Chapter six of "An Amazing Story" (A Man called Thomas) English version

   NOTA A TUTTI I LETTORI

Quanto leggete e`l'ultima edizione corretta e aggiornata. Invito tutti coloro che hanno letto la mia traduzione, e che conoschino abbastanza l'Inglese, di rileggermi qui. La storia e` molto piu` completa e aggirnata.

Grazie, 

Carlo Gabbi

 

 

 It seemed to Dolores that they had reached the end of their conversation. Pity she thought, I know he cannot be my man and he would never look at me in that way. I haven’t anything good to offer him. I am nothing but a prostitute and he has in his life, fame, money and respect from his peers. There couldn’t possibly be a future for us. Dolores looked at her watch, ‘Soon it will time for me to go. But could you tell me why you said sex is boring? You are young, healthy and most likely rich. I presume your profession pays good money, and many women, I’m sure, are interested in you. So why did you come to The Brazil chasing prostitutes?’

      ‘Yes, I have been there and I took one of your colleagues out. It was on one of those occasions that I noticed you. I went there not because I have problems in finding a woman. There are many of them that always want to share my bed and are prepared to declare their love for me. The problem is with me.

   Dolores felt some jealousy for this handsome man, but knew she would not be able to hold him. She had to find out what was wrong in his hidden ego. It was inconceivable to her that a young man couldn’t love a woman and be capable of holding her. What was wrong? 

   She said, ‘I have spoken openly about me and my life. You also read deeply into my soul and you possibly know me better than I do. On the contrary, I don’t know anything about you. The only Thing I know is that you are a photographer. Why don’t you talk frankly to me and let me understand you better? Honestly, I can’t figure out the reasons for your disinterest in making love to a woman. Is it a physical problem?’

       ‘No. That’s part of me. I don’t have any particular interest in sex and I seldom make love twice with the same woman. Why don’t we take a stroll? It’s such a beautiful afternoon and I’d like to walk down to the Opera House. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee there.’ 

       They wandered down from The Rocks all the way to Circular Quay. Ferryboats were loading crossing passengers over to the North shore. Many people who had finished their day’s work were ready to go home. At the same time, others were entering the city for their afternoon shift. 

        Sydney, like many other metropolises around the world, never rests. People are always on the run and it seems like they are running out of time. Husbands and wives hardly had time to share their lives, harassed by the chaotic city lifestyle. Dolores could understand why so many marriages broke up.

        She enjoyed the long walk with Thomas. She felt the pleasure of having a man at her side. He wasn’t her lover, but you never knew what destiny held for the future. She knew that some chemistry was starting to develop between them, even if others things were conspiring against it. 

     What was Thomas’ problem? She had to find out. She had learned how to heal people having psychological problems. Many men had come to her with bundles of personal worries, about family, lovers or work. She had always been able to restore their confidence, so why not Thomas? If only he would talk. The rest would roll out easily and she would be able to find the cure for his disinterest in women. She recognized her talents in this particular area and she knew it was worth a try.   

          Doing it possibly she would break into his heart, and that was her greatest wish at that moment.   

          She knew that her goal in those days was to earn the money necessary to return to Brazil, but she felt the sense on loneliness and she needed a friend, if not a lover, who would care for her. She knew that the time had come for a man to enter her life. She needed someone to love and be loved. Was that too premature? Was it an evanescent dream without a beginning or an end? But then, even dreams, many times can became real. 

*     *     *

    ‘Why don’t you talk openly to me about your life? I am a good listener. I found that many times when you empty the bag of your past memories it works wonders. You will feel better afterwards. Don’t forget what I am and sex matters are part of my business. You will find me a good counsellor.’

      Thomas was reticent at the beginning. Then words started to flow easily, while he traced his life as they were walked from the Quay into that stretch of road that leads to the Opera House.  Thomas initially talked slowly, recollecting his memories.

       ‘I had been married for a few years, and after my divorce, I lived for about three years with another woman. I did love them both dearly and they loved me equally as well, even though there was no faithfulness and I had a few occasional affairs as well. It was an unspoken mutual agreement between us, so because of this, those women felt free to accept the gallant effusions of other men.’

       ‘So there was a mutual understanding?’

       ‘As I told you before, I have no capacity to make love several times to the same woman. I lose interest in a woman when I can’t find in her something different and innovative. With that I don’t mean only the physical pleasure of the senses, but also what is deeper in the soul. I found that the majority of women’s interpretation of love is only related to sex. For me, the mechanical repetitions of sex, exchanging the usual words and effusions, after I know all about their bodies but nothing about their souls, is frustrating. None of their caresses or kisses could wake in me the libido needed to have sexual intimacy, simply because I need more than their bodies.  That’s why I gave up all the pretences and the desire to be a steady lover.’ 

       ‘So your aim is to be able to have her body and soul as well to completely love her?’

       ‘Yes, but I have never reached such magnitude. My work influences my love affairs also. I continually travel around the world without a partner, and because of it, I have occasion to meet a lot of people at the top of the social ladder who invite me to their parties. On these occasions I meet women that openly invite me into their beds. From those trips I can count several amorous offers that I have received from aristocrats, plebeians, and actresses. The majority were married women, looking for a night of fun. Some others, after the first night together, expected the affair to go on forever.’

        ‘It was a temptation for a young healthy man, true, Thomas?’ 

        ‘Yes, and I learned from it. I seldom accept now any woman’s proposal. I’m not game enough for them anymore. I don’t need them. I have what a young and healthy man dreams and desires. I am adulated for my talents and I work hard to get the best out of it. I’m wealthy with a large house overlooking this magnificent bay and I have a boat at the mooring. But when I’m home I mostly live alone, in the way I like, creating better figurative work from my cameras and expressing the living world around me..’

       ‘And when began your passion for photography?’

        ‘I was young, barely twenty when I became popular. I can say that photography had always been my passion. On my twelfth birthday my grandfather gave me my first real camera. Since that time I studied the best ways to get the finest expression of things and people through my lens. I analyzed the different combinations of varying speeds, light and films. I have kept a record of every single photograph I have taken and the different results from integrating the camera adjustments and compared them as to obtain the best results.’

        ‘When did you start photographing in a commercial way?’

        ‘It started casually when I graduated from college. I decided before applying for work to have a long vacation in the northern part of Australia. I bought an ex-army Land Rover Carrier, and loaded it with my precious equipment, cameras, light meters, tripods and zoom lens. My only personal luxury was a new Akubra hat that my mum bought as a present for my graduation, and a few shirts, shorts and two pairs of heavy boots. I reached Mount Isa and while I was at the local pub. I asked for information about the safest way to explore the north before driving to South Australia. It was then when an aboriginal man in his thirties, who sat next to me, offered his help. “I got to go to Port Augusta in South Australia, boss. I got my family there. Got any room for me?”

         I looked at the man in front of me and I saw he was sincere, ‘Well it depends on how useful you can be.’

        “Listen boss, I known this desert since I was born. I can help you to cross it. By yourself you’ll get lost the first day. Do you know how bloody dangerous and rough it is, boss? From here to Port Augusta we got a few thousand miles, damn sure it scares you, boss. The bloody roughest country to cross alone scattered with dead animals bones. Do you know what I mean? Get a travelling companion, boss or else… You know how useful I am? I know the desert like you know the city, boss. Believe me, I can teach the devil many tricks. I’ll teach you to survive through that wild country. You know I’d crossed it many times before and I lived with what little I caught from the desert. I’m a hunter, boss, and I got lizards and grasshoppers and wallabies to survive on, and the occasional fish. I learned from my tribe, boss, and know the way my people have done it for ever.”

      He told me his aboriginal name, hard to pronounce, but told me he was known around as Jolly. He suggested that his help would payback many times his share for cost of the diesel. And he concluded, “I’m your life policy, boss. You need me to learn many tricks to stay alive. You’ll be pleased to have someone who knows all about it, while driving around in the outback.” 

       ‘Okay Jolly, I got the point. I haven’t much room but enough to squeeze you in the front seat.’

        We sealed the deal with a schooner, served over the bar, and a handshake signed our mutual agreement. From that day we became inseparable for many months to come. We went to Darwin, where we spent a few days, and there we bought the needed provision for our trip. It was my first experience in the bush and thanks to Jolly I had the chance to learn many things that really saved my life several times afterwards in other excursions in the Himalayas and the Sahara Desert. Those were valuable lessons of survival, like how to find water where you think it’s only desert, using the condensation system at night; how to set traps and get animals to make your stews, or how to catch a fish only with a wooden spear. Jolly was a humorous and happy person, always with a ready joke. At night he set the campfire, cooked for us and then, some nights, beating the tempo with two boomerangs, he danced one of his traditional aboriginal dances then explained to me the mythology and the divination involved in that particular dance. It was on those occasions that I took photos of Jolly, who danced his aboriginal mythological rhythms to divine the morrow. I took photos of him framed by the fire or shadows of the night. We travelled in a light spirited mood and very happy, free of the hassles that civilization always has.

       ‘A breathtaking story indeed, Thomas, and what’s happened then?’

        Finally we reached the Kimberly with its high canyons divided the coastal cliffs from the flat hinterland. It was savagely beautiful. Man had hardly walked over those peaks, and the clear waters that ran below were transparent and sweet. Fish were in abundance, rich with barramundi, crabs and yabbies. It was a real Garden of Eden on earth. My excitement grew with the passing time. I had completely forgotten what day or what month it was in the civilized world. I’d never had a better experience in my life before and I wished it could never end. Summer time had come and with that the monsoon season approached. Suddenly the afternoons were very wet. I had forgotten the sergeant’s warning when I registered at the Darwin Police Station when I left. “Be sure to be in a safe place by the time the monsoons start, or else you’ll be trapped in the swamps created by the continual torrential rains.”

      In my excitement of the good new life, I had completely forgotten the warning.  

      Jolly was nervous and continually warned me, “Monsoon rains are building up, boss. We gotta get to a place to stay for a while.”

      ‘I know I love it here. Nowhere else had such rugged gorges and deep canyons, let’s stay a bit longer, Jolly. I don’t think we’ve to panic yet.’ 

      Having Jolly with me made me feel secure as if I had nothing to worry about. He was full of initiatives and a good provider of food. He found a grotto high enough on the side of the canyon and dry and comfortable enough to live in. He also found a secure place for our 4WD vehicle. The rain soon became torrential in the afternoons and lasted through a good part of the night. Mornings were normally clear giving us a chance to look around for provisions, mainly fishing in the waters below our cave, and the few goannas that Jolly was able to get in traps that he set up on the cliffs. Suddenly gale force winds crossed from the Indian Ocean growing in intensity. The sky was dark with clouds loaded with heavy rain. 

   “Cyclone builds up.” Jolly told me, “It’s going to get stronger and wetter by the hour and could last three or four days. Don’t leave the cave, boss. It’s safer here.”

       A havoc of devastation came together with the cyclone powered by heavy gusty rain and wind bending and breaking trees. The devastation intensified rapidly around us, and I was busy documenting what nature was presenting so strongly. I knew I was documenting the fury of the storm and I was giving life to some very good photographic work. I knew instantly that my work was marketable and it would fetch good money from some of the many magazines published around the world. I couldn’t develop any film. I didn’t have the right place or the right equipment to do it. I had to wait until my return home with my photographic treasures. At that moment it was out of my thoughts. Time was non existent.