THE DANCING SAGE AND THE

[AMERICONORMAN]

Now that the muse is gone it is appropriate to post the second-last Patrick Verder story ....

The Dancing Sage and the Passion of The Portuguese—By Jose Gainza

SARGENT TWIN TOWERS extend twenty floors high, with their skin of light pink brick, and their lengths half the height, while their respective southern ends, only, curve to provide for a greater panorama of Lake Ontario. The architecture of this lakefront neighbourhood, on humid summer days, gives off a Miami-like aura, and aura of heat, rhythm, spice, dance, sex, and rest.

And it is the same neighbourhood and abode, SARGENT TWIN TOWERS, which witnessed a few years ago, the launching of a new superstar to the Canadian music scene. It was here where Darius Julius Éclair lived and slept, as he sung his way to the pinnacle of the largest and most infamous singing competition ever to invade Canada, CANADA’S DARLING; here at 390 Queens Quay West, the western tower. Yes, this is where Darius Julius lived during his triumph, and when he won his best actor OSCAR, a year ago, for his role in KISS ME BEFORE I FLY AWAY. Yes, Darius Julius with his splendid hazel eyes, flowing brown hair, the copper too perfect tan on his slender silky skin, and his magnetic French lips, and his voice that could call forth the sunrise.

But a story not as well known is the one about the actions of an ordinary woman, who lived there too, one can say. Mona Costa was the cleaning manager there for WE DO THE DIRTY WORK INCORPORATED, contracted by GOODTIMES PROPERTY MANAGEMENT, for the property known as SARGENT TWIN TOWERS, so that men of the calibre of Darius Julius could live amongst an aura of cleanliness, symbolic of their unique talent. Linds Rupert was the twenty-three year old head Tenant Service Representative, which is a job similar to what a security guard might do, except for the illusion of government backed authority, working for DUE RESPECT INCORPORATED. By the time of their situation, the darling Darius Julius had left the building and parked his sweet behind on an elegant, cashmere ottoman, in a Spanish-style villa, atop a Malibu hill, with the Pacific panorama.

It was a humid week, and on a Monday morning in mid-summer, Linds Rupert passed Mona in the main common lobby at 390 building, greeting her with an eager smile of welcome, with the usual question, “So did you find me a boyfriend yet?” It was in the tone of a taunt to express his doubt that she could, and to hide the hope that she would. Usually she would answer with a sexy Portuguese accent, but with proficient grammar, “still looking, Sweetie.” But today she answered, “I found the perfect one but he’s too scared to meet you still, but he’s been getting better as the months go by, and I’ll soon break him.” He doubted the validity of this declaration, for he doubted whether this foreign, simple woman could identify an agent with whom he could chemically mix well, and without catastrophe. But she had never before made such a claim.

“What’s his name,” asked Linds.

“I promised him I wouldn’t tell you.”

“But you already have.”

“Yes, but his name would be too much for you.”

“I guess I’ll wait.”

“No choice!” She exclaimed.

And as he changed the subject of concern in his own mind, he began to look at her for too long a moment and expanded his smile before he spoke, “Your hair looks lovely!” And she blushed and pinched his cheeks. Her hair was strawberry red and was combed straight past her chin, except for the elegant curls at the bottom; her bangs were cut just above her brows. Her physical Portuguese was of the kind that looks French.

At the end of this exchange they went their separate ways to work. A couple of hours later, Linds brought Mona a chocolate ice-cream bar. And at lunch, they ate together, and she confided in him about a troubling employee, Lorenzo.

“I must have caught him twenty times already coming out of various tenants’ suites, all sweaty and flushed. Woman AND men! He doesn’t care! He’s breaking hearts all over the place.” Mona explained to Linds.

“Why don’t you fire him?” He suggested.

“Because very few can clean with his expertise and attention.”

“So he still manages to get the job done?”

“Yes … well … much better than most do.”

“If one of the lovers complains to property management, they’ll insist that he be out.”

“Yes, and maybe even me.”

“And it will be sad because I know how much you like him.”

“Yes, even though he’s a dog, he makes me laugh too much.”

“And he’s so lovely to look at, which is no wonder why he’s so popular with some of the tenants. Too bad he’s a dog.”

“But I have to put a stop to his antics, or he’ll bring me down with him.”

“So what are you going to do, Mona?”

“I got to tell him that if I catch him only one more time, I’ll boot his ass out of here, from here to the top of the CN tower. That will be the end of his easy access to his trophies.”

“He’ll be moody for a week.”

“Yes, quite so. But I have to. I’ll tell him before he goes for the day.”

Linds commenced an every-floor patrol of the eastern tower, 350. Apartment 1509 had its door wide open, which he decided to inspect quickly. Upon realizing that there was no furniture, he recalled that 1509 had moved out on the last weekend. Suddenly a vacuum sounded from the master bedroom. It was Lorenzo cleaning the lush white carpeting. And Linds watched his movements for a long moment, until soon, Lorenzo noticed him and smiled. He then turned off the vacuum.

“I’ve been waiting months to get you all alone,” Lorenzo proclaimed.

“You can’t have me,” was Linds’ curt response.

“Come on; I see the way you look at me.”

“But it’s just a superficial delight.”

“I know I can get much deeper.”

So Lorenzo turned the vacuum back on. And he took off his blue golf shirt, to reveal his chestnut Mediterranean tan, and rippling contours. Thus Linds’ breathing required more effort. So Lorenzo rushed towards him and kissed him, allowing Linds to experience the pleasant delusion for at least a moment. Linds had no time to regret allowing that his neck be bitten and sucked, and his shirt taken off, and finally, the licking of his nipples. This last gesture made him declare, “No! No. This isn’t right,” as he struggled against the need to experience the tenderness of eager yeses. But Lorenzo could not hear the repetitive “no,” for the howling of the vacuum. It is doubtful also whether Lorenzo would have obeyed; because he initiated his trance-like state of passion, it would make the attempt to sever them like trying to pull a man being electrocuted from the source.

On his knees now, Lorenzo unzipped Linds’ pants so that, in a moment, Linds found his own source of delightful electric shock.

It was not the violence of a resolute self-will that pulled them apart. It was the violence of a roaring force from the outside world that managed to breach them before Linds let himself go too far. It was the violence, the brute strength, and the audacity, of a short, full-bodied, and well-fed Portuguese woman who tyrannically tore them apart … finally.

The sounds of her screams could not be heard due to the buzzing of the machine. She tore Lorenzo away so violently that Linds’ manhood could have been severed in that moment. She put Lorenzo in a chokehold, and dragged him out of the apartment, and left him lying in the hallway. When she returned alone, and by the look on her face, and her heaving chest, Linds knew that he would never see Lorenzo again. She rushed to the vacuum, and yanked the plug out of the socket, and looked at Linds with terrible eyes, “You too!” She inquired rhetorically.

“Why are you so mad?” Linds asked bewildered.

Mona did not answer but it was clear to him that her exaggerated outburst revealed a secret she would not name.

“I’m not,” she answered, “it’s just that you deserve better than that. You’re too special for that Turkey’s stuffing.”

Linds could not help but giggle as he made the following serious identification, “You’re still … shouting, Mona.” She then changed her composure to one of serene professionalism, she closed her eyes, and let out a deep breathing sigh.

“My husband will be working here tomorrow for Lorenzo.” Mona proclaimed.

“I’m looking forward to meeting him.”

“He is too. Linds, there’s a DVD waiting for you in your mailbox. You’ll be happy to know that me and my daughter have made up and she has done me the favour of making you a copy of her wedding video, since you could not make it back then.”

“So she is no longer angry at you for marrying again.”

“No. She has even grown to like Amadeo. She has gotten past the great difference that we both share.”

“I’m so glad. I’ll watch the video on the weekend.”

“Good bye now,” she said with anger still lingering in her tone.

Why was Mona so angry, Linds wondered, as he rode the streetcar north to Spadina station? Was it that she wanted to be the one to find him a beloved, added to the idea that Lorenzo could never serve such a role? Was it really the motherly concern that Mona claimed? And Linds recalled last week when he had seen her watering plants on the second floor terrace of the connecting building, and what he did. In a spirit of jest and amusement, he began to serenade her. And she laughed and cackled, looking down on Linds with teary, sparkling eyes. Could she be in love with him? He wondered in horror. And her husband was to begin work tomorrow morning; how awkward the triangle would be!

Mona approached the entrance to her home hoping to find her husband in, so she could inform him that he would be working with her for the week, until she could succeed with a replacement. She would therefore insist that he not go Latin dancing tonight, and she was confident he would agree. He was very generous with his time for her because he was forever grateful at the benefit he had acquired by her marrying him.

He had arrived from Portugal two years ago, the third cousin of one of her good friends. She had immediately taken a liking to Amadeo, appreciating his wit and his intelligence. Perhaps it was his talent for poignant sarcasm that she most admired. She was shocked at first sight at his utter beauty, his subtle dimples, his too happy grin, his doll-like cheeks, and his tender lips. He had long black locks that waved with flare, brown eyes, and the skin of a gypsy, so that she named him “my perfect gypsy.” She showed him around Toronto and introduced him to people. And soon he confided in her a vulnerable secret, which only led her to love him even more, with a nurturing concern. And soon his visitor’s visa was to expire. And since she did not want to lose him they were soon married. And she vowed to ensure that she would not rest until his deserved happiness was realized and she could fulfill his one greatest dream.

She found him a job in the building trades, which contributed greatly to their mutual income. And on the weekends he managed to, overtime, renovate her basement into an apartment to add to their matrimonial treasury.

Though the nature of this and her previous marriage was different, her previous marriage in which she had her only daughter, this new one was the one she enjoyed more. And she was so resolute to go through with it that she didn’t mind the scandal it would cause within her circle, and the eventual estrangement from her newly married daughter. She felt it was her destiny, and her mission from her god, to make Amadeo Costa a happy man.

And when Linds Rupert arrived as the new head TSR of SARGENT TWIN TOWERS, his existence soon began to add to the joy that she already felt. She looked upon Rupert like a son, and she wanted to see him married, and she wanted to walk him down the aisle, giving him away to married bliss.

Outside her home’s entrance she could hear loud electronic music, and she knew what it meant. She entered her home, and rushed into the living room. She saw Amadeo kicking his legs up, swinging his arms, squatting, crouching, and bending, all to the rhythm of the music. He was engaging in his aerobics workout, which was a custom for the last few weeks, as Amadeo was on vacation after quitting his construction job. He was now looking for something less demanding on his body, so that he could focus on more intellectual concerns. He had improved his English at a very impressive rate, so that the main stumbling block to comprehension was his thick Portuguese accent.

When he noticed Mona watching him, Amadeo smiled, turned off the music, rushed over to her, hugged her, and gave her a kiss on each cheek.

“Have you found a job yet?” She asked.

“No.”

“I need you to work with me for a week.”

“Why?”

“I fired Lorenzo.”

“So you caught him again?”

“And this time in the act.”

“It was about time. Do you think I can work comfortably there?”

“It will only be temporary.”

“Do you think I could bear it?”

“That’s up to you. You’re going to have to.”

“How is Linds?”

“Don’t ask.”

“What happened?” He asked with great concern.

“Nothing. He’s fine; great and moral as he always is.”

“I hope we get along.”

“I hope you two do too; I know you will.”

Linds was troubled for two main reasons as he road on the streetcar, south to Queens Quay where the towers were. He was ashamed that he let the extravagant beauty, and the humid summer heat, get the best of him, so that he went too far with Lorenzo, further than he had ever promised he would with any man who was not ‘the one’. He now could no longer grant his future soul mate the gesture of being the first to have ever tasted him. His ideal soul mate would surely forgive the fact but that extra touch of the special was now forever gone. And he was grateful to Mona that she did pull Lorenzo away, and still more, guilty that he needed her strength and not his own volitional will.

And he was frightened that perhaps Mona was in love with him, and fearful that her husband would catch a hint of that affection and thus cause him bodily harm, a husband who he pictured as a black-haired, hairy giant with matching moustache. At the same time he was looking forward to meeting Amadeo because it was clear to him that Mona had a happy home life, and in large part because of Amadeo.

He approached the main lobby at 390, the western tower, and as he got close, he saw the most beautiful young male creature he had ever seen in his life, about the same age as he, perhaps twenty-five or so, wearing a cleaner’s uniform. He immediately thought that Mona’s husband couldn’t make it today, and this was the last minute replacement, and he was glad of it. Linds’ immediate love for this boy, who was not the giant he had just imagined, made him thank the coincidences of nature, as this boy was even more beautiful than Lorenzo, and by the feeling he was feeling, a much better romantic prospect.

And he was glad that he would not have to face the husband who he might innocently be betraying. He walked into the lobby with a big smile. He greeted Mona with a kiss on each cheek, despite his previous fear. It was now time to be introduced to the splendid Portuguese stud before him.

The stud took it upon himself to initiate the introduction, “ You must be Linds. I am Amadeo. I am so happy to meet you.” He said it eagerly, and very child-like.

Linds was dumbfounded and his face went white. At the sight of this, Amadeo showed a face that seemed to Linds to be one of deep worry, and it seemed that tears were beginning to form. And Linds then thought that perhaps Amadeo mistook his shock for a secret lust for Mona, and that he, though young, bore a genuine and jealous love for his middle-aged wife. And Mona watched this moment with an almost choking grin of delight. Though, all parties soon regained their professional composure.

Mona then took Amadeo with her to continue teaching him the regular cleaning duties. Linds went to get changed for work. And he consoled himself from the frustration of Amadeo ‘the impossible one’ by reminding himself that Mona had promised to find him a boyfriend, which made him realize that if Amadeo was not the one, there was another waiting at the horizon, and that he, Linds, was the inevitable horizon of another. A minor consolation also was that Mona had good taste.

During his first hour of work, Amadeo had the responsibility of mopping and cleaning the area around the Tenant Services desk. And so Linds had no choice but to watch Amadeo’s expert movements with delight. Linds’ heart beat faster, and the blood rushed through his body, with every arch, bend, and reach of Amadeo, that accentuated the sculpted muscles of his form. But Linds was soon interrupted by a tenant with a need.

“Amadeo, will you do me a huge favour?”

“It depends on what the favour is.”

“Do you know that lovely brunette you’ve seen me with this last week?”

“Yes.”

“She’s my mistress. I keep this apartment just for the purpose of my romantic exploits. Obviously my wife shouldn’t know about it. But somehow she knows where the building is. I do not want you to reveal any information to her. And if she manages to know the suite number, do not sign out my spare key to her. Yes she’s my wife but she has no authority to enter that suite. She’ll try to get in and she’ll bang on the door but no one will be there. My mistress will be put up in a hotel until my wife finally goes back to California. But all her things are in the apartment. Can you promise me she won’t have access?”

“Mr. White, though I don’t approve of your deceit, I have no choice but to grant your wish. According to the information in my computer, you are the only one with the authority for access delegation. Therefore, no one, not even your mother, can get your key from this desk, unless you provide me with the necessary written authorization. I will pass on the information to my co-workers and anyone who is found to breach our strict privacy rule in this specific matter will be terminated immediately.”

“Thank you. I knew I could trust you. You do good work here. I hope they appreciate it.”

“Thanks for the compliment. Good bye, Sir!” It was in a tone, though unbeknownst to Mr. White, which was ordering the tenant’s haste exit, to allow for the continued contemplation of Mr. Costa’s work.

Amadeo noticed this and smiled as Mr. White exited. And so Amadeo went back to work but only for a moment because after a dance, which consisted of several mop swooshes, then a turn to have his back to Linds, and a few more swooshes, he suddenly jerked still, and flashed his head and eyes to Linds’ surprise. Linds blushed. So Amadeo asked what exactly Linds wanted to do with his life; that Mona had said that he wanted to be an English teacher, but that she could not give any important specifics due to her ignorance of literary criticism.

And Linds answered:

“So you two talk about me?” And yet Linds could not control the feeling of comfort, though he asked this concerning question, and he continued thus, “I want to teach students how to write fiction, and mainly through teaching them the art of the short story. But I can’t really consider myself a writer because, for me, writing is not an end in itself. I write so I could teach. And I’ve only written short stories because I couldn’t bear to endure the writing of a novel, because it would take away from reading and studying the stories I still have yet to read and know. I get a thrill from witnessing the literary subconscious of young writers be improved and empowered over time.”

“It is very admirable,” began Amadeo with a solemnity that seemed haughty due to his thick Portuguese accent that made a word like ‘admirable’ sound ‘admeerabull’, “admirable what you are trying to accomplish with wanting to develop a curriculum that will finally help to define the limits of the short story. For according to my knowledge it is still a riddle in the history of literature, even after Poe’s doctrine, and even after there existed the likes of Alicia O’Connor and the publishing of her literary aesthetic expletives. For it seems a titanic task to attempt to tackle the application of her grand principles of writing to something so comparably microscopic and blurry as your typical short story. It is still hard for me to begin to answer how something so small in matter could show and say something aptly grand in spirit. Some themes just require the length of a long novel, and short stories therefore seem to me mere training wheels.”

The oddity of a young Portuguese, immigrant cleaner speaking of such things had still not reached Linds’ consciousness, for he followed this dialogue cue from Amadeo almost instantly,

“Yes, I too have wondered whether a writer can really be considered a writer if his short stories are not mere stages of completion en route to finishing a series of long master works. I would have to say that really, then, a man like O. Henry was not a writer; perhaps it is more a testament to the tragic idea of men who are suddenly stopped in mid-flight. Perhaps every time you get to enjoy an O. Henry story it is a reminder of how serious you have to take life, despite the laughter he so often inspires.”

“I know what you mean;” continued Amadeo, “I’ve noted that funny men have a bitterness, a bone to pick, that distracts them from the solemn panorama of life, which should be, in the better world that writers can project, as simple as the inhalation of oxygen.”

And Linds returned, in the tone of an inquiry, “So too much humour therefore can be a too dangerous and distracting addiction.”

“My wife tells me that Lorenzo was quite funny, as are you, but in quite a different way.”

The compliment, the painful reminder of the beautiful Lorenzo, and the naming of a person such as Mona, was a slap and attempted murder that shot him back to reality. And he felt as if a bullet was the wound in his heart. And it was no laughing matter. But along with humour, a pain like the one then inflicted, is one that also puts an end to romantic lust, for the moment, once the stabbing stops. And some men are able to subsequently become quite logical, and consequently, eventually witty.

“Yes. Let’s take the situation of your marriage.” Retorted Linds. “The age difference is quite unusual and automatically suspect. And so Lorenzo would bring up her talents in bed, and your Oedipus complex, and your fetish for old, short, stalky, Portuguese women … And I … well, I could not make fun of your situation because, given what I know about Mona, there must be something special between you two, for there is obviously love between the two of you, because both of you have special spirits. Love is not a deficiency to abuse with laughter, even with the greatest of intentions. And I doubt the love that you two share requires a taunting towards a purer and happier plateau.”

And Amadeo answered, “I noticed your face when Mona introduced us. There is a secret I would like to tell you, maybe. But I want to tell you about myself now.”

“Yes.”

“I want to teach philosophy in a University. I want to see men’s minds grow, and their right action along with it. I want to teach men to understand the ideas that move our world, even the one they call ‘love’.”

And then it suddenly hit Linds. Was Portugal the alien planet, he thought, that he dreamed about from where the speakers of truth descended upon us, to move us to the right and prosperity? And was Portugal that planet where he, Linds, really came from, and why he too often felt like such an outcast in a bewildered world, and that perhaps his name was thus pronounced ‘Lindo’? And was Amadeo a Portuguese extra-terrestrial, brave and daring to speak such things?

No. No, Amadeo was only a man from Portugal, that borders Spain in Europe. But it proved how far and wide the right ideas can spread and grow.

This realization brought a fountainhead of tears to Linds’ eyes that he would never let wax. And thus spoke Amadeo, “Do you know what I want to do? Do you know what I can do? Do you know what contribution I can make to this country?”

“Yes! And I know what a society like ours can contribute to you and your happiness.”

“And do you think I should be deported?”

“May those bastards be condemned to the noumenal realm who try!”

“And that’s why Mona married me, despite the scandal it would cause, a brave woman indeed.”

“What!”

“We’re not in love … I dig dick.”

“My God!”

“Yes. She’s been trying to get us together for months now. I’ve been too chicken shyte and ashamed to meet you.”

“Follow me,” Linds ordered.

They went into the stairwell. And the echo of their voices rose above them. And they kissed. And they promised to love each other forever, and Amadeo promised to make SARGENT TOWERS his permanent job. And when they heard footsteps way up high, they left the well, and went to work, their respective ways. A female voice laughed a sonorous Portuguese laugh, like the songs of a Mediterranean deity of love approving the final consummation of lovers. It was Mona eavesdropping contently from one of the highest floors; pleased at a job well done.

Linds, alone, walked from 390 building, across the administrative and recreation center, and into the hot tub room whose windows faced the eastern architecture of the city, the baseball dome still in sight, and the soaring, massive CN TOWER. He looked at the lower towers surrounding it, and it occurred to him that he needed a moment of cold hard thought.

He went into the private shower stall, undressed, and let cold water stream all over his statuesque body, the course of its energy reaching inside him and flowing, calming the roaring humidity within him.

He thought about the rare deserved happiness, though transient, he felt from the prior kiss. And he remembered the difference between that encounter and the seemingly drunken encounter with Lorenzo. He proclaimed in the silence of his mind, so prominent that it seemed to echo from the running water: He will not want me if he knows about Lorenzo’s suck. How could he, a guy who is still so pure? And Linds decided, as he turned off the water, that he would hand in his letter of resignation before the end of his shift.

He left the hot tub room and walked to the tenant computer room, closer to the west wing (390), and sat down to resign.

The property manager, Svetlana Ferazutti, asked Mona to come to her office for a meeting around two in the afternoon.

“Mona! Mona, how’s life going?”

“Wonderful!” And Svetlana was surprised at the enthusiasm, and sad because of the news she was about to disclose.

“So, I’ve already heard that your husband is working for us today.”

“I promise, Sveti, that our relationship here will be strictly professional.”

“I understand that he is quite young.”

“That I can’t help, Sveti.”

“No, No! No problem … Flaunt it if you want. Hell, have sex in an empty suite if you want—you’ll be the one cleaning any mess any way. I’m impressed, actually. So what’s your secret?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“That’s fine. I didn’t call you in to discuss that. I have stumbled across a notable coincidence. Today is your young, beautiful, stallion of a husband’s first day at work—and not too long ago, I received this from Linds.”

And she tossed the letter across the table; Mona read it silently.

“Oh my God!” She soon exclaimed.

“Mona, I don’t want to lose him. And that’s why I want to know if anything is going on between you and Linds?”

“What? … you mean … sexually?” And Mona burst out a laughing cackle like that of a hyena, of not too long a duration but of eloquent leitmotif. Svetlana just looked at her, puzzled. Mona rose from her seat, still grinning, and assuredly said, “Sveti! Don’t worry. I’ll take care of this … don’t worry; I promise.”

About an hour later, Linds walked by a secretive Mona and Amadeo whispering to each other at a corner of the lobby. They noticed the too obvious melancholy of his face, as he avoided looking at them. They grinned at each other in a conspiratory manner.

Encouragingly Mona advised, “Recite your poem to him. Go practice. Call him to you later or go to him.”

An hour later, while on the roof of 390 building, looking down at the toy-like objects below, he knew that to join them with a crash would be the easy way out of his current misery. But he just tore a beautifully blooming Camellia from a large clay planter, and threw it over the ledge. As it landed and crashed into invisibility, he heard an angelic voice over the radio beckon his name.

“Linds. Linds. Come in please.”

“Uh … uh … yes, yes—Amadeo, go ahead.”

“I have some official information to relay to you. Where can I find you?”

“I’m patrolling 390 rooftop. I’ll await you up here.”

Amadeo embarked on the platform of the roof deck, the skyline and the lake, floating around him, and the humid summer sun penetrating his skin, to find Linds pacing nervously from North to South, impatiently biting his finger nails. Linds had no time to notice the shiny black leather shoes Amadeo was wearing, for Amadeo spoke immediately once Linds saw him. And the CN Tower stood next to them like an erect distant brother of equal height.

“So you’ve betrayed me!” Amadeo shouted it like a spear. “Mona told me everything. I guess you’re convinced I can never forgive you. Why don’t you jump off the roof and save yourself the torment of my scorn?”

And Linds rushed towards him, and fell to his knees, and clutched his arms around Amadeo’s legs.

“I’m sorry. Yes, he tasted me. I have no excuse. I should have been strong enough to resist. If only I knew I would meet you the next day.”

“I AM jealous.”

“I’m sorry.” Amadeo let too long a moment go by and the he continued, “And I would be angry if the same thing didn’t happen to me.”

And after Linds regained his power of speech, he was able to exclaim, “What!”

“At Mona’s daughter’s wedding … I drank too much free scotch. I didn’t’ know, coz Lorenzo was such a good poser, that he was just a player.”

“How far did you go?”

“As far as you. He began, and I enjoyed—,”

“—And why did you stop?”

“Mona came to my rescue and pulled him off of me.”

“God, I love her strength!” Exclaimed Linds.

“But I still have a big advantage over Lorenzo’s achievement.”

“What?”

“And you have it too. I wrote you a poem the first time Mona showed me your picture and told me about you, a year and a half ago. Let me express it, and the gesture it proclaims.”

“Please do.”

And to Linds’ horror, Amadeo stood on the eastern ledge of the western tower, with the rising towers as a chorus behind him. There are inspirational moments in life, like that of a desperate mother killing the would-be kidnapper of her beloved child, that can make men do the extraordinary and dangerous, with superb expertise.

After every line of his poem, Amadeo conducted a tap sequence with his feet, on that ledge but a few feet wide. And Linds watched in frozen stance, and struggling to keep his attention on Amadeo’s words, amidst the gravity that could once more make Amadeo ‘the impossible one’, really.

Thus spoke Amadeo:

“There are agents that flow out from men,

[Tip-tap-tap …]

“And these agents will flow out from you,

[Tip-tap-tap …]

“And then deep inside, inside me.

[Tip-tap-tap …]

“It can create a life that’s heroic in men

[Tip-tap-tap …]

“If it flows from you, my hero-man.

[Tip-tap-tap …]

“But it won’t, this we know; you won’t let.

[Tip-tap-tap …]

“You have other plans for their force,

[Tip-tap-tap …]

“There are other aims for their course:

[Tip-tap-tap …]

“Inside me, trembling, me.

[Tip-tap-tap …]

“I thus am the one who will only receive

[Tip-tap-tap …]

“Of all the billions who live on this earth,

[Tip-tap-tap …]

“Their sweetness, their salt, and their gel—

[Tip-tap-tap …]

“And their smell.

[Tip-tap-tap …]

“A man may endeavour to taste of my probe

[Tip-tap-tap …]

“But if my agents hide for too long,

[Tip-tap-tap …]

“The taster is missing the real taste of me,

[Tip-tap-tap …]

“As I miss still the full taste of you.

[Tip-tap-tap …]

“So let me just say why I’ve come,

[Tip-tap-tap …]

“What I’ve wanted to shout for too long,

[Tip-tap-tap …]

“To all of the world watching us now:

[Tip-tap-tap …]

“That I live for the day when your nectar is mine,

[Tip-tap-tap …]

“That I live for the day when from you I dine,

[Tip-tap-tap …]

“That life without it is a horrid decline

[Tip-tap-tap …]

“Coz I know it is already mine:

[Tip-tap-tap …]

“Your nectar right sweet, your nectar with spice,

[Tip-tap-tap …]

“Your nectar like cream, your nectar like pearls,

[Tip-tap-tap …]

“Your nectar in flight, your nectar sucked clean.”

[Tip-tap-tap …]

Once Amadeo was again safely on the roof deck, he did manage to swallow with the greatest of ease, despite the previous effort of performing his poem.

THE END.