The man revered Baudelaire.
Like the poet, he rejected the classical idea of beauty twinned with good, kalos kai agathos, and he was convinced by the bright need of finding the repressed and dangerous dark side of love. He traveled to Paris and just lived on a shoestring in the old Quarter Latin. He met his Jeanne Duval at a Rue Séguier’s nightclub, almost in the riverside. Her name was Elenna and she was not mulatto but moor. They shack up all winter in a borrowed room with windows but no glasses. In order to warm up, they burned a few woods directly on the floor and when they ran out of wood, went naked under two worn blankets, and set on the fire of love. He trembles when her hands slide down for his body. And she crushes when he gently pinched her breasts. The unexpected, surprise and amazement colored their own beauty. They seduced each other and melted in ecstasy, consciously looking for being destroyed by the captivating intensity of those cold hours.
Baudelaire said.
The dazzled moth flies toward you, O candle!
Crepitates, flames and says: 'Blessed be this flambeau!'
The panting lover bending o'er his fair one
Looks like a dying man caressing his own tomb,
They made fun of the poet. Each one forgot his ego into another’s flesh.
However, Elenna claimed their right to leave when spring arrived.
The man, who during three cold months had been touched by the thrilling vision of perfection, balanced between the sublime and the demonic, the high and rough, the ideal and the agonizing boredom- suddenly realized the horror of playing with love: one of the players must lose control.
And then, as the moth mesmerized by the unbeatable beauty of a flame, he should pay the highest price: jump into the abyss and meet the spasm of Death.
In the morning, his naked body was found floating in the Seine. He was smiling.
Original Title: El ángel terrible II.
Translator: Pablo Martínez Burkett.
About the Author: Daniel Frini
No comments:
Post a Comment