ANDREW & JANE
Andrew and Jane; images taken from the Super-8 movie ‘Flashes do Verdes Vales do Fim do Mundo’, 1971.
In English
Andrew Lovelock had six years’ growth of long hair. And he had a job at Britannic House. At Britannic House he usually worked at night, on a computer. And at work he wore a sand-gray suit, a tie, polished shiny shoes, and a wig. A short wig, distinct and discrete. It was a complete transformation and he liked his job. Maybe he didn’t dream of spending his life in the same job, on that computer, or progressing in that kind of career. But for now it was interesting to lead that kind of double life. Outside of work hours, he lived with the beautiful Jane, with lively eyes, sweet voice, perfect smile. And the two got along very well together, with a few little quarrels here and there (it was more Jane who started such discussions), because Andrew Lovelock was almost a child (although he was a child prodigy) and Jane more or less kept an eye on him, like a wise and protective sister (a little older, or at least more experienced in the things of life). Andrew loved his long blond hair. And rightly so, because it was beautiful and naturally well cared for. Besides his job at Britannic House he also played drums in a group that he’d started, very promising. Sometimes Andrew’s group played at The Crypt on Fridays when his work at Britannic House had been completed during the day. The following year he would be going to University in Sussex, where he would study mathematics. He and Jane liked to take me to see places in London that I didn’t know yet. One day they took me to Kew Gardens, where there was a gigantic greenhouse, within which there was a tropical garden, with red coffee in the coffee trees. Juanita Banana was with us that day, having brought with her a Super 8 film camera, and she made us act a little bit in front of the camera, every time she had it running for the three minutes of a Kodachrome film.
For the next, peaceful (to some extent) nights in Naná’s house, a group of us sat on the floor and spent hours drawing, talking, drinking tea, smoking hash and listening to music. Andrew Lovelock had very good taste in music (pop) and he lent us almost all of his records, because at that time we didn’t have the money to buy even a simple compact disc. On Saturdays we went to Portobello Road, I mean, to the Portobello Road fair, which was always a party
Andrew Lovelock and Jane took me for a walk and planned a visit to Brazil, for their next holiday. Jane complained about the Brazilian tourist publications which only show ugly cities in the interior with huge ugly buildings, and never the natural beauties that she had heard me talking about so much. “Brazilian tourist companies have not yet discovered the wide open expanse of Brazil”, I replied to Jane. And then she smiled at me with those eyes that I shall never succeed in describing. Jane came from one of the better families in Salisbury, although I didn’t see that much of the “better families” in Salisbury. But I saw Jane a little like one of those legendary female characters of classic English novels. She was perfect and maybe had just one imperfection – if that could be seen as an imperfection: Jane’s smile was … perfect, and how she smiled, so much, and people, necessarily, ended up realising that one of those two central teeth in the upper part of her smile was a little bit of a third of a millimetre in front of the other tooth. If Jane had any defect, it was only that. But for me that was an incredible charm. I loved Andrew & Jane, I love Jane & Andrew, I will love both of them, my English couple-friends. Jane studied sociology and liked, as I did, poetry. And she lent me her collection of English poets from every period, and we talked about these poets and their poetry. Jane never laughed at my accent and never let people change me, at Naná’s house, where people practically lived out a theatrical comedy, because they inevitably belonged to the so-called new breed of people and yet we still knew almost nothing, even though we all came from different social classes.
Jane & Andrew were never “down”. Even when Andrew came home from his work at Britannic House, when he took off his short wig and removed the 18 hairpins that held in place his beautiful six-year long hair, calmly, hairpin by hairpin, loosened his hair, changed his clothes, took off the grey suit and the tie, the shirt and the work shoes and put on his other clothes, his faded jeans, his Lee trousers that were also more or less six years old, the Lee trousers that were the most patched and faded I had ever seen, his coloured belt, his unforgettable shirt and that coat, that maroon coat, covered with buttons from top to bottom, and made of a fabric that was a mixture of satin and another material, beautiful, bought in Portobello Road, on one of those Saturdays, when we talked with the stallholders like on that day when the young woman told me, “Never shop at a store, knowing you have a market in the city”. She said that because I had told her the price that I‘d paid for my pullover purchased on King’s Road, at a time when I only had a small amount and when Zé Vicente called me, “let’s go shopping at King’s?” with that way of Zé Vicente and I didn’t resist the invitation, months ago. I had paid four pounds for it, when a week later I had seen just the same and even more beautiful, for only three shillings (in the time of shillings), on the stall of that woman-child, in Portobello Road.
When a child reveals a secret to another, that other child will reveal the secret to other children until, successively, all the children in the world will get to know and if this dream doesn’t stop, we should recognise that we are all a child.
“World, vast world …”
I had read the poems of Sir Francis Bacon – “the world is a bubble, and the life of man / Less than a span”, was one of the poems. But I also read the poems of Keats, Lewis Carroll, and many other poets in Jane’s anthology.
Jane & Andrew were never “down”. Jane was sitting on the carpet in Naná’s living room, with Andrew lying on the floor, with his head supported on her lap, with one leg raised (Andrew), leaving part of his blue boot showing. Jane was talking and with one hand she was stroking Andrew’s blond hair. The other hand, her right arm, she left resting on her right leg. Jane’s hair was long and brown and smooth and her skin was clear, her manner was both lively and relaxed.
Andrew & Jane loved each other, and they love each other. And their love was so great and so ‘relax’ that there was still love for others, for all of us. And I also loved them and always felt good in their company. And that wasn’t the London, nor the England of any book, of any writer, that was my England, that is, the England that I knew, thanks to my search, having always believed in that saying that “He who seeks will find”. And Andrew himself once said to Mossa, after she came back from Stonehenge with that American film maker, disappointed, because they saw “just some stones”. Andrew said: “It’s necessary to look for things”…
Andrew and I agreed to take the train to Salisbury. Jane had to stay in London (because of her classes), and Juanita Banana ‘guaranteed’ that within two days she would meet me in Salisbury, and together, all of us, we would watch Tony Legolas’s concert in the Cathedral. Andrew Lovelock and I left London (and Naná’s house) in the morning. Andrew had worked the entire night on the computer at Britannic House, and when he arrived at Naná’s house to pick me up, he was still wearing his ‘work uniform’ and he was dressed like this that he travelled to Salisbury, disguised in his grey suit and under his short wig. Andrew liked to play with two personalities: one ‘straight’ and the other ‘freak’. And on the street, in the train stations and on the underground, in public places, nobody suspected anything, nobody saw anything, when he was in that costume. Often when we were walking the streets of London and we met mutual friends, hippies, heads, freaks, none of them realised that the ‘straight’ next to me was Andrew Lovelock, disguised. And Andrew had great fun seeing people’s faces. Then he would reveal himself and people would laugh, making “Ohs!” of surprise.
The train was half empty at that time and we bought second class tickets but we went to sit in one of the first class carriages. We lowered the curtain and rolled a joint for later, enjoying the tranquility of the landscape seen from the train window. When the ticket inspector came into our cabin to check our tickets he didn’t notice, or he pretended not to notice, that we were smoking a joint, in spite of the smell. He laughed when he saw the curtain drawn down and smiled wickedly, knowing that in that darkness something slightly forbidden was going on. The inspector saw that our tickets were second class but said we could stay right there, in first, because the train was empty. We ordered two sandwiches and two cups of tea with milk. And we opened the curtain and the window. The day was beautiful even though some black clouds were threatening rain for later.
“Look, Jane’s parents’ house!” Andrew pointed out to me, one of those delightful English country houses, in verdant countryside just a few miles outside Salisbury, beyond the railway line. Soon afterwards we got off at Salisbury station.
In the house at Saint Anne Street people were very shocked, more than shocked, hugely surprised, when they came face to face with Andrew in “that outfit”. People first welcomed me and gave the usual greetings for me, whilst Andrew stayed half to one side, like a stranger. Until they realised that my companion was Andrew, and they exclaimed in one big exclamation together: “Andrew Lovelock!!!” Then Andrew took off his wig and the 18 hairpins, letting fall his long golden hair of six years growth. Andrew’s hair came down to his waist. At times he would casually roll it round his neck as if his hair was a golden scarf that he was taking off. I would very much like to have the gift of describing Andrew Lovelock, his beautiful and lively way of walking, his eyes both childish and adult, brotherly and paternal, friendly and warm, all at the same time, confident that he would inspire me, patient, though it was not quite patience – it was more the way of a good father, watching the disastrous progress of his crazy son (me), a way that he had towards me (in particular). And it took, at least, a good dose of patience to deal with my changeable and confusing moods. Andrew offered me his records, his hash, his cigarette rolling machine (the only one of its kind), his clothes, his books, his love and his friendship. Above all Andrew was generous. I hadn’t got to know Andrew Lovelock before London. I had only seen him during my first two days in Salisbury, and spoke briefly with him, when he was leaving, when he gave me his new address in London, on Vera Road in Fulham, in case I should go there; the address where later, by telephone, I got to know the cheerful and disappearing Trip.
I remembered that, months before, in another life, on another trip before the current one, I had heard an exchange more or less like this, in the community’s living room, in a conversation between Bruce and one of the girls in the house:
“I saw Andrew Lovelock in London,” said Bruce.
“Oh, Andrew Lovelock …!” said the girl, with a bit of a face like someone who’d eaten something and didn’t like the taste.
“He’s changed” answered Bruce, giving an inflection that I interpreted as “he’s changed for the better”. The girl still doubted it, but not a lot, because if Bruce said Andrew had “improved” it’s because Andrew had improved.
But for me (and for other people) Andrew is the type of friend without any defect, something practically impossible these days. But nothing is impossible because HE exists.
Em Português
Andrew Lovelock tinha cabelos longos de seis anos. E êle tinha un emprego na Brittanic House. Na Brittanic House êle trabalhava geralmente à noite, num computador. E no emprego ele usava terno cinza- areia, gravata, sapatos engraxados e brilhantes, e peruca. Uma peruca curtinha, distinta e discreta. Era uma completa transformacão e ele gostava do trabalho. Talvez não sonhasseil passar a vida no mesmo emprego, naquele computador, ou progredindo naquele tipo de carreira. Mas por enquanto era interessante levar aquelas duas vidas. Fora o horário do emprego ele vivia com a linda Jane, de olhos vivos, voz doce, sorriso perfeito. E os dois se davam às mil maravilhas, com algumas briguinhas de mentirinha aqui e ali (era mais a Jane quem puxava as discussões), porque Andrew Lovelock era quase uma criança (ainda que fosse uma criança prodígio) e Jane mais ou menos tomava conta dele, como uma sábia e protetora irmã (um pouquinho mais velha, ou pelo menos mais experiente das coisas da vida). Andrew tinha amor aos seus longos cabelos louros. E com toda razão, porque eram lindos e naturalmente bem tratados. Além do emprego na Brittanic House êle também tocava bateria num grupo que começava, muito promissor. Às vezes o grupo do Andrew tocava no The Crypt, às sextas-feiras, quando o seu trabalho na Brittanic House tinha sido executado durante o dia. No próximo ano êle entraria para a Universidade em Sussex, onde estudaria Matemática. Ele e Jane gostavam de me levar para conhecer lugares de Londres que eu ainda não conhecia. Um dia êles me levaram ao Kew Gardens, onde havia una gigantesca estufa, dentro da qual havia un jardim tropical, com café vermelhinho nos cafeeiros. Juanita Banana estava junto, naquele dia, tendo trazido com ela uma câmera de filmar Super 8, o que fez com que representàssemos um pouco em frente à câmera, tôda vez que ela estava em função, durante três minutos de filme Kodacrome.
Nas próximas e tranquilas (até certo ponto) noites na Casa da Naná, um grupo sentavamse no chão e passava horas de senhando, conversando, bebendo chá, fumando hazixe e ouvindo música. Andrew Lovelock tinha um muito bom gosto musical (pop) e nos emprestou quase todos os seus discos, porque naquele tempo a gente não tinha dinheiro pra comprar nem sequer um compacto simples. Aos sábados íamos à Portobello Road, quero dizer, à feira da Portobello Road, que era sempre una festa …
Andrew lovelock e Jane me levavam a passear e combinavam una vinda ao Brasil, nas próximas férias deles. Jane se queixava das publicações turísticas brasileiras onde só areciam feias cidades do interior com enormes edificios feios, e nunca as belezas naturais do que tiento ela já me tinha ouvião falar e contar. “É que as companhias turísticas brasileiras ainda não descobriram os infinitos lados brasileiros”, respondia eu a Jane. E então ela me sorria com aquelos olhos que eu jamais conseguirei descrever. Jane vinha de uma das melhores familias de Salisbury, se bem que eu não via muito isso de melhores famílias, em Salisbury. Mas eu via Jane um pouco como uma dessas lendárias personagens femininas dos clássicos romances ingleses. Ela era perfeita e talvez só tivesse uma imperfcição: se é que aquilo pudesse ser tido como imperfeição: sorriso de Jane era… perfeito e como ela sorria, sempre, a gente, forçosamente, acabava por perceber que um daqueles dois dentes centrais da parte superior do sorriso era um nadinha de om terço de milimetro de frente do outro dente. Se Jane tinha algum defeito, era só aquele. Mas pra mim aquilo era de um charme incrivel. Eu amava Andrew & Jane, eu amo Jane & Andrew, eu amarei os dois, meu casal amigo ingles. Jane estuđava Sociologia e gostava, como eu, de poesia. E me emprostava sua coletanea de poetas ingleses de todos os tempos e a gente conversava a respeito dos poetas e suas poesies. Jane nunca ria do meu sotaque e nunca deixava que as pessoas trocassem de mim, na casa da Naná, onde as pessoas praticamente viviam ao teatro de comédia, porque fatalmente pertenciam as chamadas novas raças e ainda não sabíamos quase de nada, apesar de vimos todos de diferentes classes sociais.
Jane & Andrew nunca estavam “down”, pra baixo. Mesmo quando Andrew voltava do seu trabalho na Brittannic House, que ele retirava a sua peruca curtinha e retirava os 18 grampos que prendiam os seus lindos cabelos longos de seis anos tranquilhamente, grampo por grampo, “staple”, “hairpin by hairpin”, soltava os cabelos, mudava a roupa, tirava o terno cinza e a gravata, a camisa e o sapato de serviço e vestia a outra roupa, a sua “faded jeans”, sua calça lee também de quase ou maio que seis anos, a calça lee mais remendeda e desbotada que eu já tinha visto, seu cinto colorido, sua camisa inesquecível e aquele “coat”, aquele casaco grená, cheio de botões cobertos de cima até embaixo, e de un tecido que era un misto de setim com outro tecido, lindo, comprado na Portobello Road, naqueles sábados, quando a gente conversava com os vendedores das barracas como naquele dia em que aquela mulher jovem me disse “Nunca faça suas compras numa loja, sabendo que tem um mercado na cidade”. Ela me disse isso porque eu tinha contado a ela o preço que eu tinha pagado pelo meu pullover comprado na King’s Road, num tempo em que eu tinha uma pequena quantia é que o Zé Vicente me chamou “vamos fazer compras na King’s? com aquele jeito do Zé Vicente e eu não resisti ao convite, meses atrás. Eu tinha pagado quatro libras por ele, quando uma semana mais tarde eu tinha visto um igualzinho e até mais bonito, por apenas tres shillings (no tempo dos shillings ), na barraca daquela mulher-criança, na Portobello Road.
Quando uma criança revela um segredo a outra, essa outra criança revelará o segredo a outras crianças até que, sucessivamente, todas as crianças do mundo ficarão sabendo e co esse sonho não acabou, devemos reconhecer que somos todos uma criança.
“Mundo, vasto mundo…”
Eu lia os poemas do Sir Francis Bacon – “The world’s a Bubble, and the life of man/ Less than a span”, era um dos poemas. Mas eu lia também os poemas do Keats, do Lewis Carroll, de muitos outros poetas da antologia da Jane.
Jane & Andrew nunca estavam “down”. Jane sentada sobre o tapete da sala da Naná, com o Andrew deitado no chão, com a cabeça apoiada no colo dele, com uma perna levantada (o Andrew), deixando a mostra parte do cano da sua bota azul. Jane conversava com uma das mãos ela acariciava os cabelos louros do Andrew. A outra mão, o braço direito, ela deixava abandonados na sua (da Jane) perna direita. Os cabelos de Jane eram longos e castanhos e lisos e sua pelo era clara. Seu jeito era vivo e repousado.
Andrew & Jane se amavam, e se amam. E o amor deles era tanto e tão “relax” que ainda sobrava amor para os outros, todos nós. E eu também os amava e me sentia sempre ben, na companhia deles. E aquela não era a Londres, não era a Inglaterra de nenhum livro, nenhum escritor, aquela era a minha Inglaterra, isto é, a Inglaterra que eu conhecia, graças a minha busca, tendo eu sempre crido naquele ditado que diz que “Quem procura acha”. E o próprio Andrew uma vez disse a Mossa, depois que cla voltou de Stonehenge com aquele americano cineasta, decepcionados, porque viram “só umas pedras”. Andrew disse: “É preciso procurar pelas coisas”…
Andrew e eu combinamos irmos do trem a Salisbury. Jane teve que ficar em Londres (por causa das aulas), e Juanita Banana me “garantiu” que dentro de dois dias ela ia me encontrar em Salisbury, e juntos, todos, assistiriamos ao concerto do Tony Legolas, na Catedral. Andrew Lovelock e eu deizamos Londres (e a casa da Naná) pela manhã. Andrew tinha trabalhado a noite inteira no computador da Brittannic House e quando chegou na casa de Naná pra me pegar, ele ainda vestie o seu “uniforme de serviço” e foi assim vestido que ele viajou para Salisbury, disfarçado dentro do seu terno cinza e debaixo da sua peruca do cabelos curtos. Andrew gostava de brincar de ter duas personalidades: uma “straight” e outra “freak”. E na rua, nas Estações de trem e underground, nos lugares públicos, ninguém desconfiava de nada, ninguém via nada, quando clo estava na de “careta”. Muitas vezes quando andavanos pelas ruas de Londres e encontravamos amigos comuns, hippics, heads, freaks, nenhum deles desconfiavam que aquele “careta” ao meu lado era o Andrew Lovelock disfarçado. E o Andrew tirava o maior sarro (simpático) da cara das pessoas. Depois ele se revelava e as pessoas riem, faziam “Ohs!” de surpresa.
O trem estava meio vazio naquele horário e nós compramos passagens de segunda classe e fomos ocupar uma das cabinos de primeira classe. Baixamos a cortina e preparamos um cigarro de haxixe pra mais tarde a gente curtir a tranquilidade da paisagem vista da janela do trem. O guarda-fiscal do trem entrou na nossa cabine pra conferir as nossas passagens e nem percebeu ou fingiu não perceber que estavamos fumando um “joint”, apesar do perfume. Sorriu quando viu a cortina baixada e sorriu maliciosamente, achando que naquele escurinho alguma coisa ligeiramente proibida estava acontecendo. O guarda-fiscal viu que as nossa passagens eram de segunda classe mas disse que a gente podia ficer ali mesmo, na de primeira, porque o trem estava vazio. Pedimos dois sanduíches e duas chicaras de chá com leite. E abrimos a cortina da cabine e a vidraça. O dia estava lindo ainda que algumas nuvens negras ameaçasse chuva para mais tarde.
“Olha a casa dos pais de Jane!” me apontava Andrew, para uma dessas deliciosas casas de campo inglesas, num campo verdejante, poucas milhas fora de Salisbury, meio a beira de estrada do ferro. Logo depois dosciamos na Estação de Salisbury.
Na casa da Saint Ann Street as pessoas levaram um grando susto, mais que susto, uma prolongada surpresa, quando deram de cara com o Andrew “naqueles trajes”. As pessoas primeiro me receberam e fizeram as costumeiras festas pra mim, enquanto o Andrew ficava meio de lado, como um estranho. Até que perceberam que aquele meu companheiro era o Andrew e exclamaram numa conjunta e só exclamação: “Andrew Lovelock!!!” Ai o Andrew foi tirando a peruca, os 18 grampos e foi soltando os seus dourados cabelos longos de seis anos. Os cabelos do Andrew vinham até a cintura (dele). E as vezes ele os enrolava descontraídamente no seu pescoço como se os cabelos fossem um despojado cachecol dourado. Eu gostaria muito de ter o dom de descrever o Andrew Lovelock, o seu jeito bonito e vivo de andar, os seus olhos infantis o adultos, liais paternais, “friendly e warmth”, ao mesmo tempo, da confiança que ele me inspirava, de paciencia (que não era bem paciencia – era mais un jeito de bom pai, ao assistir aos desastrosos progressos do seu filho amalucado (eu), que ele tinha pra comigo (em particular). E ére preciso, pelo menos, uma boa dose de paciencia pra aguenter os meus humores versáteis e confusos. Andrew me oforecia os seus discos, o seu hash, a sua máquina de enrolar cigarro (a única no genero), as suas roupas, os seus livros, o seu amor e a sua amisade. Sobretudo Andrew era um generoso. Eu não conheci o Andrew Lovelock antes de Londres. Só o tinha visto durante os meus dois primeiros dias em Salisbury, e falado rapidamente com ele, na despedida, quando ele me ofereceu o seu novo endereço em Londres, na Vera Road, em Fulham, caso eu voltasse pra lá, endereço que mais tarde, pelo telefone, fiquei conhecendo a alegre e sumida Tripy.
Eu me lembro que, meses cepoie, numa outra vida, numa outra ida, antes da atual, ouvi um diálogo mais ou menos assim, na sala da comunidade, numa conversa entre Bruce e uma das meninas da casa.
“Estive com Andrew Lovelock en Londres”, dizia Bruce.
“Oh, Andrew Lovelock…!” fazia a menina, com uma ligeira cara de quem comeu e não gostou.
“Ele mudou” respondeu Bruce, dando una inflexão que eu interpretei como “ele mudou pra melhor”. A menina ainda duvidava, mas não muito, porque se o Bruce tinha dito que o Andrew tinha “melhorado” é porque o Andrew tinha melhorado.
Mas pra mim (e para outras pessoas) o Androw é o tipo do amigo sem defeito, coisa praticamente impossível, nos dias que correm. Mas nem tudo é impossível porque ELE existe.