animal străin

O prietenă, Ramona Gliga, mi-a trimis anul trecut linkul revistei britanice Aesthetica (www.aestheticamagazine.com), care organiza un concurs. Mi-a plăcut cum sună şi l-am rugat pe alt prieten, Rareş Moldovan, să-mi traducă şi mie două texte, pe care le-am înscris. Juriul a deliberat pînă tîrziu în decembrie. Animal-ul, pe care l-am postat şi aici pe blog, a ajuns pe lista scurtă a finaliştilor şi, chiar dacă pînă la urmă n-a cîştigat, a fost inclus în The Aesthetica Creative Works Annual 2009. Cum mă sfătuiau şi membrii juriului în scrisoarea pe care mi-au trimis-o laolaltă cu exemplarul meu, sînt foarte mîndru de rezultat. Revista arată într-adevăr bine şi, cît am apucat s-o rasfoiesc, textele din ea au ţinută. Le multumesc mult lui Rareş şi Ramonei, fără de care englezii ar fi fost privaţi de o bucăţică aesthetică de exotism balcanic!

So, for those who like The Foreing Language:

The radio switches on every morning at 7, on the news and music channel. I jump out of the bed immediately, walk into the bathroom, turn on the tap and plunge my head under the cold water – I’ve got used to it and it feels great, I feel the warm haze inside me clearing away. Back in the room, I open the window and breathe in deeply the air yet unpolluted by traffic fumes. The usual exercise set, warm up and three power sets without weights, that all takes about half an hour. Then I shower and shave quickly. I have a light breakfast – yogurt, fruit, toast, butter, milk – and a very hot, strong cup of black tea.

I walk to work, it’s not far and taking the bus would be useless. I’m not a sucker for comfort, and maybe that’s why I never wanted a car. I only work five hours a day, I can afford this luxury – as a matter of fact I could just as well stay at home, but I prefer to have something to pass the time with. The work’s simple, but it requires attention and skill – we mount paintings and photographs on frames, and we’ve got the latest equipment. It’s a family business, the owner and his wife, with me being the only other employee. The wife takes orders in the small street shop, while the owner and I share the large studio at the back. We don’t talk much, we’d rather do our work in silence, listening to music on an old radio. It’s lovely work and not at all boring – we get all kinds of stuff to frame, objects people think decorative, things that remind them of pleasant moments in their lives: pictures, diplomas, letter, old newspaper pages, needlework, puzzles, maps and movie posters. Although mass produced, our frames are top quality natural wood. The range of models and colours is very wide and that’s why clients have a hard time deciding. Often they ask us for advice. The five hours always pass swiftly, imperceptibly.

On my way home I always stop by the market and shop – the food there is fresher than in the supermarket, and much more natural and healthy. I think about what I’d like to eat and I only buy what I need, and when I get home I start cooking – I like it and I’m pretty good at it, plus I know exactly what I need to stay in shape. After lunch I always rest for an hour, reading the paper or watching a documentary, then I prepare the gear and at six I leave for the city centre – training starts at seven and it takes me an hour of quiet walking through the park to get to the sports hall. On Tuesdays and Thursdays I go to the gym, where I do my individual schedule, but on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays I go to a muay thai club. Here also I do the warm-up and the heavy bag and speed bag series on my own, but I work with a trainer for targeting kicks and punches. Often I’ve got sparing partners as well. I close with fifteen minutes of power exercises without weights and stretching exercises. After practice I always take a hot shower, I stay under the lashing jet until my skin turn red. To re-hydrate I have an isotonic drink and nearly two liters of still water. At home I dine light, although the meal is quite nourishing, and also drink a fresh fruit juice or an herbal tea. Before going to bed I watch TV or read.

The events to which I’m invited usually take place on Saturdays, and if they’re in a different city, I got the travel and accommodation covered up in style. A car picks me up from home or from the hotel, so that I get to the location 45 minute before I’m due. The location is often an underground parking or an abandoned factory, with improvised, brightly lit rings. I don’t care to watch other matches, I just walk around and begin my warm-up – as the body temperature rises I feel my joints become flexible, and the muscles tense. There are few rules in illegal fighting, and fewer illegal moves. There are no weight categories and the gloves are thin, like the one used in the MMA – but I’ve never relied on the thickness of gloves. I prefer a clear and focused mind, speed and endurance. I’m always calm before a fight, which allows me to observe my opponents better – I have no feelings toward them, no hatred, no understanding, no fear, no mercy. I try to understand what brings them there – some fight for the money only, others for their image or fame in certain circles, a few fight out of an innate bestiality. I’ve met very few who, like me, are there because they love the fight – although very simple, it’s hard for me to explain this pleasure. The most important thing for me is to keep a clear mind during the whole match, to defeat the expectations and conclusions that my mind reaches automatically, by forcing myself to think that the fight starts every second and that I don’t know anything about the opponent. This is how I’ve defeated others more powerful than myself – it’s their mind that loses the fight for them, their expectation that after two identical reactions a third identical reaction should follow. I’ve been knocked out only three times, and have been taken to a hospital only once.

The crowds remind me of hyenas – they smell the blood and it drives them wild, they start to howl with excitement and lust. Most are well dressed men who drive luxury cars and believe they can alleviate their hunger by paying big and staying outside the ring. As for women, fights seem to get them horny, they lose it and start shouting obscenities, which contrasts strangely with their elegant outfits. I often feel their eyes and lusts – they see in me an animal with shiny skin and agile moves, an animal strong and virile. Several times the drivers have given me little notes with phone numbers and hotel rooms, but I’ve never felt tempted by their invitations. Everything that happens there stays there. After the fight I go back home or to my hotel and soak for an hour in a hot tub – everything fading slowly, the shouting subsiding, the adrenaline draining from the muscles. Then the hammer blow of a terrible exhaustion.

On Saturdays when there are no fights I walk through the city, stop by shops or meet my few friends. They’re all married and sometimes they have me over for dinner – their wives awkward in my presence, their kids sneaking glances while I eat. Usually we get together in a quiet club with jazz being played at the weekends, and we have a few bottles of wine, talking pretty much about the same things: their lives, their jobs, politics, football and movies. Very seldom do I return home with a woman I’ve met a few hours before. I make her coffee in the morning and call her a cab – I’ve come to know those who want the same things that I do, so there are no embarrassing moments. On Sundays I usually watch TV or get a movie from a rental shop nearby.

I have no fears, no uncertainties. Anxiety grabs me now and then in my sleep – I dream that I’m smoking, my hands shaking, I feel an emptiness in my stomach and a huge weight crushing my chest. I wait tensely for something to happen, but every time I wake up before it does. My heart is thumping, I feel something dragging me back, I know what it is and I lie very still, breathing deeply. It’s a brief, silent, intense wrestle – my mind wins back, step by step, the area invaded by darkness. I get up only when my mind is completely clear, I go to the kitchen and drink a glass of water, looking out the window. The yellow light of the lampposts trembles on the leaves, cars pass seldom by, sometimes a dog or cat is trying to drag something out of the trash.

A long time ago I decided to not let dreams and ideals sweep me away. When they happen to lurk close by, I always focus on my hands: I watch my palms, I bend and unbend my fingers, I turn my fists watching the tendons and veins throb under the taut skin – as long as I’m there, in that hot flesh, I cannot be elsewhere. Most people I know are led by ideas, they need goals – I can just live, and that’s enough.