Santiago McBoil, was bred in the jungles of Mexico, but was raised as an illegal
migrant in the United States…joins the American Army in 1967…at the height of the Vietnam War…subsequently became a participant of the Mylai massacre in 1968…
It is story of a man in midlife crisis
who is chasing illusions of paradise while running away from the nightmares of
the hell he has lived through.
The Techno Sadhu
RADIO THEATRE PRESENTS
A COSMIC PSYCHO DRAMA
MEDIA/MARTINABrian Eno ?https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=om-iZHrE1S8
How could ONE
know that trust and love in such a contract of honor implies suspicion and hate?
trust means that you can give and take all measures
one can do just that.
Yet who can be more savage to pride than one's dearest friend?
If friendship is a fragile bridge that can be swept away in the flood of human
must surely be
a crystal tight rope,
as dangerous to walk on …………………………………as it is to fall off.
were like children full of bravado and excited hearts that bled too easily.
They wounded each other by the small darts they shot. It was a love-hate
game…tolerated by each other with alternate spasms of jealousy and liberty.
The little girl was at the center of their rolling waves. Tara
was the innocent observer who kept the trio in their respectful roles.
and Leila…the parents… while
was an ANGEL Auntie, perhaps an ASSASSINS ANGEL AS WELL...oh….martina
when will you ever go… But if Tara
had not been there, the intrigue of coupling and lust would have been
predictable. The only question was who would couple with whom. Leila was warmed
heat as much as
clock did its work. It took them through a French Christmas Eve dinner party.
They slurped down delicious slippery oysters while breathing in the succulent
aroma of Corsican wild boar. Empty bottles of hearty Corsican red wine and
delicate French champagne stood on the table. They had young hearts and
laughed at the stories of Corsican bandit tales. Charlotte came in and out
of the room directing her current lover how to coordinate the meal while
improvising seduction on a man standing in line…he the one… waiting to be
chosen. A new game plan was being designed in front of everybody's eyes.
had no embarrassment in switching lovers.
Glenn neff eliane
better to end a love-affair while it is alive… than… breathing the foul air of
said. She looked across the table at her next conquest standing in the
doorway. In front of one lover she was running to the arms of his replacement.
It was very French. But like all simple stories there are always the
is free, especially freedom.
was on the downhill slope to forty and the lover she was ditching was nearly
twenty years her junior. She understood his fickle youth and knew it was
better to end the romance than suffering his ultimate boredom. Besides, it
was far more dramatic to make the first move, to not lose dignity. She
knew that an older woman holds a young man's roving eye best in the dim
candlelight and satin sheets of .
The light of dawn was coming and the spell would soon be over.
would not be caught in that moment. The act of the beheading her lover was
as quick as the guillotine.
had made the transition and her love bed was being made for the stand-in.
He was a quiet man – his friends called him the Silence. He did
nothing to bend the patterns of the trio.
was unaware of his presence unless she needed a light… for her cigarette.
trio accompanied with the Silence were invited to a New Year party in the villa
of a wealthy art patron. It was on the Bay
an Italian style mansion on a rich hump of land half circled with palm lined
shore shores. Below the south veranda was the large walled estate of an
American rock star that died at the height of his career. Jim Morrison was
dead but they were all alive, drunk, and dancing.
was dangerous and distracted. The young lover she had rejected was sitting
in the library having a very cozy chat with a very young and very beautiful
creature. Her young erect nipples were pointed up on her fine silk blouse.
fired missile-eyed hostility into the corner where they sat…
found the whiskey and was losing himself in its warm wash. The host of the
party was content to pour the burning liquid and joined
on the journey down stream…
had found Jean Simon and they were doing dance acrobatics to a bumping disco
beats while other French couples around the room danced stiff slow motion to
avoid sweating in their expensive clothes.
and other small children had been sent off with a professional nanny to the
games-room and they were happily watching the antics of a heavy metal band
making obscene movements on a television special. The children laughed.
The painted black and white masks of KISS …looked like clowns to them.
night swirled and suddenly it was New Year. Everybody kissed. Leila
went to the children's room and found Tara
wrapped in the power of sleep. She bent over her little angel and kissed
her gently on the forehead.
was in the kitchen holding
drunkenly in his arms. "What you need is a crazy man -- give me a little chaos
with your lips baby."
Charlotte poured liquid laugh over Santiago but her eye's caught the last
glimpse of her rejected love slipping out the back door with the young erect
nipples. The Silence looked on with total devotion to the woman who hardly knew
he was there. Across the bay fireworks exploded reflections on to black
and Leila at their new home, the House of Felix. She brought small presents for
the little girl. She had at last conquered the spirit of her former
boyfriend and found a superior position, cold and aloof. She could gaze
into the blue skies where he did not exist. The Silence hung at her side
with puppy love eyes, speaking soft words that she chose not to hear.
House of Felix became familiar… personal, but after two months the pleasure was
compromised by an encroaching force; Felix.
usually appeared on weekends smiling and talking pleasantries, then puttered off
about the house filling cracks with plaster, inserting electric lines and
letting a nervous eye follow the actions of the family. But now he was
coming every two or three days, acting gruff yet smiling with the pipe clinched
in his teeth. He repeated the phrase, “Pas de probleme,” when
or Leila would ask with a sense of puzzlement if everything was all right.
House of Felix was slowly becoming the headquarters for bohemian festivals.
made sure of that. The house was the perfect setting for her accumulated
and Leila were introduced as celebrities from
People rolled in from all points of Corsica
carrying bottles of wine, songs and laughter but leaving hangover-heads for the
Like a curse, Felix would arrive with
the early sun to discover the bottle strewn aftermath, cigarette burns on
ancient furniture, tire ruts through tender grass and crushed flower beds.
He would put on the face of a child who had discovered someone who had broken
his toy, but then patronize, holding tight lips and squint hidden eyes.
was barely out of sight one evening when
arrived with the caravan of party makers. Seven cars carried a complete
brass band from Marseille. There were trombones, saxophones, tubas and
snare drums. This was her way of announcing to the assembled friends her switch
of lovers. She was saddled up with The Silence who waited at
feet for months. He was hoping the great hope that one day she would
notice him. It was a melancholy trance for The Silence. All he
desired was her to want him. He was faithful like a dog. He would
lie in her lap and lick her slightest offerings.
knew what he was.
Silence was a man she could embezzle with indifference, yet feel the wonderful
glow of knowing she was loved, even worshiped. After all, she was a
Goddess. Devotion no matter where were it came from sustained the illusion
of youth. She could feel the old magic. The irony was the dog was giving
the bone to the mistress.
month of January passed and blew down the doors of February. The winds
howled up the Golfe d’Ajaccio. The bay was a funnel that narrowed the
force of the gale. Merciless hammers of wind smashed against stone walls of the
House of Felix. The doors were not finished and they would bang open
letting the storm tear through the rooms, ripping plastic sheeting away from
glassless window frames. The wind whirled through the house blowing the
little pockets of warmth up the chimney.
began to understand why Felix's wife had left. After 15 years the house
still had no proper windows and doors. Leila cursed Felix and shivered
with the cold. She swore at the stupidity of living in a house that held no
would become sodden on harsh peasant wine every night. He dammed the evils
of the Mediterranean winter and the deceiving warm weather friendship of Corsica
that had turned to a cold companion.
days and nights were not ice covered but when one is cold and when there is no
refuge from the cold, one stays cold. The house became a place of
punishment -- a station of mixed blessings. Leila more than ever wondered why
she had followed
into a new misery. She worried about Tara who was shy and now was
encapsulated in the antiquated system of a Corsican elementary school.
was tossed into a ring of outcast foreign children. There were Africans,
Arabs, Algerians, Moroccans, Portuguese and Spanish. They were all outcasts
began to learn French through the children’s songs and games. But Leila
was the only small girl with red hair, white skin, freckles and blue eyes.
She was a freak among the outcasts. Leila could feel the loneliness of her
little girl. Leila began to tutor her in French. She remembered her own school
French. Every day she and Tara would add words to their vocabulary.
sulked. He had no ability with language or at least that's what he told
himself and he refused to learn. He could not distinguish one sound from another
and so he continued speaking English as if he was a one-man institute for the
the language barrier both
and Leila found a circle of Corsican friends -- friends that multiplied friends
and every day a new face would come to the door of their cold house. It
was always the same. They explained they were friends of
The conversation went on about whom they were and the slow questions and answers
of small talk. The family would see these people for the next three years.
always kept tabs on the coming and going off her entourage. She would let
and Leila know who was true and who was to be not trusted. She told them
of the individuals who were in the social world of Corsica, the ones that they
should treat nicely -- it was a matter of butter on the bread -- she told them
how to go around the corners of a small island bureaucracy.
told them not to worry about Felix, because after all he was just another
bureaucrat and he was jealous of anyone who did anything with a sense of
was becoming an everyday nuisance. He was like any other nervous landlord
in the process of evictions. Felix was hinting at each visit he would like
the house empty and very soon.
must understand there are so many repairs to keep up with, and to be sure there
is no problem, but of course my 81-year-old mother is coming, and you see of
course, I must have a place for her, but naturally there is no problem and you
can stay a little longer -- two or three more weeks, perhaps the longest,
one month -- but you must understand my mother is a very old and I need time to
make the house comfortable for her...” Felix driveled.
like putting the doors and windows in for the good weather?” Leila said while
her eyes burned sarcasm into the air.
quo?” Felix would look at her innocently.
“Nothing, just nothing. But of course there is no problem,” she said.
was only a few days away.
was beginning to think Corsica
was a foolish choice. It was time to leave the beautiful island where the
winters were freezing and they hadn't made a dime. The work had not come
after their little moment in the limelight. Their 15 minutes of fame
evaporated leaving only wine saturated episodes and expensive hangovers.
found only one small commission, painting a mural for boutique owned by Corsican
gangster. Leila realized if they were to keep food in the house she had
better look for work or sell some of her sketches of bright colored mountains
and blowing skies. She did not want to return to a gray world. These were days
of unflattering and impoverished mediocrity.
arrived. She was breathless and excited. “I just found something for you.
Your future is all in front of you. But of course you remember Madame
Franccioni -- she is best friends with the Duchess De Pascal -- it is rumored
she is better friends with the Duke. Don't worry it is all arranged.
You have a rendezvous with the Duke and Duchess tomorrow. Everything will
happen for you now.”
showed you their summer mansion on the Boulevard Bonaparte. Remember, you called
it something -- oh yes, the PinkPalace.”
was only a grand house, four floors high with a rooftop penthouse. On the
ground floor was an enclosed garden and a swimming pool. It was not pink
but the color of a bleached rose, perfectly matching the pastel blue summer
skies of Corsica.
was tasteful and classic. It was money solidified, but more truthfully,
Old Money. It represented the ancient bank accounts of the aristocracy.
The Duke and Duchess De Pascal were born with blood entwined with vintage
wealth; land in Corsica,
There were partnerships in South African diamonds,
banana plantations; and astute decisions on the New
stock exchange. The Duke had been told in the 50's, a little company was
going to do well -- McDonald's -- he bought several thousand shares.
Ajaccion rumors were endless of the original money - who had married whom for
their glittering financial history. Everyone knew for one certain fact, money
Franccioni blinked her mascara laden eyelashes as she traced one of her fingers
over the liver spots on the back of her left hand. She looked up and
as she said, “You have to be very precise with Duke De Pascal. If he questions
for example, how much time will it take or, how much money -- you must tell him
directly and quickly. He does not like to waste time. But do not
worry. I am absolutely sure you have the commission. The Duchess loves the
mural you did for our city.” Madame Franccioni smiled benevolently. “Oh
yes, I have recommended you highly.”
had improved in understanding French and could follow the talk with little
Franccioni rattled her sentences together like so many belts of ammunition. “The
Duke and Duchess have wanted the entrance hallway of Palais De Pascal filled
with murals, but there has not been the type of artists for their requirements.”
Madame Franccioni batted her extended eyelashes. “Perhaps they have been
waiting for Michelangelo, ha, ha, but he is very old now.” She smiled
sweetly and settled into her stuffed leather chair.
laughed politely and then repeated it in English for
He pushed out a flat laugh and gave the old beauty an idiot smile.
Franccioni continued, “It is a very big job. If the Duke likes your
propositions more than money will come your way. I understand you need to
find a house. The Duke would give you an apartment in the Palais De Pascal - I
know there is one available -- but remember you must be very precise. Of
course I will try to help in any way I can.” She gave
a flash of her famous bedroom eyes.
do we call them? I mean do we have to address them as royalty or what?”
He was surprised in feeling a throb between his legs. His eyes worked the
centimeters of her wrinkled cosmetic skin. He could see the secret of beauty
buried in years.
Franccioni understood English more than
knew. She flapped her long lashed eyes at him again as she said, “Ha ha,
you know there was the revolution so long ago in France,
so you may say Monsieur and Madam, but still in Corsica
we prefer to think of them as our own Royalty. In this case naturally he
is still the Duke to us.” Madame Franccioni hesitated for a second and then
continued after clearing her throat, “The Duke is, eh, trés, trés, trés
smiled spontaneously. It was the funny sound of the throat clearing and the
syrupy clacking of three Latin r's in a row. He turned obliquely to Leila and
whispered from the corner of his mouth, “So what do we call them?”
an hour they were standing in front of the big black double doors of Palais De
Pascal. They were taken up the spiral staircase by a grumpy red faced old man
who showed them into a large reception room.
The floors were finely inlaid parquet
with the worn antique smoothness of decades of hands and knees waxing. On all
four walls were cracked varnished ancestral portraits of eight centuries.
The original Duke stared at them in a defiant cross-eyed glare, while a tiny
Chinese dog nuzzled against his gleaming armor. A dead boar lay at his feet.
whispered to Leila.
door opened and a distinguished looking man entered. He was white-haired with a
high forehand, straight nose, small chin and a clipped military mustache.
He was a clone of Charles De Gaulle, but dressed as an English country squire.
had a flash go across his mind when he looked at the Duke’s eyes, they looked so
familiar. His wife came behind him. The Duchess had her hair sprayed into
the starched gray sculpture of Margaret Thatcher. She wore the country
tweeds of Princess Anne, accompanied by expensive sensible brown leather shoes.
The Duke and the Duchess both spoke English with an Oxford
color but affected by a French accent. The Duke took Madame Franccioni warmly
into his arms giving the accustomed two-sided French kiss, a decimal longer than
Duchess asked most of the questions while the Duke was charming to the women and
especially to the little girl. Tara's
smile made roads where
words couldn't even create paths. The sales pitch was going their way.
a few minutes of talking, they descended to the grand entrance hall where
inspected walls and made measurements while Leila continued discussing details -
what style to be used, what was appropriate, constantly referring to the noble
heritage of the De Pascal family. She suggested perhaps there could be
several views of their land holdings -- it would be a great idea to use the
technique of trompe l'oeull -- no problem at all.
listened to Leila as she switched to French, not understanding anything but the
tone. He gave a very confident nod to the Duke - absolutely, no problem at
all –but in reality he had not the slightest idea of how to paint false
marbling, fake wood paneling, imitation rococo plaster borders, the School of
Italian Renaissance, the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel - but he threw in
for free the one French phrase he knew,
probleme,” he said again and again.
well,” the Duke said in English. His body language spoke plainly that the
interview had come to a conclusion. “How much time do you think this project
mind crystallized as he remembered to be precise. “Three months, at the most
four if we consider the possible problem of discovering wall areas that need to
be plastered and drying times...”
Duke immediately bored with details interrupted, “And the costs? What is the
money you anticipate - the complete package?”
was surprised the Duke came so quickly to the point. He was disarmed. He hummed
a few numbers to himself and went through the physical gestures of mental
calculations as though he actually had a system. Continuing the pantomime he
scribbled into his sketch book. He could feel sweat beading on his forehead as
he gulped and leapt into the unknown. “Uh, it comes to an even twenty-five
thousand dollars, which is, uh let’s see...” He jotted arithmetic as the sound
of a ticking clock filled the room. “Yes, about one hundred and seventy-five
Franccioni eyes bulged as she gasped, “Oo la la.”
Embarrassment exaggerated a long moment of silence. “C'est cher - it's
expensive, very expensive,” The Duke put his hands into his trouser pockets and
jiggled coins nervously. “Oui, that is very expensive. But of course one must
pay for things of quality. Naturally, we must be shown a design before we can
come to a decision. How soon can you have that work prepared?”
coughed and threw a look of panic to Leila. He had come up with the money figure
and his mind had frozen in the geometry of numbers.
weeks should be enough time don't you think
Leila said confidently.
yeah, sure, yeah plenty of time,”
said continuing the role but not really knowing what they were talking about.
The only thing that was going on in his head was the vision of very large
numbers, Twenty-five thousand dollars. He was already spending the
money. He smiled at Madame Franccioni.