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Solenoid
99
even in those times, but
the old man’s story left me
breathless. The second
school class had gone and
so would the entire day. I
couldn’t care less about it.
The old man was delirious, I
knew that, but I knew better
than anyone that delirium
is not a waste product of
reality, it is a part of it and
sometimes its most precious
part. Besides the house,
I was buying a story – its
handbook or instructions
manual. From then on, I
would be the owner of a
house that was built, albeit
in the imagination of a
ninetyyear-old senile man,
above a giant coil buried
underground, as if Uncle
Mikola, in his unexplainable
magnanimity had given
me his own brains under
a glass bell, with a ship
shaped house built on its
hemispheres.
“On September 12th 1936
I finished the house, young
man. Itstoodalone,beautiful
like a pearl, in the middle of
thewaste lands and shanties
of Tei. It was painted and
furnished on the inside too,
all the framed paintings and
pictures were hung on the
walls, the precious carpets
(now worn-out rags) were
shining in lively shades…
The black iron stems at the
windows sprouted young
buds and twigs… It was a
wonder you could fall in
love with like you would
with a woman with large
hips, generous thighs… I
had a house on the ground,
but I never enjoyed it, sir…”
Because the woman proved
to be frigid. The solenoid,
whatever it could be used