Aimless Wandering
Mario Viggiano / Feb. 1, 2013
Friday, February 01, 2013
MARIO VIGGIANO..............
„I’m not going to Italy now, I’m too weak, but
it’s ok. Everybody is coming here to see me.“
„Is there anything you want me to do?“ I asked
him. „No, I’m ok. Come here, I would be most happy. Or, don’t come here, I also
will be happy.“
This time I didn’t go back to see him. He was
always inviting me to go somewhere with him, to Bali or Africa or Italy or
Switzerland. Usually I didn’t go. He was so domineering when he traveled, you
always had to go at his speed and his direction. Used to drive me nuts! He went
fast and had his own ways about eating, or where and when to stop.
It was better when UG was there, who could easily
handle Mario when nobody else could. UG would shout at him in the car „MARIO!
We aren’t stopping there! Keep going, I don’t want to eat any of your horrible
Italian food! Terrible! The Romans are still lurking inside you Italian
bastards!“
Mario would drive on with a little smile on his
face, as if the insults were the sweetest endearments he had ever heard. „Okay,
Boss, we stop later, I know where we can find the best Foccacia, you will like
it.“ „Don’t call me Boss. I am not your Boss. And any day the Croissants in
France are better than your Italian Foccacia.“ „Okay, Sir.“
Here in Cologne, Mario would call me and suggest
lunch or a coffee. „How ‚bout 1 o’clock? We go have a sandwich?“ I would meet
him at an Italian cafe near my house. He knew the lady behind the counter and
would spezial order his sandwich. Then after he would go behind the counter and
make himself 2 Espressos for us. Sometimes he paid and other times not. I could
never figure out his arrangement with these people. I think he had done some
painting or other work for them and the payments were still being figured out,
years later. They were all Italian and I wasn’t part of the clan.
Mario worked long hours in Cologne and as soon as
he was free for a few days he hit the road, usually renting a flashy and fast
car. He loved to drive long distances at high speed. The German autobahn was great
for him since it allowed him to drive up to 240 Km per hour! He would finish
work and then drive to Switzerland, to Gstaad to visit UG. After 7 hours of
driving he would go straight to UG’s room, pay his respects, then head to his
own room to clean up. He spent most of the weekends either sleeping on the
floor near UG or driving him around Switzerland or Italy. He never tired of
driving UG in the mountains. UG regularly allowed him to stop the car and have
a smoke, or pull into a highway stop for a coffee and croissant. He said that
he didn’t really listen to UG when the talk was too philosophical. He liked the
energy and the movement, the motion and the clatter of all the people riding
along. He loved the chaos of it all, the sudden changes in plan, the tearful
outbursts, the tensions caused by the UG pressure, the glare of UG’s light.
When we landed in an Italian town for a night or
two, Mario disappeared immediately. „Where is that bastard?“ UG would ask. He had gone shopping of course,
to the grocery to load up on supplies. Pasta, tomato sauce, olive oil, cheese,
bread, coffee, cream – he packed the refrigerator so full that it was annoying!
Nobody could find any space there after Mario went shopping. And he bought too
much, a lot went wasted if we had to pack up quickly the next day, if UG
decided that enough was enough. But then he would make a pasta and all was
forgiven. Everyone felt slightly guilty that Mario had spent too much money
again and we had all benefitted, all enjoying the foccacia and the cheese and
the Caprese salad with expensive olive oil. He never asked for money and didn’t
expect it – we accepted his offerings as payment for the aggravations he had
caused us. UG seemed to be oblivious, but of course he knew down to the
smallest detail what had happened. „Why are you wasting money on all this
Italian shit?“UG would rail at him while picking up a piece of delicious fresh
Mozzarella and tearing at a Foccacia. UG had his way of blasting someone for
all their neuroses and contradictions without a shred of condemnation or
expectation that they would change their habits in the slightest.
I knew Mario for 20 years and never heard him
speak of UG in any kind of intellectual or philosophical fashion. He had no
interest in that way of thinking. His conversations with UG were always about
the mundane details of living, about where and when to eat, or where to stay
the night, or which friend should be picked up at an airport. He was the one
who arranged the rooms and the flights, the meals and the coffee. He talked to
UG about his work, his employees and his girlfriends. „You are a COOLIE! Why do
you try to impress ME about your work and your money? Do you think I am
impressed? You are nothing but a COOLIE, and a Bastard for not paying your boys
more! They are highly educated and only have to work for you because they are
from Georgia and have no papers. They are Engineers and Brain Surgeons and you
don’t pay them enough. You, a COOLIE!!“
Mario heard this so many times it was like music
to him. Eventually, he did pay his guys more. And he made more money for
himself, too. He worked hard and made money.
But when I think of UG, especially of UG in
Europe, I think of Mario. It’s almost like Mario was UG’s spezial agent in
Europe. He didn’t travel to India, and he didn’t like California very much.
Once in awhile he liked to visit New York. But Europe was his place. It seemed
like he drove UG over every road in Switzerland, Germany and Italy, and further
thru France and into England. He loved even to drive thru the hellish streets
of Rome, London and Paris!
What sticks in my mind about Mario is him always
being there around UG, sleeping on the floor, cooking pasta in some cramped
kitchen, and driving a nice car with UG asleep next to him. Mario didn’t engage
much in the philosophical chatter, but there wasn’t anybody who was ever closer
to UG. He jumped on the train and let it take him away.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
