Читать книгу Zany! - Jim Gold - Страница 15

BUT AS HE SAT on the lawn, Zany was facing—despite the momentary emotional lift he had felt just after the fire—the emptiness of his future. He tried getting up, but a sudden vertigo forced him back to the ground. Finally, he rose, walked slowly to his front steps, and entered his home. He gazed in confusion at the embers of his former kitchen. “So many months of sitting. I never left the house. What will I do now?”

He returned to the lawn to find Attila sitting under a tree in lotus position, perusing a copy of Thucydides’ Peloponnesian Wars. The etymological scholar had been thumbing through his notes on the conflict between Athens and Sparta. “ ‘Athenian markets conquered the Aegean,’ ” he read aloud in his own translation from the ancient Greek.

“That’s not in Thucydides,” snapped Zany.

“It is in my translation!”

“After paying for all those classics courses at Bustard, you dare make it up? Shameful! What happened to your brain? That school messed up your medulla.”

Attila’s face reddened. He defended himself. “You didn’t waste your money, Papa! Classics are right for me. They helped get me into Harvard Medical School. Studying ancient Greek, Latin, Hebrew, Hittite, Akkadian, Syriac, Babylonian, Sumerian, and Ugaritic widened my social life—Radcliffe women wanted the Ugaritic type. They loved my original approach to translation.” With filial concern, Attila looked into Zany’s eyes. “Anyway, Father, you’re doing it again. Avoiding, avoiding. Distracting yourself from facing your future.”

“Well, with all your wasted education, what do you suggest?”

“Marketing.”

“Marketing?”

“Yes. It will give new meaning and direction to your life. It’s good to promote something.”

“Attila, you’re mad. Artists create art; marketers create markets. They are two separate entities. Artists cannot and should not sell. Never, never. Marketing is out. Besides, how could I possibly do both? Impossible. One life style cancels out the other.”

“Father, this low-profile philosophy of yours has kept you prisoner in your pig pen long enough. Time to break down the walls and get out. You suffer from what Sartorello calls APS—Artist Pighead Syndrome. Marketing is not an annoying distraction—it can increase your visual powers.” Emphasizing his point, Attila shot his gun into the air. “And bring dynamism to your life as well!”

“How do you know all this?”

“Shooting practice on the firing range has vastly increased my directional skills. So has my study of ancient Greek philosophy.”

Zany considered this answer.

Then he began a long, thoughtful sit. Hours passed. The sun sank into the western sky; afternoon turned into evening. Chin in hand, he faced the darkness, pondering great questions in silent wonder.

The following morning, in the charred kitchen, Martha set up a breakfast table and pushed three metal chairs around it. Zany sat down, fondled his plate, tapped his knife and fork on a coffee cup in waltz rhythm, and asked his son, “Does this marketing really fit my personality?”

Attila snapped some bacon in pieces and arranged it on his fried egg sandwich. “Absolutely!” The lad bit into the sandwich and munched thoroughly before downing a glass of orange juice. Mouth loaded with food and stomach filling with authority, he continued, “Marketing, coupled with sales, will consolidate your connection to the public.”

Zany remained silent. Martha set a boiled potato, cabbage, and a garlic clove on his plate. As she poured orange juice into his glass, he pushed back his chair, stumbled to his feet, and staggered around the kitchen. “Could this be where I’m heading?” he asked himself as chills of awe and wonder passed through him. The floor beneath his bare feet turned cold; he imagined ice beneath him as he suddenly remembered wearing torn fur mittens while playing a Bach gavotte during his concert tour of the Arctic. “If this is my new direction, what shall I market?”

At that moment, he saw his old self crumbling. Minutes passed as the demise continued. The sun peeked through the kitchen window; a robin chirped in the back yard. Rising imperceptibly, like a fog on the upland Scottish moors, the barest glimpse of a future Zany appeared. The chill diminished and disappeared; his frozen body softened to a warm glow. Clothed in mystery, he envisioned a life filled with potential and adventure. Spirit lasts forever. But was there really a connection between adventures Beyond and those in the here-and- now of the marketing world? He would see.

The great violinist knew, in any event, that his quiescent phase of house-sitting had come to a close; armchair existence was over.

What comes after an ending? A new beginning, of course! The Renaissance lay ahead. New life. Resurrection.