Unai Elorriaga - Plants Don't Drink Coffee

February 58th, morning:

“Did you bring the bread, Simon?” Martina.

“Gur gave me three mackerel,” Simon. “Ambrosio caught them.”

Simon left the mackerel in the sink. One of the mackerel sighed. Martina sighed too.

“Piedad rang earlier,” Martina. “She says you received a letter today. From England, or was it Ireland, or Germany. I can’t remember what she said. She says she’ll bring it to Rosa’s later today, in the afternoon. That she’ll be at Rosa’s by four and she’ll read you the letter then. At four o’clock. That’s what she said. . and the bread, Simon?”

February 58th, nightfall:

Gur and Simon sat on the bridge’s parapet. They were looking at a fig tree in the path, and Simon started talking. He told Gur he wouldn’t believe it, because it was unbelievable, but in the end the Irish Rugby Federation had said yes. They’d sent a letter saying yes. Gur didn’t believe him. Simon had to explain to him he had received a letter from Ireland, and it was a very formal letter that stated very clearly they needed a linesman for a match in Wales. In Wales no less. Gur couldn’t understand: Hadn’t he written to the Irish Federation? How come the match was in Wales? Simon told him that was the least of it, he could explain the reason for that later, there were other things he had to explain before that, more important things, more peculiar.

Simon had memorized the entire letter and he gave it to Gur in all detail. He told him they played a very peculiar game in Wales every year. The letter said that. And it was a peculiar game because it was played on a peculiar field. And it was a peculiar field because it was on a steep slope. The letter said that in the old days they used to have all sorts of competitions on that field, but things were more serious now, more scientific, and teams don’t accept the field in Wales. Because it’s on a steep slope. But it’s an old field, said the letter, one hundred years old, and they don’t want to demolish it, and children play rugby on it, but that’s not enough to justify maintaining it. And to justify its maintenance, the letter says, what they do is they hold an important match there every year. The letter says it’s like a tradition, a yearly thing. And Simon explained to Gur that the Irish were going to play against the Welsh, and that’s why the Irish Federation was involved.

Gur was full of admiration for Simon, because he was going to be linesman in a match between official teams. A match between the Irish and the Welsh teams, no less. But Simon had to explain it wouldn’t be with the official teams; some of the players were from the official teams, but not all. Maybe three or four, or five, belonged to the official teams, but not all. The others would be good players, yes, first-rate ones, but not from the official teams. Simon explained that a group of players got together in Ireland every year, to go to Wales. They were a group of friends. They were all rugby players, first-rate ones for sure, but in the end they were a group of friends. He said it was like a tradition, a yearly thing. To justify maintaining the Welsh field. Simon said all those things were in the letter, and he would be linesman in that match. In Wales, no less.

“And what an elegant linesman you’ll make, Mister Simon. In Wales,” said Gur.

February 59th, midday:

“The bread, Simon?” Martina.

Piedad bought half a dozen sardines. Before putting them in her bag, though, she took the book out. With great care. And she held it against her chest for the fishmonger to see: Samuel Mud / Sorin Firs. Letters .

Samuel Mud’s letter to Sorin Firs

July 26th, 1948

Sorin, Monkey Boy:

How are the legs? How many toes did they remove in the end? Four? You’ll have to draw plans with your hands now, unlike before. You’ll lose some of your style. A question, Sorin: after being removed from your foot, did your toes still wiggle? Are toes like lizard tails? And another question: how many toes do lizards have? Do you know? Ask that friend of yours, the one who works for the encyclopedia .

We went to see Van Gogh’s paintings recently. It’s true what you say, you’re right. Once again you’re right, Sorin. Just like you were about Jan Neruda’s short stories. But, looking at Van Gogh’s paintings closely I found something else more surprising. I hadn’t realized this until now, but the other day, when we had the paintings so immediate and so near, I thought a lot about something Van Gogh does: he sometimes paints the sky green. And that’s not the worst. The worst of it is, everybody believes skies can be green. Nobody says Van Gogh’s skies aren’t skies. That’s Van Gogh’s achievement .

I too believed skies could be green at the beginning. And I imagined a green God in Van Gogh’s sky, Sorin. And the archangel Gabriel too, I imagined him green. I often think the archangel Gabriel is quite a nice guy. Most of the characters in the bible are nice guys. Like Joseph of Arimathea. But I can’t imagine Joseph of Arimathea green. Joseph of Arimathea and the apostles and Mary and Caiaphas I can’t imagine green; I imagine them in colors, all those people, even if they populate Van Gogh’s green skies. Do you think of these things when you look at Van Gogh’s paintings, Sorin? But you’re an atheist, I’d forgotten that. Me too, I’m almost always an atheist. And the conversations, Sorin? Don’t you like the conversations in the bible?

Have you realized, Sorin, that the skies can be any color except green? Skies can be red, any shade of red, orange, blue, any shade of blue. . and yellow too, because the sun is a bit yellow, or white, gray, black. But not green. Van Gogh made up a new sky. Like Nietzsche .

Piedad grilled three sardines for herself. She ate them in the living room, watching TV. She imagined a cat on the other side of the sofa on which she was sitting. And she named this imaginary cat Samuel Mud.

These days we’ve been going to the painter’s house in the evenings. They’ve kicked this painter out of the painters’ association; did you know that, Sorin? You know what this painter is like, so it’s no surprise he gets kicked out of every place. Gustav, Elias and the two of us went to the painter’s house. There’ll be five of us when you come over. September or October, Sorin? You must let me know .

This painter is going to drive everyone in this town crazy. Do you know what he did a while ago, Sorin? They commissioned him a while back, in Eldas. An old woman died in Eldas and her family asked him to paint a mural in her tomb, inside the mausoleum. The nieces and nephews commissioned him. They said money was no object and he could paint whatever he wanted, because he knew their Aunt Fidela well and would know best what to paint in her tomb. They asked him to paint something that reflected her personality. And do you know what he painted, Sorin? A parrot. In the poor woman’s tomb. A parrot, inside the mausoleum .

We go to the painter’s house every night these days. Just like we used to go to the casino, now we go to the painter’s house. And we laugh until our sides split with this painter. Last week we wrote a letter to Salvatore between the four of us. You know who Salvatore is, don’t you? He used to paint (and write poetry too), but he’s decided he’s no longer going to paint. Now he’s decided he’s going to be a sculptor. He says painting isn’t enough for him. He says sculpture is the real art and painting isn’t enough for him. That’s Salvatore for you these days .

That’s why we wrote a letter to him. We wrote a letter to him on behalf of the Queen of England. And we told him that news of his sculptures has reached Buckingham Palace, and the British art establishment is completely taken with him, Salvatore Moldano, because they believe he is the greatest sculptor alive. And since no great sculptors have been born in England in the last while, the Queen has decided she wants to make him, Salvatore Moldano, an honorary son of the British Empire. And it is the Queen’s desire that, henceforth, all of Salvatore’s sculptures be dedicated to the British Crown. And in exchange for that, the Queen herself will be his patron and provide everything he needs: a workshop, money and, if Providence allows, knighthood. And if Mister Salvatore Moldano will deign to accept the offer, further details will be provided in a forthcoming letter, informing him of all the paperwork he will need to send to London. And how we laughed in the painter’s house as we wrote the letter! The painter then drew the Queen’s seal with blue ink, and wrote words like “United Kingdom” and “Royal” all over the envelope, and he drew the Queen’s crown and coat of arms right in the middle of the seal. We wrote a very elegant letter on behalf of the Queen of England .