SOMEWHERE - at the airport surroundings

  at the airport surroundings

And so, after being expelled from the airport, I’m actually moving through the back of the landing strips, where there are a series of abandoned pavilions, and, as it's getting late, the last airplanes are actually now taking-off, passing over our heads, and then, while they desapear in the sky, I'm actually advancing through some dirty roads between shacks and hovels, and as the night comes, I end up sleeping inside some kind of cottage, somewhere at the end of the suburbs, where there are some cultivation fields. And then, in the morning, as the sun comes by, a man driving a small tractor pops up, and as he comes, he is already asking me what am I doing here, and well, my answer to this question is confusing, and so, as it goes, he ends up inviting me for breakfast, at his house, that is “close by”, he says. And thus, here I go, already jumping aboard the trailer of this small tractor, a trailer full of pumpkins and stuff, and then, among farmlands with sheds and old pavilions in ruins we follow. This is, after a while we are already arriving in front of a big yellow building with scaffolding attached, what looks like a house in permanent construction. And so, as we pull over, after dumping the load of pumpkins, we enter directly into the kitchen of this quaint house, and as we get in I see, some men and women seated at a big raw table, talking aloud, and also, some children climbing the walls around, this is, coming out and coming into the house through the windows. And as it goes, on the side of one of those windows, I manage to see what looks like a picture of saint Sara-la-Kâli, the patron saint of the gypsies, this is, a very worn out sort of portrait, with some spots on it, spots that make it almost unrecognizable, but, well, I recognize it. And so, at this point, my host is already telling me to sit and he even introduces me to his comrades saying “I just found this one outside, he was sleeping at a hut on the agrofields down there, and he says that is traveling…” and as he says this things, now, some of the others are actually looking at me with curiosity, with aloofness, and well, I may say, I see mixed expression of innocence and malice in their eyes, and as it goes, then, a fat woman with a colorful dress is already bringing me coffee and porridge, and, “eat that” she says like giving an order, but with a big smile in her face, this is, a odd kind of smile. And then, “Traveling!?” exclaims the older man at the table, the one with a long scar on the face, this is, a scar that goes from the corner of his eye until the corner of his mouth, and then, “the airport is not far…” he says, “did you lose your flight? We can get you a brand new passport, if you need…” he also says while emitting a soft but hoarse kind of laugh. And I “Ah yes, I was there yesterday, at the airport, but, well, the security sent me away… so…”; “Aum! But why did he do that? Didn't he like the way you dress, or?” says the same lady that just brought me coffee, with some irony in her expression. And I “actually, I was there asking for money… and then, they said that was not permitted… and so…” and while I say these things, some of them are actually emitting suppressed laughs. And then,“but where do you wanna go, afterall?” one of the young guys at the table asks me, actually not that young, more like middle aged, something like that, this is, I can't really guess his age because he’s got a very slim kind of face but his skin is very rough, and then, “North Pole, South Pole…” I finally say. “But, where is that?” some of them ask me. “It is the extreme north and the extreme south of the world. “Stop bullshitting us” one other tells, snot dripping from his nose. “Tell us where have you really been”, he insists. “Well, I have been to different kinds of deserts, searching for different kinds of oasis… ”; “Oh yeah, I have also been to deserts, the Golden Triangle, the Golden Crescent and the Shan State, do you know that?” he asks, and I say no. Then he explains, “The Shan State is the leading global production area for YahBah methamphetamines,  also known as 'horse drug', "bikers' coffee" or "kamikaze", and now is this telling you something?”; “no idea” I answer. “Well, they there are other alternative names for that, like “ya khayan “ or “palarkar”, “pil kuda”, “shabú”, “ma-goo”, “baba”, “guti”, “laal”, “khawon”, “jinish”, “bhul bhuliya” etc etc. And then, the kids around start to repeat all these names and change their forms, making onomatopeias with it. Then the older man at the table tells them to shut up, and sends them out of the kitchen, and off they go, all jumping through the window, but still repeating this names as they do it, “Yahbu-Shabu-Baba”. And so, the one with snot dripping from his nose continues his explanation “the most common of these pills are red, pink, orange, or lime green and carry logos such as a big "R " or a big "WY". You also can put it on an aluminum foil and heat it from below, we call it ‘chasing the dragon’, wanna try it?”, “no” I say. And then he shows me some tattoos on his arms and chest, a few piranhas, some kind of flaccid monsters with multiple eyes being pierced by swords etc, and he tells about the meaning of all this and we get into some kind of arguing about symbology of this drawings and then, because I say something they don’t like, I get expelled from this gypsy place. So, as I walk away and come to the main road, a three-wheeled kind of motorcycle is passing by and without coming to a complete stop, the driver, a chubby middle-aged man with grayish tousled hair, makes a sign for me to jump on. And here I go now, already a-board that thing, standing up, my feet stepping over the brims of the rear axle, hands holding the back of the driver’s seat, Albino, his name, and on one of his shoulders, a parrot, calling me all kinds of dirty names while we ride. “Stand back from him” tells me Albino, “coz he bites”. The driver arms wide open, clinging to the steering wheel like if driving a Harley. And so, this way we follow along a zigzagging provincial road, up and down through a hillside filled with shrubs, groves, fields of cultivation, and here and there the farmers stopping their works to watch us passing by, and me waving at some of them and the parrot repeating “Fuk-Fuk-Fuk” and Albino making the motor accelerate more and more, this is, the engine emitting a wretched noise... and the exhaust pipe liberating an elongated cloud of black smoke. So, this way, quickly the agrifields are gone, and the farmers too, and then we slow down… rolling on flat ground now. So now we can hear each other, and so, I speak a bit about me, about my directions, and Albino, while adjusting the position of the crutch wedged between the seat and the mudguard, starts to tell his story... "I used to be a resin collector... from pinewood to pinewood I went, picking the sap from the pines... I had no family or house, and all the holy money I would make… I would spend it in the tavern or at whore houses... I never knew my mother or father... I didn't even have documents... My name was also a creation from... from people that liked me, this is, some of them helped me... and I helped them in all kinds of odd jobs as well… Things like, digging wells, killing pigs, dressing dead people, etc... In the winter, I used to sleep in the haystack of their properties, between the barrels of the resin... and during the summer, many times I slept in the crags, under the pine trees... these pines, that have been my best friends through the times... specially the female ones... and there, in the middle of the woods, I was not afraid of anything or anyone... because I had a ranch of dogs that would protect me, I still remember their names: Galvão, Pintas, Caçoulo, Xibanga, Cabrita, Magana and a few more... but you know... moving through thickets and groves at night may have its dangers… and there are hidden wells, ravines, slops, mineshafts, and other traps of the same nature... so, it happened that, one night, at a devil hour, when I was coming out from the tavern, filthy drunk… I collapsed… and down the cliff I went… into a dark hole... result... I broke my legs on several sides, and made a few holes in my head... and so, I couldn't move any more without crutches… and so, later, they, the people I used to work for, bought me this machine... Well, you see, God punished me, I don't know why... me, that was already miserable... he decided to punish me, instead of torturing the liar, the abuser, the greedy... or maybe it was the devil that came into my body through these girls... I don’t know... but, fuck the girls... fuck the devils... I still do my life... People bought me this machine and I keep moving… This is, I have many friends out there, that is, everybody knows me, and so, I continue to run all the taverns, I take the news from here to there, and when there is no news, I invent them... that's my job now... you know… and what about you? Where do you wanna go? What's your destination?”; “Well, I have no proper destination, I just wanna go, somewhere…” I say. “So, have you not a family to stay with?” he asks, and “I’m not sure about that…” I say. “I guess there were some problems… I was hospitalized, and then… I didn't know about my past… It looks like I don't know who I’m. I don't know where I came from. I don't know where my family lives… and also they didn't come to claim me at the hospital…”. “Hum, I see now…” exclaims Albino, “so, we are brothers, actually we are both some kind of orphans…” And then he turns up the radio volume, and there we go, uphill downhill, listening to some classic music, some “gnossiennes”, some “nocturns”, some “fugues”, all this punctuated by a pleasant southeast wind, dripping against our faces and imagination. Then we stop at the tavern and I try to help Albino to get off, so I just pass him his crouches and he, with expertise, install both crouches under both his armpits, and then there he goes, dragging himself to the tavern’s entrance, and me on his back, moving with hesitant steps. So, already inside, the taverna man, a dude with big sideburns salute both of us, and there are only two or three tables on the bottom, and in one of these tables is already the lumberjack and other guy, drinking wine, and straight away, they invite Albino and me to sit on their side. And there, leaning against the bar, there are another group of men laughing and protesting about something related with politics… and so, at another table at the bottom, a man is holding a small accordion attached to his chest, the so called concertina, and this man has fat red pimples around his aquiline nose and the other two men on the side, one has hair coming out of his ears and a burnt mustache, and the other one with a bony face is wearing a funny beret and his mouth is already open. Wine is already coming to our table, and we begin to hear a dotted kind of sound coming from the small accordion, and so, at this time, the player is already opening the bellows, making the air come in, opening it even more, and then he stops, with that totally distended leather lung on the front of his belly, he is now throwing a deep look over us and then over the two friends on his side, as if, in a mood to eat them. And then, the one with the more scavenged face, already licking his lips, begins like this "Here we are now my friends and fiends of the vow... here we are in this estranged disarranged life with no fife... attending this nefarious life as if…", and soon after a short solo by the accordionist, the other guy, this is, the one with hair coming out of the hears, continues like this "Yes yes that's right, that’s wrong, here we are and here go... this is, you just started and you are already crying like a oh oh oh… and so, I say, if you  wanna keep singing like that, you better move on to the loo...”, he trots, and as it goes, I keep drinking glass after glass, and then, at some point, I see Albino throwing logs on the fire, and after another small solo from the concertina player, we know, it’s his time to enter in the duel, and so, he goes on like this “Yes oh Joshua… hua hua, from whose is the fault we should apurate nowha... and who to blame after all for this hullabaloo??... the abominable snowman ohu? the Postman uho, or the boy Luciooohuouo?” And then, without my knowing, also came my time to sing, and I just make some grunt sounds, this is, moaning and groaning words with no meaning, and once more, I get kicked out of the place and there I go, through the narrow streets of this town.