Opera

The terrace Of Heineke, the most hospitable café in the village boarding the Lake. The day after my birthday. I am on my own, listening to my I Pod. Eyes shut. Sun hits my face. In the blind I can reach my glass of Cola Light. Its 14.25. Yes sometimes I have to look. Is it safe? yes it is safe.
Its Bartoli again. Singing arias, or "songs" my Chinese friends would say. Yes nice Songs. "Who is that girl?" 14 days ago I visited The Commune of the Great Wall, a hotel 60 km to the north of Beijing. Never go there, there reader, dont follow my mistake, unless you are one of those dead US professors they dump in that unhuman prestige hotel.
But the girl behind the counter interested me. Direct. Reserved. With those slight hesitations that trigger my curiosity. There is the hotel music. Good choice. Kathleen Ferrier echoing in the huge hall. I interrupt the ritual of showing mij passport aso, walk into the center of that big, high, hall, ridiculously impressive. And I close my eyes to listen better, all on my own. Listening.Enjoying.
I walk back.
"Beautiful!"
She is polite.
"Yes."
"Kathleen Ferrier, do you know her."
She is wearing a red star on her shirt. It starts to move.
"No."
"No problem."
Gracious me. I must have smiled. She gathered her self.
"I dont know much of those singers. The only one I know.."
"Yes?"
"Tom Cruise."
Yes, I said, he is a great singer.

But that conversation I remember just now, trying to describe my stay at the terrace of Heineke. It was past 1400 then. Sunday. And it maybe the sun melting down the lids of my my memory or the melancholic state I was in, anyhow, suddenly it came into my mind how the little Jan passed his sunday afternoons. His ears glued to the old Philips listening to his favourite sunday program: Het Opera en Belcanto programma van de Belgische Radio. Always on those dead sunday afternoons in that completely town I lived.
There I was, just 5 meters from my unhappy parents, warming my chaotic and despairing heart.
"Please," I screamed," I want to go out. Let me go. I want to go out and conquer the world."
But the screaming stayed inside. And I stayed put. Because 13. Because of the pain imagining the despair of my miserable father and mother, when I would leave.
I opened my eyes. The man besides me smiles at me. He raises his hands towards heaven.
"Delicious."
And yes. "Fantastic" I said.
And that it was. The sun warming my face, a stranger hugging me, Bartoli stroking my heart.