Food for the Soul

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder."

Beauty is relative. It is always a deciding factor on which eye you are seeing it through. And like beauty, an art or a craft which possesses it passes through the judgment of all eyes of society whether he likes it or not.

Among the short stories we have taken up in class, it was Franz Kafka’s A Hunger Artist that made me realize that I am pondering on lots of things which was unusual. It was meaty. Underlay its lengthy paragraphs was a deeper issue of critiquing or assessing an artist and his craft. And with the existentialist, Franz Kafka, I totally agree with his interpretation of everything about the artist and the craft. And this is because, if I were situated in his place, I would also see things that way.

Take the hunger artist’s fasting which was limited by the impresario or the manager for until forty days only. But because he was so passionate to it, he still wants to continue his craft even after that 40 days. So true for if it is a craft, an artist would not limit himself in doing it. He loves it and so, he will continue doing it as long as he likes and this without anyone reprimanding him to stop or continue.

Then, he was put in that cage in the zoo, the next thing he was about to face was the live audience that is going to watch him. Dealing with their full interest at first, after a while, he also had to face the lost of their desire to view him. Experiencing this, instead of stopping what he most wanted to do, it just made him more and more willing to continue to reach out to the public and have his craft appreciated and understood. Entering the battlefield of art, an artist should always be ready of anything. He must know the fact that he cannot please everyone. He knows that he belongs to a society that will scrutinize his art, and that somehow he has to conform to them. To conform which is not an easy thing to do for an artist means to offer them the things they want to see, view and witness.

And lastly which was the rudest was when he was moved to another place to stay in. Still in a cage but now, it is beside a menagerie. It's just so desperate on the part of the hunger artist to continue his craft without people minding it. But he still managed to continue because of his great love for his craft. Seeing those people approach towards him gives him a sense of excitement and hope that those people coming might understand his craft. But consciously, he also knew that this sea of people coming is merely passers-by. And so, he had himself prepared that they were not his audience but they are of those to the menagerie. To continue still even without the least sincere blessing from the public was the bravest thing he did. It was quite a disappointment but probably, it is never an end to an artist. Here, if no public wants to view or buy the work, then the art would be for full self-expression. The kind where he just have to do what he desires to convey. And that’s it.

Kafka had me mesmerize by his way of things in that part where an overseer had come to question the hunger artist on why he had been doing these somehow silly things. Then, he answered modestly, "..because I couldn't find the food I liked. If I had found it, believe me, I should have made no fuss and stuffed myself like you or anyone else." Upon reading the artist's answer, I was stunned and got my brain cells working. It made me realize that after all, it wasn't his craft. That it was just coincidence and that the fasting which was believed as his craft was, all the while, an excuse of not finding something. But knowing it was Kafka's, you’ll come to think that the food he liked wasn't literally a food. The food he was dying to find was the understanding of the public, his audience, that with it he would satisfy himself as well as his craft which will be worthwhile now. If this happens, at last, the public would now see the beauty of the craft and the artist would now get the food that he wants. And in this way, it goes similar with beauty, a food for the soul for everybody that could witness it.

The Pipe of Ecce Vino

*My own version, a hopefully modernized one, of the "The Cask of Amontillado" by Edgar Allan Poe.

Sarcastically missing my childhood friend for nearly forty years now since his silent death, and here I lay. Lucio, who was not that mischievous but has inflicted me pain for the countless injuries I’ve got to withstand with him around. “Richest?!” That evening, that single word he had said during our conversation about my family was the insult I just couldn’t take. And so, I vowed revenge. Time will come and it’s my turn to break it to him, the way he did it to me.

Years passed, and I haven’t showed signs that some things had already changed between us. From childhood friends, we became colleagues. Working in the same company which was owned by family, I smiled at him with this thought in mind that he never knew what I was thinking.

Lucio had this weak point aside from his insensitivity to some things – to consider, some personal things. He prided himself of having this exceptional knowledge when it comes to wine. In our company which manufactures the best wines to export to other countries, we were both in the wine-making and tasting department. Thus, making it understandable that we both are well-grounded of the nature of our product. But I was a successor of this company and had exposed myself in this business for a lifetime.

It was New Year’s Eve and we were about to attend the first costume party hosted by the company for their employees. Lucio and I went together in our way there. I was in a vampire outfit while he had his get-up of a clown wearing shades which was his style, according to him, and it’s weird. Upon reaching the receiving area of our building, silence dominated. This is maybe because everybody had excitedly clamped there at the rooftop where the party was to be held.

Through the silence, a memory rushed in to me unexpectedly. While we were sitting to rest, I remembered that it was in this place, in this lobby, where my friend had insulted me. It is here where I swore to give him that sweet vengeance with that taste of morbidity. And that moment I thought was the time.

I said to him, “Hey Lucio! Is it okay if we just go up after a while? I was quite tired of our walk and I think I need to rest for a couple of minutes.”

“Oh yes.” he replied. “I presume they couldn’t just start the event without us, the best employees? Haha!”

“Think so.” Silence. “Lucio, have you heard anything about the Ecce Vino?”

“That sounds like a wine huh but I just don’t know. What’s that?” he said.

“Ecce Vino is our family’s deepest secret and treasure,” I said. “You’re right. It’s a wine, the best wine to be exact, an heirloom that was passed by my great grands to my parents.”

“Really? Then..so what it’s like?”

“I haven’t actually seen it or taste it but I know where it’s hidden.”

“If that’s it, then I think we must go and see it. Come on. Ecce Vino!”

“Sure? Aren’t we going up now?”

“Oh yes. The party can wait. Ecce Vino! I can’t just wait.”

“It’s at the basement. A secret room leads there,” I said while Lucio was pulling my arm.

“Good. Then let’s go, now’s the time. The coast is clear, no one would see us. Ecce Vino!”

To the basement, he went coughing. I don’t know what it caused it. Maybe it’s the damp air that filled the area.

He was still coughing. “Are you okay? Shall we continue?” I asked. “We can still go there in another time when you’re well. I can’t afford to lose you, the company can’t you know.”

"Ugh! ugh! ugh! --ugh! ugh! ugh! --ugh! ugh! ugh! --ugh! ugh! ugh! --ugh! ugh! ugh!"

For a while then he replied as he took off his shades, “No. It’s nothing. I’m okay. I too can’t afford to see the Ecce Vino now. Let’s continue.” He added with excitement.

He hurried us until we reached the end of the alley; I stamped my feet at the left corner side where a secret button was located. Then a gadget popped out from the ceiling. It was an eye scanner. A specialized one that would examined if my blue eyes were that of the Benjamin’s. After a quick second, the wall opened. An ordinary room greeted us. It has chairs and a table in its center – more like a living room. And on its left side was an array filled with the finest wines of the world. It was a comfortable place with an air conditioner. A little bit cozy because it the cool air that packed the room which was totally different from the damp air outside. It was really the place to condition everything that was to happen.

Lucio made himself at ease. He sat down on the couch. Moving towards the array, I decided to pick the strongest wine I knew. This was part of that tactic to make my mission possible.

“Drink,” I said to him as I offered him a glass. Without hesitation and question, he took it from my hand and sipped.

“Good. Quite a strong one huh,” he said while appreciating the effect of the wine.

“Ecce Vino!” He suddenly blurted out.

“Later, Lucio. Calm yourself. First enjoy the drink,” I commanded.

While my friend was sitting and enjoying the place, I wandered around. Then I managed to find the place where the Ecce Vino was located. It was at the heart of the room, a wall separates it from the living room that is why we didn’t notice it as we entered. On an altar-like, the pipe of Ecce Vino was placed. And under it was a chair, a particular kind that I would use to complete my plans.

I went back to Lucio and persuade him to follow me. “Come. You’ve got to see something,” I said.

He followed me, leaving his glass on the table. And there as we saw it and without me telling him, he recognized the thing as the Ecce Vino.

“Ecce Vino,” he uttered with amusement. “And what’s that chair for?”

“You wanna try? That’s a special chair. It brings you down where casks of Ecce Vino are.” I told him. “Just the motto whispered twice. And it will bring you there.”

“Hmm.. So, what’s the motto?” He kindly requested.

“Repeat after me,” I said. “Ecce Vino, Ecce Homo.” Behold the wine, behold the man.

“Ecce Vino, Ecce Homo.” And then the chair went down moderately to that empty vacuum room underneath.

“Should any button be anywhere here on the chair that I could push whenever I wanted to go up? Aren’t you coming? We’d go to the party together huh, there’s so much to talk about. We had kept them waiting,” his voice called out unclearly. I ignored.

As I went back to the living room to get the glass from the table and put it back to where I got it, I heard noises – both human and machine produced. And then a clank, the opening closed and the chair’s back in its place.

And before I left, I took another glimpse of the Ecce Vino and the chair. I went near it, lowered my ear to the foot of the chair, looked into a small opening and called out. “Lucio! Lucio! Lucio!” But I heard no reply.

As soon as I closed the room, my heart grew sick. It was because of the damp air again that greeted me after being in a cool room. It’s been forty years now, silence still. In pace requiescat!

Being Himself

At the depot, my friend, Sandra who was also my former employee picked me up. We rode in her car. And as we traveled on the way to her place, we also journeyed through memory lane reminiscing the summers together.

As we pull into the drive, a sudden feeling of anxiety filled me. And then I saw her husband gazing at us in the window. My uneasiness grew. Fearing what his reaction would be, will he be happy of my visit? Or would he think I was just a pain in the neck? But I shrugged it off for me to meet than man in my friend’s life.

Sandra was still laughing as she parked the car. Laughing at the stories we were telling to each other. Then she went to me to help me get out. I hope her husband won’t fear a blind man wearing a full beard, though it is kind of weird. I reached into the backseat and dragged out my suitcase. She took my arm, shut the car door, and, we went talking all the way, moved me down the drive and then up the steps to the front porch.

As her husband open the door for us, Sandra said, “Chad, I want you to meet Robert. Robert, this is my husband, Chad. I’ve told you all about him.” Then I let go of my suitcase and up came to meet his hand. I took it and squeezed it hard, for him to feel how glad I am to meet the love of my friend. Then I let go.

“I feel like we’ve already met,” I boomed.

“Likewise,” he said. Then he said, “Welcome. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Then we began to move around the house, from the porch into the living room, his wife guiding me by the arm. Then Chad blurted out something to strike a conversation. He asked, “Did you have a good train ride? Which side of the train did you sit on, by the way?”

“What a question, which side! What’s it matter which side?” Sandra said.

“I just asked,” he said.

“Right side,” I replied. “I hadn’t been on a train in nearly forty years. Not since I was a kid. With my folks. That’s been a long time. I’d nearly forgotten the sensation. I have winter in my beard now,“ I said. Shifting the topic to avoid an argument between the couple, “So I’ve been told, anyway. Do I look distinguished, my dear?” I asked Sandra.

“You look distinguished, Robert,” she said. “Robert,” she said. “Robert, it’s just so good to see you.” And I was just as happy to see her too.

“Let me get you a drink. What’s your pleasure? We have a little bit of everything. It’s one of our pastimes,” Chad said.

“Bub, I’m a Scotch man myself,” I replied. It was nice of him to ask me for a drink, I thought. It was a really good sign of him being friendly.

“I’ll move your suitcase up to your room,” Sandra said.

“No, that’s fine,” I said loudly. “It can go up when I go up.”

The three of us had a big glass of Scotch with a splash of water in each. Then we made ourselves comfortable and talked about my travels. First the long flight I had from the West Coast to Connecticut then from Connecticut up here by train. We also smoked while drinking and I guess I had much.

When we sat down at the table for dinner, we had another drink. The couple took charge of my meal. Chad said, “Here’s bread and butter for you.” I swallowed some of my drink. “Now let us pray,” he said, and then I lowered my head. “Pray the phone won’t ring and the food doesn’t get cold,” he added.

We dug in. We ate everything there was to eat on the table. We ate like there was no tomorrow. We didn’t talk. We ate. Silence filled the atmosphere. I had no problem with my food that is why I didn’t stop eating until I felt really full.

After dinner, we went to the living room sank into our places again. I was sitting on the sofa with Sandra. We talked about the major things that had come to pass for us in the past ten years. Now and then, Chad joined in. As we talked about my life, I also try to ask Chad about some things from time to time. Like how long had he been in his present position, did he like his work, and was he going to stay with it.

After answering my questions, the TV turned on. “Robert, do you have a TV?”, Sandra asked.

“My dear, I have two TVs. I have a color set and a black-and-white thing, an old relic. It’s funny, but if I turn the TV on, and I’m always turning it on, I turn on the color set. It’s funny, don’t you think?”, I replied.

“This is a color TV. Don’t ask me how, but I can tell.”, I said while listening to the news program.

“I think I’ll go upstairs and put on my robe. I think I’ll change into something else. Robert, you make yourself comfortable,” Sandra said.

“I’m comfortable,” I answered.

“I want you to feel comfortable in this house,” she said.

“I am comfortable,” I finally insisted.

As Sandra went upstairs, Chad and I listened to the weather report and then to the sports roundup. Then we had another drink. He also asked me if I want to smoke some dope with him and I said sure.

Then Sandra came down and asked, “What do I smell?”

“We thought we’d have us some cannabis,” Chad said.

“Robert, I didn’t know you smoked,” she exclaimed.

“I do now, my dear. There’s a first time for everything. But I don’t feel anything yet,” I replied.

Then Sandra joined us and sat on the sofa between me and Chad.

After awhile, “Thanks, bub,” I said. “But I think this is all for me. I think I’m beginning to feel it,” I added. “

Same here,” Sandra said. “Ditto. Me, too. I may just sit here for a while between you two guys with my eyes closed. But don’t let me bother you, okay? Either one of you. If it bothers you, say so. Otherwise, I may just sit here with my eyes closed until you’re ready to go to bed,” she said. “Your bed’s made up, Robert, when you’re ready. It’s right next to our room at the top of the stairs. We’ll show you up when you’re ready. You wake me up now, you guys, if I fall asleep.” She said that and then she closed her eyes and went to sleep.

My friend seems really tired. She needs enough rest to recover the energy she had spent for taking care of me in this visit. And now I think is the right time for me and Chad to build a connection that may lead to a bond of friendship like what Sandra and I have. This is also a payment for stealing his wife from him because of her pursuit to entertain me as a visitor.

The news program ended. “Are you tired? Do you want me to take you up to your bed? Are you ready to hit the hay?”, Chad asked.

“Not yet,” I said. “No, I’ll stay up with you, bub. If that’s all right. I’ll stay up until you’re ready to turn in. We haven’t had a chance to talk. Know what I mean? I feel like me and her monopolized the evening. “

“That’s all right,” he said then added, “I’m glad for the company.” But how should I start it?

We were watching TV and I felt that Chad was keeping on switching the channels. “Bub, it’s all right,” I finally said. “It’s fine with me. Whatever you want to watch is okay. I’m always learning something. Learning never ends. It won’t hurt me to learn something tonight. I got ears,” I added.

Hearing from the screen, I heard an Englishman narrating about something like an event. But I was not sure. It was like the event took place in Spain once a year. Then, Chad tried to explain to me what was happening.

Silence dominated between us again and then Chad said, “They’re showing the outside of this cathedral now. Gargoyles. Little statues carved to look like monsters. Now I guess they’re in Italy. Yeah, they’re in Italy. There’s paintings on the walls of this one church.”

“Are those fresco painting, bub?” I asked then sipped from my drink.

“You’re asking me are those frescoes? That’s a good question. I don’t know,” Chad said casually.

Then he blurted out, “Something has occurred to me. Do you have any idea what a cathedral is? What they look like, that is? Do you follow me? If somebody says cathedral to you, do you have any notion what they’re talking about? Do you the difference between that and a Baptist church, say?”

“I know they took hundreds of workers fifty or a hundred years to build,” I said. “I just heard the man say that, of course. I know generations of the same families worked on a cathedral. I heard him say that, too. The men who began their life’s work on them, they never lived to see the completion of their work. In that wise, bub, they’re no different from the rest of us, right?” I laughed. “Cathedrals,” I said. “If you want the truth, bub, that’s about all I know. What I just said. What I heard him say. But maybe you could describe one to me? I wish you’d do it. I’d like that. If you want to know, I really don’t have a good idea,” I added.

“To begin with, they’re very tall. They reach way up. Up and up. Toward the sky. They’re so big, some of them, they have to have these supports. To help hold them up, so to speak. These supports are called buttresses. They remind of viaducts, for some reason. But maybe you don’t know viaducts, either? Sometimes the cathedrals have devils and such carved into the front. Sometimes lords and ladies. Don’t ask me why this is,” he said.

“I’m not doing so good, am I?” he finally uttered. But I appreciate very much on how he tries to give me the information I need.

I kept on nodding, so as to convince him I’m willing to listen and wait. Then he said, “They’re really big. They’re massive. They’re built of stone. Marble, too, sometimes. In those olden days, when they built cathedrals, men wanted to be close to God. In those olden days, God was an important part of everyone’s life. You could tell this from their cathedral-building. I’m sorry but it looks like that’s the best I can do for you. I’m just no good at it.”

“That’s all right, bub,” I told him. “Hey, listen. I hope you don’t mind my asking you. Can I ask you something? Let me ask you a simple question, yes or no. I’m just curious and there’s no offense. You’re my host. But let me ask if you are in any way religious? You don’t mind my asking?” I asked in a moment.

“I guess I don’t believe in it. In anything. Sometimes it’s hard. You know what I’m saying?”, he replied.

“Sure, I do,” I said.

He apologized of him that he can not tell me what a cathedral exactly looks like. He admitted that it’s just isn’t in him, those kinds of things.

“The truth is, cathedrals don’t mean anything special to me. Nothing. Cathedrals. They’re something to look at on late-night TV. That’s all they are,” he added.

And then I thought of something. Then I said, “I get it, bub. It’s okay. It happens. Don’t worry about it.” “Hey, listen to me. Will you do me a favor? I got an idea. Why don’t you find us some heavy paper? And a pen. We’ll do something. We’ll draw one together. Get us a pen and some heavy paper. Go on, bub, get the stuff,” I requested.

He quickly went upstairs to find some pens and papers that we would be using then hurried back to the living room. I got down from the sofa and sat next to him on the carpet.

After preparing, we were now ready to start. I found his hand, the hand with the pen. I closed my hand over his hand. “Go ahead, bub, draw,” I said. “Draw. You’ll see. I’ll follow along with you. It’ll be okay. Just begin now like I’m telling you. You’ll see. Draw,” I said.

“Swell,” I said while feeling the motion of our hands. “Terrific. You’re doing fine,” I exclaimed. “Never thought anything like this could happen in your lifetime, did you, bub? Well, it’s a strange life, we all know that. Go on now. Keep it up.”

As I felt around over the paper and moving the tips of my fingers over the paper and all over what Chad had drawn, I showed my affirmation to him by nodding. “Doing fine,” I added.

I guess Chad feels a strange feeling now. Though he knew that he is not an artist, he can’t explain why he kept on drawing just the same.

Sandra opened up her eyes and gazed at us. She sat up on the sofa, her robe hanging open. She said, “What are you doing? Tell me, I want to know.”

No one answered him, at first. Then I said, “We’re drawing a cathedral. Me and him are working on it. Press hard,” I repeated to him. “That’s right. That’s good,” I said. “Sure. You got it, bub. I can tell. You didn’t think you could. But you can, can’t you? You’re cooking with gas now. You know what I’m saying? We’re going to really have us something here in a minute. How’s the old arm? Put some people in there now. What’s a cathedral without people?”, I added.

Sandra repeated, “What’s going on? Robert, what are you doing? What’s going on?”

“It’s all right,” I said to her. “Close your eyes now,” I said to him.

Chad closed his eyes just like what I said. And he kept it that way for awhile. “Don’t stop now. Draw,” I told him.

So we kept on with it. My fingers rode his fingers as his hand went over the paper. Then I finally said, “I think that’s it. I think you got it. Take a look. What do you think?”

“Well?” I said. “Are you looking?” But Chad’s eyes were still closed.

“It’s really something,” he said. I felt happy with what happened. It was successful. I’m happy that he got it. Somehow he had been himself.