At some point in my life, after my mom committed suicide, I saw myself floating and trying too hard. My lack of anger was a nightmare. It seemed like it divided into monthly payments and I lost eight years of my life trying to cover this big charge slowly. So, naturally, I had small polite collapses, like when someone whisper shouting, and this my friends, is pure agony. I was afraid to see the truth and confront myself, my fears, give them space to just be. But you know, I also had small episodes of reality collapses, and these ones were painful but worth the trouble.
I have spent years writing my novel Virgin of Ethics, it was originally written in Portuguese but I never really thought about releasing it in the original language. Well, I still keep writing it and translating it slowly but now I see it as something that is not exactly in my hands anymore. I also realise that this novel has something to do with my mother, but that was never the premisse. I spent the last two years without reading it properly, but always when I do, it's fulfilling. Somehow the way I understand it changes with time and I can't remember how exactly it was done. It's like Cocteau says, it seems like an entity and I'm the channel, but at some point the transmission mixes with my own memories. I think it is important to explain the title of the novel. It's a weird translation to make because even in Portuguese it would not sound right. I have a very good friend and he was always saying ”por ética” to finish a sentence and explain himself somehow, in a very banal way. The closest I could get in a translation was “by social convention".
Well, having said that, getting back to my mom's story, she always had an eye for art. Actually she was, since I remember, a great writer and painter but she never took it too seriously, I think. She introduced me to some great music and took me to a drag queen club to meet her friends when I was around 15. Thanks for that, as I’m pretty good at doing my own makeup and I can put some cool tunes on. She showed me how to be vulnerable and unapologetic about it. People change with time and in her last years I don't remember her like that. She was taking so many pills that she lost herself and I really can't say when the turning point was. One thing she didn’t lose, was this illustration, up on the head on her bed. I remember she always placed this Gustav Klimt The Virgin illustration kind of as a headboard, on the center of her wall above her bed. I’m not an art nouveau fan, and to be honest I always hated this painting and everything about this Klimt lilac phase. The first time I went to her last place was after she died. I had to take her stuff from there, it was a rental. Couldn’t. She had this CD player and had one of her favorite albums in there, Marisa Monte, 1994 Rose and Charcoal - Couldn’t be more beautiful and sad. I don’t remember from there. What I did remember though, was that I had to keep the illustration by Klimt, por ética.
VIRGIN OF ETHICS (this is a translation of a section from my original novel)
Chapter I - Despite the quick death, we found a big star in the cornflake box.
It was a cold day, but that didn't stop Clovs from wearing his cropped top. Clovinho, or Clovs as his friends called him, used to live near my place, by climbing it took me about three gardens to get there.
A regular at my café, he always came for his first espresso of the day. Usually after lunch at two in the afternoon. Sometimes I didn't charge for cheese bread. A very nice guy.
Tall, slightly tanned and with golden skin. A little awkward, the features of his face and the way he moved already suggested that he was kind of a character. He wore “baby look” T-shirts, where his belly hair, if he raised his arms, jumped out. He also had sweat marks on his armpits, quite charming.
Clovs lived, and lived apart, for many years with Carla, with whom he had an unhealthy relationship. It was a constant battle, but everyone thought that they really loved each other in some bizarre way.
After drinking his espresso at my coffee shop, Clovs fired a cigarette, walked out of the door and was run-over on his favorite street. Died. Interesting scene. He had a smile on his face at the end. I was not surprised somehow. He would agree with me.
Despite the quick and ironic death, Clovs put himself together very quickly in his after-life. He found himself in a large waiting room, old atmosphere, brownish-orange carpet but surprisingly smelling new and not damp, despite the purposeful watering holes.
He thought about the scene and jumped to the conclusion that he had seen too many late 60s / mid-century films and had ended up living in one of them after his death. What a ridiculous charming cliche. Luckily he was wrong.
He was curious and entertained by the fascinating architecture and interior design around him. There was an empty dark wooden table with twelve old dated phones, lights flashing, on a large panel where he imagined they were waiting for calls. He was right. The walls were lined with dark wood, matching the furniture.
In the middle, a coffee table with an ashtray and some newspapers on top. The room had a soundtrack, a song that seemed like, or in fact was, an instrumental version of Serge Gainsbourg's Baudelaire.The Le Serpent qui Danse was always one of his favorite poems, even though he was not the biggest Baudelaire fan.
Some chairs, waiting chairs, around fourteen. The only one sitting in them, occupying two places, resting his feet was a Tiger, wearing a cowboy hat and baggy pants. Strange as the description seems, he was well dressed and not trashy, he was just comfortable, probably wearing Vetemants. It is the new version of homeless chic.
Despite the first impression it made sense, visually speaking, the pattern and color of his hair matched the location. And it implied the idea that maybe we will take something with us when we die.
― It's just a waiting room, don't be afraid or scared. Relax. I am also waiting for the secretary said the Tiger while staring at Clovs.
― I'm not scared, or in a hurry, it's a great room. Is it necessary to make an appointment? Not that I’m complaining, I’m really enjoying it here ― replied Clovs.
The Tiger got up to help himself to a coffee.
―Do you want some?― offered the Tiger to Clovs.
A very irritating and loud voice calls out, pausing the pleasant music of Gainsbourg.
―Heads up! Sign the form that will fall from the ceiling with your photos―
As the roof quickly opened, while playing a robotic melody, they noticed a very pleasant fog. The Tiger's scent was Terrè, from Hermès, they had something in common. The fragrance.
The form was very simple, they had two options. They had to choose what they wanted to do from now on, after their deaths:
They could work in the waiting room that they were in, serving old grandmother's cookies (past their expiry date) or be an object. An object in particular that they were very familiar with. And the object would have to accept it or not. If it didn’t accept, then they would have to serve old cookies that were mixed with nail clippers in blue metal boxes with a landscape of Denmark forever. Gainsbourg playing in a loop. Delayed pitch.
Clovs thinks properly, takes a sip of his coffee and with a puzzled expression, looks at the Tiger who seems calm.
― I do not want to be impolite in this moment of introspection, both options do seem very good. Do you have any idea where you're going? ― asked Clov.
The Tiger gargles his mouthwash, swallows and says:
―I like it here. But I need to finish my hygiene first ―
Clovs already knew what to do and opted for the object. A painting, “The Virgin” by Gustav Klimt. Which was located in front of her bed.
Meanwhile, looking at the mirror, the Tiger swallowed again his mouthwash and remembered very sadly about his life and success. He was the model for a great brand of cornflakes. Clovs was honored to meet him, but he was discreet. It was a difficult time for both of them.
Chapter II - “Art-Nouveau Nest but decent inside”
After a few hours on an uncomfortable bus, but with some fabulous fresh fruits, Clovs arrived at his destination. An old man with a white beard, very long, to his knees, received him at the door of the public transport:
― You must be Clovs. I have some meetings scheduled for you son, before your final destination ― the old man said.
Clovs took his notebook out of his pocket and looked at the old man with interest.
― Of course, can I organize my socks first? ― replied Clovs.
― No doubt, glad you mentioned it ― said the old man, admiring the organization. Rare.
They started to walk on a beautiful sunny lawn, with a huge white house in the background, and a pool that almost forced them to take a dip.
Clovs put on his water socks and jumped in a circular, flushed, unusual way in that huge pool, enjoying the view and the gentle breeze.
― Clovs, this place will always be open for you. The bulls and cows are also for you to start a farm with, if you want. Tigers are here to serve you and help with the home renovation, because of their good taste and politeness, as you wish. I will give you the number of a taxi and when you decide, they will leave all the fishes ready ― the old man said seriously.
Clovs leaves the pool running, his hands on his long hairy legs, to get some water out and looks at the horizon.
― These fish you mention, are they always around? ― asked Clovs.
― Generally in summer ― the old man replied.
Two towels fall down and dry off Clovs as he moves his arms to help them with the task. Always polite.
Cloves and the old man continued their walk and after some time arrived at the base on an impressive looking mustard coloured elevator. The grandiose nature of it all reminded Clovs of a Catholic Church, big ceiling, imposing structure, you know the ones, they’re built to remind you whose house it is. The old man stood proudly in front of the entrance, showing it off to Clovs.
― Well, this is it, in eight garden’s time you will arrive at the painting. Buckle your seatbelt and don't worry, they are waiting for you ― explained the old man.
******-------------------------------------------------------9999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999 9999999999999999999999999999999999999933333333333333333333333333333333jjjjjjjjjjjjJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJ JJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJSIM!JK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!* (the sound of a mustard lift).
CHAPTER III - “HOLY WATER DRINKS AND CIGARETTES”
As the lift reached the top floor, Clovs stepped out and looked around at his surroundings.
― Hi, hi, hi, hi, hi, ― Clovs said.
As he listened to the echo that followed his greeting, Clovs entered a tiring, exhaustive art-nouveau nest in shades of lilac. He walked towards it, climbing a wide, transparent, acrylic spiral staircase, and reached a mezzanine where he could see the entire main room. It was a cool place, but with a very characteristic and feminine smell. Was it a lavender and patchouli incense?
It was a nest. Six bi-dimensional women were inside with another one in the middle smoking a cigarette and bathing the others with boric acid water using a huge piece of cotton to do it, more or less 2x2 metres. It seemed exhausting, and that was The Virgin.
The Virgin looked at him with love, letting the ash from her cigarette fall into the nest on the other virgin’s heads, and gestured for him to sit down, pointing to a big dentist chair. They wore Versace. It didn’t make sense to Clovs - where did they get something so trendy? The brands are designing bi-dimensional stuff lately? He felt out of fashion.
― Welcome. We have been waiting for you to arrive! Cleber? Correct? ― The Virgin asked.
While staring unimpressively at the gigantic wall of the nest, Clovs turned to The Virgin and replied shortly
― Clovs, actually ―
The Virgin, stil letting the cigarette ash fall at other girls heads, replied
― I'll show you around later, in the meantime feel free to put some music on. Go to the rust door on your right after the taxidermy animals ―
Clovs walked along the corridor, it looked like a zoo and had walls illustrated with beautiful green leaves and playboy magazine covers. It was pretty nice, unlike the art nouveau nest, Clovs was surprisingly impressed. The Virgin noticed his reaction.
― Clovs, don't be surprised, the nouveau look is a historical facade. It doesn't suit my taste but I can't make any changes as it’s a listed building ― The Virgin explained.
Arriving at the rusted door, Clovs stood in front of it as it opened automatically for him. As the lights came on, a small space with only a record player inside revealed itself. Clovs looked the space up and down with a perplexed look on his face.
― Where do I find the records? ― Clovs asked.
The Virgin, smoking yet another cigarette, pointed back towards the space as Clovs turned to face her.
― You don’t need records, you just need a bit of stillness Clebs darling ― The Virgin explained nonchalantly.
― It’s Clovs, darling ― Clovs replied sarcastically.
― Yes, that’s the one. Anyway, you just step inside and the sounds will convey your mood ― The Virgin instructed.
Clovs disliked the idea, it seemed a bit too intimate for his taste. However, despite being unexcited about the whole affair he was a tiny bit curious about how it might work, so he stepped forward and stood next to the record player. A pleasant melody started to play.
― Wow, I don't even remember what this is ― Clovs immediately exclaimed.
― It’s I Put A Spell on You, the original is by Screamin’ Jay Hawkins. Nice request. I expected something more organic, but this is very pleasant ― The Virgin replied while she finished cleaning the girls.
Clovs couldn't find anything more organic or that would do more for his personality.
― Maybe some noise. More like Tim Hecker, would seem more conceptual and less vulnerable, more mysterious and maybe a little bit less like a drunk cliche junkie ― he ruminated.
The Virgin came close to Clovs with her pale skin wrapped in a lilac blanket
― I have no choice, don't blame the clothes ― The Virgin said, walking out the nest,, unnecessarily excusing her outfit.
Clovs, unambiguous to The Virgin’s statement, was looking at the other virgins.
― They seem very clean, you did a great job, I can’t imagine how difficult it is to use acid boric water ― Clovs said, admiring The Virgin’s work.
― They will try to persuade you, but they are a flash in the pan, do not fall into their charm ― The Virgin says barely listening to his compliment
Clovs didn't understand, because he would like to, you know, meet the other virgins better, they are bi-dimensional, it would be something new for a change. He began to reflect on how he would have any involvement with this type of creature. He was optimistic.