what the sculptor of music wants him to be. The artist is carving each tone, the sweat of creation is embalming his temples. Just opposite the road, noisy people at Deaux Magots are too haunted by the dead ghost of Hemingway, to listen to the living Satie lost in the labyrinth of Chopin's fantasie emotions in C-sharp minor. And it doesn't matter that just several faces are crying in front of the piano, and few metal coins are dropping in the hat...tonight...tonight the Paris belongs to Satie!

The silk dress (1)

I must have been a very odd child! I realize this now, looking back to those careless days of my childhood. A devouring curiosity was consuming my hours while feeding my resteless desire to decipher people, to find out what they are made of, how they...work! Therefore, whenever I could go play outside, I could be seen mostly accompanying elderly people while walking their dogs , rather than playing with children my own age. Among my friends was the woman living next doors. She must have been in her 60's in that time, and her dog, an uncertain breed, was called Rex, so naturally -for my 8 years old, and not knowing much about the legislation in force or about politness boundries- I was calling her Mrs. Rex. She never objected to that, nor told me her real name, and considering how tenderly she was brushing him or how lovingly she was petting his back, I guess that Rex was her only faithfull, truehearted companion who helped her break the dull routine of the present and future days lying ahead. Every afternoon around 3 pm I was roaming around her house waiting for her to come out with Rex, and have our usual chat. I don't remember her saying anything really interesting, just small talk, but she was nice to me and always happy to see me, so it must have been truly pleasant for her also to share the daily walk with me.

My father was often invited to all kind of events held in the Pakistani embassy. That evening, a very important reception was planned. My family was invited, and I remember my mother being very excited about it. She was trying on one dress after another, with feverish, critical eyes she was contemplating her reflection in the mirror, just for several seconds, then change her cloths so rapidly that I could hardly keep up with the number of the outfits she had tried on. I was counting them. As for myself, I didn't care much what I would wear. I was excited about the reason why all those people would gather there that evening. The biggest Pakistani ballet group was requested to have a representation at the ambassador's reception, and all othe big names from the dance world were invited. Me - I looooved dancing! I could hardly wait for the time to go, and meanwhile, to kill the boring hours, I went outside to meet Mrs.Rex.

- I am gonna attend the party at the embassy tonight! I was so proud of my little, important persona!

- Good for you, my dear, good for you! And, what are you going to wear? she asked, just to make conversation, but I took the question seriously and I started to ramble on, about the big ,golden, very precious earrings that I knew my parents would make me wear-they were brought from Pakistan by one of the diplomats at my father's request. 24 karats, with a very complex design, lot of golden drops and golden lace, completed by my almond-shaped eyes, the earrings brought me the aura of an exotic princess. I confessed to Mrs. Rex that the true reason of my excitement was meeting the ballerinas, and with all my conviction that I was artistically gifted, I started to sing and dance for her, right there in the street. I was humming something oriental, to accompany my hips movements, and the arms like swift and long snakes.

- You dance like a genuine gipsy, my dear!

I didn't know if it was irony or a compliment, but I didn't bother too much about her words, and with my naturally happy nature, I continued to give her all kind of details about the dazzling night ahead of me, and of what I imagined this would be.

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Once upon a time...