Paris is my lovely party

"If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast" – Ernest Hemingway

Alice Ribeiro repeated Hemingway´s phrase softly. At this time, the flight attendant from Air France interrupted her thoughts, she has asked:

- Madam, could you buckle your seat-belt, please? We'll be taking off in a few minutes.

Alice thanked her with a smile, buckled her seat-belt and went back to the movie of  your life. She decided to rewind it so far, but she was not very far...

 A passion for books since her childhood, the years that she studied Literature at the University, her job in a small bookstore, her grief that was due to her father's death, a boyfriend who left her heartbroken...and the desire to get over her shyness and write her own books.

The trip to Paris was the result of this effort, she drew inspiration from Hemingway, a remarkable writer who found,  in the city of lights, the ideal environment to start writing. Because of this, Alice saved money for years and finally she will realise this dream.

She promised herself that, the first thing that she would do, when she arrives in Paris, would be to visit Montmartre. It is essential for someone who goes to Paris, dive into this mythical neighborhood, which breathes art in all its corners.

In fact, if Paris were a body, Montmartre would be the heart that dances passionately, pumping the joy of being alive. Even to forget her past too sad, because one day,  Montmartre had lost people by religious intolerance, that's why this place was the meeting point of the painting magic to compensate for the pain ... so the tragedy is the target on which the paintbrushes can direct their determination. Art is a way of evaporating our deepest chaos.

After thinking about her past, Alice has fallen asleep, but not for long, the sleep has become a dream in which she feels the guest at a party in a house of several rooms.

 In each room she entered, she found someone who gave her a lesson, she learned Impressionism with Cézanne,  then she saw a large window, where Pissarro told to her about  the daily life of Montmartre,  in another room she could dance with The Prima Balerina , when Picasso took her hand, and suddenly they were in Le Bateau-Lavoir, where he began a discussion about cubism.

Alice did not feel a mere spectator of these scenes, by contrast,  she felt her fingers risking a few strokes on a blank canvas, felt her eyes brimming with emotion while witnessing these streets from the window, and heard her own words when she was trying to break up a fight between a furious Modigliani and a moody Picasso ... She was utterly absorbed by that moment, so that she did not realize that the plane had arrived, and that she was already in Paris.

Hours of intense and deep dream, but reality now called Alice to live. She went to the Picasso Atelier, a small apartment located at number 49 rue Gabrielle. This was a luxury that she would allow herself, after she has been working hard for years, now she would have the pleasure of staying in a studio that belonged to Picasso in 1900.

She wanted to be immersed enough to awaken her ability to write and  increase her desire. Provoke in herself a real transfusion of passion, receiving her own blood renewed, oxygenated and full of imagination.

But first, she wanted to visit the bookstore Tardieu,-which is only four minutes walk from the Atelier. For years, the bookstore, - where she worked,- bought many books from Tardieu, it was  in these books that she read about the history of France.

She has been talking to herself for a little time, though the dream had been strong, she decided to concentrate on the present moment. So, when Alice was catching Dostoievski and Goethe on the shelves,-because she wanted to read in french: Crime and Punishment and Fausto,  a man asked her, with a strange accent:

- Have you ever read these books before in another language, young lady?

She looked at the man, who stood before her with curiosity. He was much taller than her and he looked about  forty , because of some white hair and his wrinkled skin. He had keen eyes, a lean body and crutches. She tried to guess his origin, but it seemed an impossible exercise to be undertaken with a just one question, then  Alice replied, overcoming her shyness:

-          I've read in Portuguese and English-

-          What  is there in common between the characters of Fausto and Rodion Raskolnikov? - He asked  with the same indecipherable accent.

-          In my opion, there's a similarity in redemption, they were men who were redeemed by love. Although there are differences between them, they experienced a kind of existential conflict.

-          Great! Wonderful! My name's István Kazinczy and I´m from Budapeste, Hungary ! And you, clever lady, what´s your name, and where are you from? he asked enthusiastically.

-          -Hungary! - she repeated the name of the country vehemently and she said:

-          The only things I know about Hungary are: A great football player named Puskas who my father admired a lot. He told me, one day, that Ferenc Puskas is regarded as the best Hungarian football player ever, one of the best football players of all time, and football stadiums around the world knew his most beautiful goals.

-          The kürtőskalács, a chimney cake that  is sold near my house and the book that was written by Chico Buarque, named Budapest;

-          And finally, she said, with a large smile :

-          I'm kidding, My name´s Alice Ribeiro and I´m from Brazil! I was born in a small city named Teresópolis. Actually  I know a little more about your country, for example, I read a book by the writer Tibor Déry, named Niki, a story of a dog.

-           I know this book, the story of a female dog who had fears and anxieties, depressed and disillusioned with life, she did not accept the disappearance of her owner, she did not want anyone that just loved her, but she wanted also someone who she could love- István said.

-          I identified with her several times ...- Alice said.

-          Would you like to drink a cup of coffee with me, Alice ? I think I have to tell you a story  he asked ;

-          Sure, there is a bistrô, near here- she answered

We went to a small bistro near the bookstore,  he was walking with difficulty because of his crutches. A song,- that it seems came from the depths, was playing. Josephine Baker was singing in French, an old concert she did in the late '20s on an old gramophone. We sat at a table near the street, when he began to tell his story:

-          I came to Paris to celebrate the new year. Two years ago, I suffered a serious car accident , my legs had lost their movements, I stayed for almost a year in a wheelchair. I felt all the effects, losses and damages that the accident caused in me, but something inside me screamed and begged:  -Dont give up your life! I refused any possibility of defeat. Relearned how to walk and now I want to see the fireworks in the sky making noises, I want to be the protagonist of my life, not just a spectator. I want to realize all my dreams. I think if we meet here, it is because somehow I know you came to Paris to do something. Could you tell me, what is the dream that  will happens here?

Alice looked startled at István. How can the world have so much synchronicity in their movements? she asked herself in silence...and said to him:

-           I also want to celebrate my life. At least, discover that I can create something beyond me. Paris was the inspiration for many who came before me. I'm trying to follow in their footsteps: Hemingway, Picasso, Modigliani, Gloria Stern, etc... For them, Paris was a feast constantly, they carried wherever they went, because it woke them. So here I am, I want to write all the poems that were only in my thoughts. Everything that has been locked inside me all these years ...I want to turn into something bright, effusive, intense and put into practice ...

- Alice, Alice, Alice, this sounds  good! I love your dream, and first of all, I would  like to invite you... Do you want to spend the last day of the year with me? We can meet before midnight ... near the Eiffel Tower! We can exchange many ideas, as well as you, I'm a writer too!

Alice smiled and said goodbye to István. Perhaps, she will meet him later...but now she wanted to go to the Atelier because she felt the inspiration come to meet her...