Friday, February 11, 2011

Meta-lect 34 (Your Breakfast, Sir)


11 February 2011. Dentista. La limpia, con Lilly--on a sunny morning. L's note, on yellow post-it--Mubarack is gone...

Happinesses. "Your breakfast, Sir..." The Biltmore Hotel, downtown LA, with my Dad, also on a sunny morning--the dusty palm trees on Pershing Square. That would be 1958? (Why is everything 1958?) Covered plates--pewter tops over thick porcelain, white cloth napkins, and the formality of a waiter. "Your breakfast, Sir..." Jump to Warszawa, a decade later. Hotel Polonia, heavy plates, no palms. But the same waiter, cloth over his arm, back slightly bent, impassive face, a distinguished profession of sorts... One of the oldest...

Lilly's face, from Mexico, beautiful middle brown, fine forehead, her dark eyes appearing over the white mask, like something out of Satjait Ray. India, China, Kamchatka, the Bering Sea...

"Finally we are free..."

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