swiftsure

This is my Chruch, De FortKerk. It was built in the early 18th Century. The little black dot above the left enterance is a 24 lbs. shot that landed there in 1805 when the then Flag Commodore Bligh (yes, the same Capt. Bligh of the "Mutiny on the Bounty" fame) besieged Curacao and failed to take the town.

Sunday, April 23, 2006 (Orthodox Easter)

A blessed 2nd Easter day! Awoke at 6, caffinated, and Irina called shortly after to wish me a Happy Orthodox Easter and to say that she would be accompany Valentina Dimitrovna to the cemetery today to celebrate Easter. When I asked upon whose grave they would celebrate the day, she said simply that they would just find some abandon one and care for that soul, which warmed my heart.

V.D. is such a charming old lady (she must be on the bad side of 70, though I never had the gall to ask her) and both she and Irina are good company for each other, in particular with my absence. As for bad news, Irina told me some fucking swab, kicked poor V.D.s cat in the head breaking the cats jaw and giving her a concussion. Life on this Island must surely be changing me; whereas while in Moscow I would take such news as an ordinary occurrence and a casual passing event (which indeed, it sadly is, mindless, pointless, cruelty and drunken idiocy being a standard way of life). Here I felt such a sense of revulsion and disgust and impotent rage that my hands quite shook with anger. Obviously whoever did this knows that the cat belongs to that dear old lady who lives in a one-room communal apartment, and that it is the only loving creature she has in this world, and they did this simply out of spite.

Regardless, after a quick reading of the news, and a few quick posts on the SG and a game of chess, I shaved, showered and dressed for Church. Services were quick, light and pleasant, indeed, proof if proof be needed of the phrase sweeter than a short sermon. Thence to a very good and hearty brunch at the Hotel Otrobanda, and from there home to change and to the beach for a light 1-kilometer swim.

Whilst at the beach, three young local boys came skating up on their rollerblades, as only young boys between the ages of 9 and 14 can; that is to say, with more enthusiasm than dexterity or skill, and with all encompassing sense of total joy for the pure pleasure of the experience. They all greeted me with big happy, honest smiles an truly sincere Bon Tardy, Mijnheer! and, Kon ti bai, Mijnheer? (Good Afternoon, Sir! How are you, Sir?)

They then asked me in Dutch, most politely, that if I was to be there reading -- not to disturb my reading -- but could I watch their things while they went fishing? I said I would be happy too. They grabbed some spools of string weighted with weights which could not of been even a farthings weight, and hooks attached to the ends, and with the same enthusiasm that they had for rollerblading, they rushed off to point to fish. To of told them that in such rough seas (and there were white caps) the endeavor with mere spools of string and no bait would be pointless, would have been wholly irrelevant to them. As it is with those who lead a full and happy life, tis not the result of the effort which counts, but the pleasure of the venture and experience which matters foremost. How I wish some of my acquaintances could live life with the same attitude of those young boys!

Afterwards, they returned (fishless) and simply jumped about frolicking in the sea. Laughing at all and sundry even the most mundane of things with full-hearted, clean, clear enthusiasm, full of the pure joy of simply being. Being. Being on a beach, with dear friends on a Sunday afternoon and feeling the power and thrash of the sea. Their mother called on three occasions, and I over heard the eldest saying in Papimento Yes, mama. no, no, there is a good Mijnheer here who is watching over us, so we wont drown (obviously meaning me. Its nice to be an unrequested guardian) Later I must have dosed (so much for my life guarding skills) for I suddenly heard Mijnheer! Mijnheer! Mijnheer! I bolted up, and said in a sleepy voice Ja? and there they were, like three ebony cherubs, their white and smiles flashing against their mink faces, waving in what could have been a posed picture Bye, Mijnheer!

They simply could not, nor would not leave without first bidding me farewell. It would not of been polite nor proper.

The juxtaposition between these joyful, polite, kind, innocent boys and a cretin in Moscow which would stamp on the head of a poor old womans helpless cats could not of been more obvious.

Is it nature or nurture I ponderedand prayed for a bountiful and happy life for those boys,. For surely Gods mesangers do come in all forms, their messages are oblique -- but upon reflection -- obvious, and a chorus of angles can be encompassed in the laugh of one truly happy child.