by Zac Funstein
Murilo the 'pregnant guy,' as called because of the stuffing under his shirt when met after Rocha had been ushered in by an assistant was in fine form.
“I ask you Otávio clinics like these are supposed to be a symbol of democracy-a symbiosis of medicine with commerce.”
“It doesn’t sound like you are a fan of democracy especially Murilo.”
“Democracy is nothing but a piece of cant from beginning to end in my opinion Otávio —a transparent attempt to flatter a mass of stupid mediocrity which is too dull to appreciate the language of its hypocritical time-serving admirers. These contemptible courtiers of Dr. Barros no more believe in equality than the ruin-bringing demagogues of ancient Athens did. Observe how they scheme/contrive to secure official positions so that they may lord it over the general herd of common workers with clinics like this. They have their own little game to play, but beyond their own self-interest they do not care a jot. Knowing that they are unfit to succeed either in commercial or industrial pursuits, they try to extend the sphere of medicinal regulation so they can bend the law. What for Otávio? To supply themselves with congenial pseudo medical positions where they won't be subject to the keen test of industrial/ commercial competition will be less likely to be found out for the worthless wind-bags that they are!"
Another patient who had been waiting was taken with the indignity of it all.
“I was pleasantly surprised by Dr. Barros's knowledge, thoroughness, professionalism plus skill. The doctor listened to my concerns, what my expectation were gave realistic outcome results. Our medico-chum knew of a couple of ‘tricks’ to get that ‘lifted’ look without surgery too. I won’t say a word against him.”
Another patient piped in then-someone who had come in for mild ‘lift’ treatment.
“Alfredo took his time and gave us a frozen compress to numb, marked the areas with a chalk pencil instead of just ‘circling’, gave instructions to do to maximize results. I was very impressed even referred a few co-workers too-that’s how taken I was.”
They settled their differences eventually with Otávio demanding that allowance be given to give Murilo his full attention-it was clear now Barros had a lot of fans.
A very patient seeming Murilo (whether Marisa got a blast of invective afterwards for keeping him waiting was never ascertained) tried to explain why this particular appellation.
“Jimi Hendrix at the Woodstock Festival played SSB a lot I believe-I guess it was the revision of the slaves line that must have really got to him.”
“It seems JHW compares well to the other ‘Acedia’ from all the superlatives that have been heaped upon it. But don’t take my word for it visit my impromptu lab.”
They parted soon after that but not before a txt had been sent by Fernandes indicating his address a not very salubrious neighbourhood. A few minutes' walk brought him to a drive opening out of the main road on the left. This drive, which was winding, led up a rather sharp slope to Donham Cottage, or Gilehill, as neighbours called it, a title calculated to give a keen impression of a neat spick/span brick villa with a slate roof. In fact, however, it was nothing of the sort, being a building of antiquity; a glance at its massive flint construction was sufficient to show in ancient times there had been a large Abbey. On this elevated position which was supposed to be peculiarly healthy, they built the little house where Murilo now lived whereto to fly when next the plague should visit them. It had been wanted to turn this into a guest-lodgings but this could cause issues for the neighborhood by turning a single-family dwelling into somewhere often vacant with unfamiliar occupants so a new purpose was sought.
Now everyone was sure it was going to become a Ukay-ukay- a nearly new store that sold cast-off apparel, bags, fashion accessories plus other items you would not normally find in average department store. Considered the Pinoy version of a junk-shop- the term ukay-ukay came from the Filipino ‘hukay’ which means to dig- some even called it ‘wagwagan, which meant to shake off dirt.
Once ensconced after the briefest of tours Fernandes noticed Rocha enjoying some of his ‘transparent apparatus’ that amounted to his Jimi Hendrix globular tester.
“I’m a bit of a connoisseur-one of the most important factors in the success of any piece of glass-blowing is the glass employed. As is well known, there are two general varieties of glass: Lead glass/ soda glass. Formerly much apparatus was made of lead glass, but at present it is very seldom met with, except in the little drops of special glass used to seal platinum wires into the larger sizes of tubes that is.”
“I have heard lead glass is softer/ more readily fusible than soda glass, but has the disagreeable property of growing dark in a few seconds, but that is not why we are here.”
“The SALIGIA are difficult acedia especially I can understand why you have grown frustrated as you have. Fortunately you are in luck Jimi Hendrix seems to give a positive reading.”
“It does that is incredible-we had tried all the analogous acedia I’d given up.”
“We’re not on the homeward stretch just yet.”
The old Mexican, housekeeper Ervina Lozada Archuleta, undid the lock as Otávio went in. How the exquisite cleanliness of everything that had impressed him during his former visit to Lexington struck once again-it was like a hospital. Perhaps it was the Puritan influence (cleanliness is next to godliness) in evidence.
Archuleta smiled as if in recognizing the genial Canadian. His compliments in Portuguese on her housekeeping some months before had won a fan, perhaps his liberality too. Mr. Hancroft had gone to Bécancour, leaving word return would come weather permitting. Rocha, who knew Lexington, entered the sitting-room to leave there his morning wraps, which the increasing warmth rendered no longer necessary. As the one newly charged with the knowledge that it was JHW burst into the room in his impetuous way, Otávio was phased to see standing on the courtyard staring out towards the horizon a tall young svelte maiden. Without changing her position, the one intent looked slowly around at the unknown intruder. Otávio 's immediate reaction was a hasty wish that being better dressed was his. His roughing-it costume, which up to that time had seemed so comfortable, now appeared uncouth even discordant like virtual paradises/physical squalor; digital landscapes/crumbling cities; extravagant wealth poverty any disparity you cared to mention. As if suddenly finding oneself in a Toronto drawing-room with a shooting-jacket on as it was later put. There must be worse but that would suffice for now. But this sensation was quickly rubbed out by the expression which the beauty gave him. Rocha, in all his experience, had never encountered such a glance of indignant scorn. It was a look of resentment plus contempt, with just a dash of feminine reproach thrown in for good measure.
"What have I done Miss, Miss?" the unhappy man stammered aloud, "I—I—really—I beg your pardon. I was sure the—ah—here was empty."
The imperious youngster made no reply, but turned to her observations again, Otávio made a bashful retreat.
"Well!" the interloper said to himself, breathing with relief the cold outside air again, "that was the rudest thing I ever knew anyone to do. What have I done, I wonder? It must be something terrible utterly unforgivable, whatever it is. No doubt I will learn soon enough. Great heavens!" Otávio murmured, aghast, "I hope that girl isn't going up to Mississauga."
Rocha was no ladies' man the presence of anything female scared him. Their presence always disconcerted him mightily, made him feel awkward boorish even clumsy. Too much of a student in higher art to acquire the smaller art of the drawing-room Rocha was ill at ease in society, moreover seemed to have a fatal predilection for saying the wrong thing, then suffered the social embarrassment afterwards of knowing what the correct thing would have been.
Little however was made of this chance meeting not realising the significance this would later have.
Eneida Ruelas Cabrera of Toronto, knew living in the fashionable district of that justly celebrated city, this knowledge was evident in every movement of her graceful form. Blundering foreigne
rs—foreigners as far as Toronto is concerned, although they may be citizens of Canada — considered Toronto to be a large city with commerce railroads busy streets plus enterprising newspapers, but the true Torontonian knows that this view is very incorrect. The real Toronto is penetrated by no railroads. Even the jangle-jingle of the street-car does not disturb the silence of the streets of this select city. It is to the ordinary Torontonian what the empty out-of-season Quebec is to the rest of the busy metropolis. The stranger, jostled by the throng, may not notice that Quebec is empty but the casual-visitor if happening during the deserted period to pass through, knows there is no one in town.
Miss Cabrera had many delusions, but fortunately had never yet met a candid friend with courage enough to tell her so. It would have required more bravery than the ordinary society person possesses to tell Miss Cabrera about any of her faults. Such would be a very nervous person. The young gentlemen of her acquaintance claimed this was a faultless person, but if her lady friends believed otherwise, they reserved the expression of such opinions for social gatherings not graced by the presence of Miss Cabrera.
Eneida was not proud, or if there was any tinge of pride in her character, it was pride of the necessary proper sort.
Possessed too was the vain belief that true merit was the one essential, but if true merit had had the misfortune to be presented to Miss Cabrera without an introduction of a strictly unimpeachable nature, there is every reason to dread true merit would not have had the exquisite privilege of basking in the smiles of that young Torontonian. But perhaps her chief delusion was the belief of being a Jimi Hendrix Woodstock Festival SSB acedia lover. Eneida had learned all that Toronto could teach of SSB acedia, so this thin veneer had received a beautiful foreign polish abroad. Eneida friends pronounced her observations really wonderful, but if knowledge was complete was another matter.
We are told that pride must have a fall, then there came an episode in Miss Cabrera's career as an globular recognizer which was a rude shock to her self-complacency. Having purchased an app by a celebrated globular knower known as Odon Morales Rosales whose work had been admired, the dabbler at last ventured to write a gmail to him enclosing some of her own formulae with a request for a candid judgment of them—that is a confirmation was wanted if at all possible.
The reply seemed to her so ungentlemanly, so harsh, that the letter was torn to shreds that which would have shocked those who knew her only as the dignified self-possessed Eneida.
Then the creator looked at her libelled calculations, somehow they did not appear to be quite so faultless as the maker had supposed them to be.
This inspection was followed by a vexatious period; finally, with contriteness, the young woman picked up from her studio floor the shreds of the letter pasted them carefully together on a sheet of paper so the mathematical symbols joined, that in which form Eva still preserved the first honest opinion that had ever been received.
In the seclusion of her aesthetic studio Miss Cabrera made a heroic resolve to apply herself harder. Her life was to be consecrated to recognising Chromium. Winning reluctant recognition from the masters might be slow but it would come. Under all this wave of heroic resolution was an undercurrent of determination to get even with the unkind person who had treated her calculations so contemptuously.
Few of us quite live up to our best intentions, Miss Cabrera was no exception to the rule-neither the worst or the best. The would-be JHW acedia postgraduate did not work as devotedly as had been wished for, nor did the acolyte become a recluse from society but some progress was made. A little onward after Eneida sent to Rosales her improvements by gmail again— then received from him a warmer letter of commendation than wished for. Odon saw a great improvement. If they were not exaggerations, Rosales would like to see the originals. Where were they? The lady was proud of her discoveries in the almost unknown land of Western Quebec where much had been formulated, so wrote a long letter telling all about them plus a polite note of thanks for the missive then ended the correspondence.
Eneida Ruelas Cabrera saw a little old man limping towards her with the instinct of a veteran porter who recognizes his travellers at once; the Torontonian read ‘My name is Agus Montoya Acuna. Welcome to Hotel Schwartz’ on his starched-cap then beckoned to him with a smile. Agus saluted the JHW acedia fan with respectful familiarity, as though Eneida were an old acquaintance, Acuna glad to see her; asked if a pleasant journey was had if the scientist was not over-tired; asked for her luggage; then said that his charge had better go on before him: Acuna would follow with the necessaries. Received-whether intentional or not- was an impression of cosiness, of being well cared for by the little old lame man; so Eneida gave him a friendly nod then said “Very well then”. The newly arrived was both happy as well as careless simultaneously, though there was just the faintest foreboding of something unhappy/ unknown that was going to happen; a glance around revealed only houses upon houses, like so many barracks; then a great palace, the new Palazzo Vaiombino, which Eneida knew to contain Otávio Oliveira Rocha ; then a boy in buttons again with a freebie-cap that said ‘My name is Onésimo Cantú Verdugo. Welcome to Hotel Schwartz’ came out to meet everyone. Beside Onésimo stood a younger boy, with a pout plus a man who had to be Onésimo's father, with a forbidding demeanour plus more pride/snobbishness than Onésimo had ever shown.
Onésimo (presuming it was his peaked-cap not borrowed) showed Eneida into the drawing-room, a gloomy apartment, in the middle of which was a table covered with periodicals, arranged in a regular fastidious unbroken circle. They had titles like ‘Helmuth Echo-news Journal’, ‘Sebasco Informer’ or ‘Plandome Manor Park City News’.
A pair of ladies, obviously Venezuelan of the æsthetic type, with loose-fitting blouses plus grimy shawls, sat in a corner studying their Baedeker travel guides before going out. Eneida bowed slightly, but received no bow in return; she did not take offence, being familiar with the manners of the travelling S American which can be brusque if not rude if they do not know you. The JHW acolyte sat down at the table then took up the Hackett Daily Tidings.
Thereupon one of the ladies asked her, from the corner, in an aggressive tone:
“I beg your pardon, but would you please not take the Hackett to your room?”
Eneida raised herself very haughtily/ languidly in the direction where the ladies were sitting, looked vaguely above them, said nothing then glanced down at the Hackett again; believing herself a very experienced traveller that knew how to deal with this type of aggravation.
“Don’t pick on the girl,” said the other older-lady. “It’s the person who has come to see Mr. Rocha.”
“Yes of course I should have recognised-please pardon my weak recognition skills.”
These grand old dames seemed to know Otávio. There were, to be sure, those who said, by allusion or implication, that Rocha would beat the devil at his own game, for all his pains to appear so downright honest. But they were ne'er-do-weels scoundrels, whom the JHW curious ( although said to have known them well enough in early youth) passed without deigning to give them so much as a nod; of course no one believed the word of such scallywags as they anyway.
For the most part most-it would seem- only had friendly feelings toward him, for the Canadian was always a decent sort, moreover since his mother Estelle died, his odd bursts of generosity had touched many not a little. Grumpy old Otávio! Others might call him ‘High O,’ ( his crack pipe never went out of action) but for all his abrupt manner, our enquiring-party was kind to them after a queer, short fashion, when many a stranger would have deemed him in a furious temper.
Otávio well-dressed was in great spirits, greeting everyone who came down the stairway-seeing the newly ingratiated went over to engage her. Then in acknowledgement of their last less salubrious meeting muttered.
“I’m sorry to have shocked you like that Ms. Cabrera.”
Eneida seemed cool, calm collected even. It took a while to connect with the earlier get together.
“Jimi Hendrix at the Woodstock Festival was his most iconic performance I believe, but that is neither here nor there-it is merely a tag. We cannot rest on this warm sensation that might have arisen. The fact is there are various settings to JHW. We use a test known as the ‘Rosales-Test’ after my tutor that has various orientations all called after various pheromones. Don’t ask why it would take too much explaining-no we weren’t married or in love or anything like that-it isn’t related to that-it’s just purely coincidental.”
“Do you do these yourself-these demarcations?”
“No that’s just it I don’t-I don't believe any solitary person is able to you need an entire gang to do all. The most expedient I can do is point you in various directions. Start at the beginning is best I suppose.It’s a bit hackneyed but still applies. Testosterone is for males estrogen for females- so we have divided them; the Afro-American Edelio Serrano Quiñónez does Testosterone.”
Edelio (sometimes known as ‘Bertie’) was a young man of means, with the talent to add to them, plus the energy to use his talent. As the eldest of his family Quiñónez had inherited a special legacy in boyhood; had immediately taken himself away from Toronto- booked his passage to Southampton by an early boat. On the voyage Quiñónez read the classics ( his sister Dara complained that Edelio dipped into the classics as novels, reading for the narrative rather than the content but this is not the forum to debate this) mostly in his deck chair, threw around athletic questions in the smoking-room, then finally decided upon Cambridge as the theatre of his academical exploits.
