HOMER & THE SLEEPING BEAUTY

​HOMER AND THE SLEEPING BEAUTY

​By Jaume Joan Alzamora Llull

​1. THE SPHYNX

​In a dim corner of my room for longer than

my fancy thinks

A beautiful and silent Sphinx has watched me

through the shifting gloom.

— Oscar Wilde

​"My name is Roberto and you could say I'm Homer's pet. Though I'd rather say it's the other way around. We, I don't know how to put it, we understand each other. The first time I realized something was going on was around Christmas, I think.

​That sunny and sweet December morning, Homer had woken up playful and so had I, so I decided to follow him. Something had led him to his father's secret wardrobe, and rummaging through the stacked cardboard boxes and folders, he found what he classified as treasures: two posters of paintings by Picasso. One of a very sad blue man playing the guitar, and another of a naked woman sleeping peacefully on red fabrics. He also found some books with incredible drawings of monsters and travelers; heroes, gods, and wars. And most incredible of all, the author had the exact same name as him: Homer. Homer thought that guy must be great. He found fabrics and a single: My Sweet Lord by George Harrison. He blasted it on his father's old stereo system, opened every door and window in the house, and went outside.

​I stayed in the closet. Thinking it was the ideal place for a little nap. What a nap! It was that day I started to understand him a bit..."

​2. HOMER

​"And what shall I ride in," quoth Lucifer then?

"If I followed my taste indeed,

I should mount in a waggon of wounded men,

And smile to see them bleed.

But these will be furnished again and again,

And at present my purpose is speed;

To see of My manor as much as I may,

And watch that no souls shall be poached away."

— Lord Byron

​Dancing joyfully went the child Homer, wrapped in a semi-transparent fabric, somewhat shiny and golden, when—bam!—he tripped over the root of a very old olive tree in his backyard and hit his head on a rock.

​Immediately, he found himself surrounded by sand and a scorching sun that blurred his vision. The sand trembled, and from inside the dunes came vines, roots, trunks, palm trees, frogs, toads, huge green leaves, low bushes filled with highly aromatic flowers. From the bushes also came rabbits, and the rabbits were chased by a white cat.

​To his right, from inside a rather bulky rock—which he hadn't noticed yet—came a sound like jingle bells, or little chimes, which slowly cracked the rock itself. The material inside had nothing to do with the outside, which was gray and ugly. From the inside sprouted a blinding light that wouldn't allow him to see its contents. Suddenly the noise stopped and the light went out, and now it was darkness that hid the view. Little white worms began pouring out from inside the rock in bursts—there were thousands! No! Millions! The little worms piled up and compressed, adhering to one another to form what would later become a beautiful albino python, larger than any anaconda.

​By the time the snake finished forming, all the deer, monkeys, pigs, rats, rabbits, birds, and large fowl had vanished. Only the beetles remained, piling up on the droppings left behind by those who were no longer there, alongside a few other insects Homer didn't bother to remember. The snake slowly ventured into what was now a jungle. And a gentle stream began to flow from his left, right next to where he was, still lying down contemplating the scene in disbelief. He sat up, determined to follow this river that would eventually lead somewhere. He immediately regretted it, as he was deeply afflicted by the bumps and bruises from his fall.

​A carrier pigeon came flying with an envelope. It dropped the envelope and the boy picked it up. He saw it was for him, written in very large, clear handwriting: Homer. He opened it; inside was a message that read: "In for a penny, in for a pound—follow the river." So Homer decided to pay attention and walked along the river. There was nothing at all there. Only water and more water. Homer walked and walked and nothing. The river—which was more of a stream, as we've said—was made of clear, transparent water. Flat rocks could be seen at the bottom. It was as if the river glided over a surface made entirely of a single rock, one solid piece. The water rushed at full speed over this smooth, cream-colored rock with white veins. Every five hundred meters there were rocks here and there that served as stepping stones to cross to the other side.

​Homer grew bored of walking along the river. Everything was the same. And he was terrified by the possibility that the river might never lead to the sea. Besides, what would he do when he finally reached the beach? That question was something he didn't want to think about, yet it tormented him constantly.

​3. THE MOON

​"While gazing on the moon's light,

A moment from her smile I turn'd,

To look at orbs that, more bright,

In lone and distant glory burn'd.

But too far

Each proud star,

For me to feel its warming flame;

Much more dear

That mild sphere,

Which near our planet smiling came;

Thus, Mary, be but thou my own,

While brighter eyes unheeded play,

I'll love those moonlight looks alone

That bless my home and guide my way."

— Thomas Moore (1779-1852)

​"Meow, Meow," meowed the cat. This one was ginger, tabby-striped with yellow eyes. Homer felt lonely and this cat wouldn't stop rubbing its rear against his leg while meowing as if begging for an answer. The cat was desperate and so was the boy. Suddenly he felt that, crazy as it might be, in a context where everything was madness, asking the cat for help wasn't out of the question. For that reason, and that reason alone, Homer told him he needed a car ride. To which the cat stopped rubbing its rear and began vomiting a liquid paste full of white, foamy, bubbling saliva that emanated a dark gray smoke. That gray smoke began transforming into a car. First the tires were drawn, then the axles. Then came the gearbox and the steering wheel; then the chassis formed as burning metal drops rained from the smoke, cooling down into a very simple structure. The bodywork spewed out as steam from the chassis pipes and in the end it turned red. Homer immediately recognized his mother's 2CV. He got inside and started it up. The cat ran away, frightened by the engine noise. The car started moving and drove all by itself!

​After many hours of speeding through the jungle, Homer was already wondering why sunset wasn't coming. And sunset arrived. The car stopped because it ran out of gas. And Homer could contemplate from atop a cliff—complete with a waterfall and all—how a Waning Moon, thin as a sheet of paper but huge as a hot air balloon, rose from between the crowns of the sequoias, baobabs, oaks, and palm trees in the valley.

​He saw a light about two hundred meters away; it was dim and flickering. He approached it: it was a little house with no door, just this light above it, as if inviting one to enter. There was also a window from which hung a blue curtain waving in the wind, and a basil plant potted on the sill. The boy went inside and saw a wooden table with a huge watermelon sliced in half. He took a slice and put it in his mouth. His taste buds, his entire tongue, and his salivary glands worked like never before. His jaw chewed endlessly on that soft yet textured, watery yet juicy delicacy. The flavor was perfectly sweet. And the juice was glowing red, almost pink. After eating a slice he felt filled with something more than food. Glory?

​He looked out the window and saw the Moon. He blushed. He felt embarrassed because, somehow, he knew it was the Moon looking at him, and not the other way around, as would have been usual. Suddenly he felt a noise in his stomach. Could he still be hungry? But he couldn’t move; despite his embarrassment, a sharp pain like butterflies in his stomach prevented him. Homer believed this would be his end, as he felt an incomprehensible void in his mind. A final ray of moonlight—which is nothing more than sunlight reflected as in a mirror—struck him with energy right in the chest. The boy could breathe normally again, move, and take shelter in the dark. He walked backward until his back touched the far wall of the room. Slowly, he sat down.

​4. HOMER AND THE SLEEPING BEAUTY

​She sleeps: her breathings are not heard

In palace chambers far apart.

The fragrant tresses are not stirr'd

That lie upon her charmed heart.

She sleeps: on either hand upswells

The gold-fringed pillow lightly prest:

She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwells

A perfect form in perfect rest.

— Lord Alfred Tennyson

​Was he already asleep? Or was it right before falling asleep that a thread passing through his head from side to side began to vibrate, sounding like an electric guitar. BRRRRRM. He couldn't take it much longer or his head would explode. He lunged sideways. He bumped into something... a body... Human. The boy touched it; he saw it was a woman because he felt her soft breasts. Could she be dead? But she couldn't be, because as soon as he touched her right breast, she sat up and yelled loudly: "Excuse me? What kind of manners are those, little prince? No one has ever dared wake a lady like that before! Do you know I could turn you into a toad? People don't usually know these things... Or that I can shapeshift as much as I want, even to the point of turning my gaze into a lethal weapon for curious little boys like you. Do you want to be turned to stone, Homer?"

​Homer was scared. Now he really was in trouble. This woman knew his name! She said horrible things and seemed very angry. So Homer cried. Fat tears the size of thimbles poured from his eyes. His vision blurred and he could feel nothing but fear and dread. He feared for his life. He expected anything. But that monster didn't attack. Quite the opposite: seeing him so terrified, she felt pity and hugged him. And she said: "Forgive me, please, but like everyone, I'm a very grumpy waker." And then came the sun. A clear, morning light illuminated the globe, growing hotter and hotter by the moment. Ever more welcoming and tender, it flooded everything in sight.

​The boy then saw that the woman was completely naked and asked her: "Do you want to wear some of my clothes?" To which she replied: "What for? I'm not cold. Are you cold, boy?" And the little rascal said no, taking off his Desigual jacket, his Lacoste polo, his Camper sneakers, his Puma socks, his Levi's jeans—but when he got to his Uno underwear, he hesitated. And she said: "What's wrong?" and laughed: "Are you embarrassed?" To which the boy responded by taking off his underwear, looking her right in the eyes. That was how he saw Sleeping Beauty blush. And she saw him before her eyes.

​On the wooden table was a basket of apples. The boy wondered who had placed them there. And he was about to ask the sleeping woman... but stopped because she said: "You brought them, didn't you?" He felt an intense urge to impress her and say yes, but managed to contain himself and was cautious enough to tell the truth. She grew frightened and a bit paranoid. She began seeing eyes in the wooden beams supporting the ceiling. Eyes watching them. The roar of a dragon was heard, followed by an explosion nearby. She said it must be from The Central. That they had nothing to worry about. That they should eat them. And drink water or juice. Oh, and they brewed coffee and pulled some pastries out of a plastic bag from a cardboard box that read Yayitas. Homer loved the breakfast; it was his first time drinking coffee—he had tasted it as a baby with his mother at the bar, but he had never had a whole cup! And the cookies, mmm... In the end, they paid no attention to the apples.

​5. THE CENTRAL

​Do you know the invisible

spinners of dreams?

There are two: green hope

and grim fear.

They wager on who can

spin faster and lighter,

she with her golden fleece;

he with his black fleece.

With the thread they give us

we weave, when we weave.

— Antonio Machado

​She said: "Let's go for a walk, I feel as if I've been lying down with a crook in my neck for a thousand years." The boy grabbed two apples for the road, and seeing he had nowhere to put them, asked her: "Excuse me, what is your name?" She seemed flustered by the question and said nothing more than: "Don't you know?" And she whispered, as if to herself, though Homer heard her perfectly: "How strange, this hasn't happened before..." And she said: "My name is Eva. For example," she added in a whisper. Homer told her: "Eva, we need a bag and some clothes for the road." Eva nodded and snapped her fingers, and instantly they were dressed, but in a very strange way: he looked like a little sailor boy dressed for First Communion, and she wore a tight black mesh full of gold ornaments, medallions, and necklaces. She wore one with the face of Jesus Christ hanging from it. On her hands she wore only a ring with a massive emerald, and on her feet, red high heels. He immediately protested and said: "There's a time and a place for everything, but right now I'm putting my own clothes back on." And before he even finished saying it, he had taken off the suit and put his own clothes back on. The polo shirt and everything. She didn't like that outfit. And said: "If you don't dress how I like, you won't be going your own way either." And he said: "Did I say anything to you about how you were dressed?" And she: "But I'm an adult and that's just how things are, I must do what I do." And he told her that made no sense.

​"Meow, Meow," meowed the cat, and the ginger cat returned, once again rubbing its rear against the boy's leg. She told him he must be a lucky young man, that not everyone could see the cat. The three of them set off toward the East. The boy felt hopeful; he was happy, and all three walked in high spirits. They made a curious troupe, looking more like a carnival parade than anything else. The cat went first, turning around every few steps and proudly wagging its tail. She walked beside him. Homer said: "I like the way you walk. It gives me a sense of security." She chuckled softly: "The things this boy says..." "It's true," he said. And noted: "A security similar to the cat's. In fact, this cat feels familiar to me."

​They drew near The Central. It was almost noon and their stomachs were rumbling. Homer pulled the apples from his pocket and offered one to Eva. The cat caught a stray sparrow that was hovering nearby. And all three filled their bellies. Then Homer wondered out loud: "What do they do at The Central?" And Eva said she didn't know, but that they would pass right through it. The path to the central was narrow and they had to walk in single file. The tall tower—that was The Central—was surrounded by a moat, and there was a bridge with a gate topped by a Rainbow encircling the tower and the moat. When they approached, they discovered that everything beyond the Rainbow was in Black and White. They entered and left color behind, stepping into the gray.

​6. IN BLACK AND WHITE

​Eva told Homer: "From now on, call me Era. If you want to address me, call me that." And she snapped her fingers again, making a peacock feather headpiece appear. Inside the tower there was nothing but a spiral staircase that seemed to go on forever. And a crowd of very stretched-out little men, as if they had been elongated with a photographic effect, going up and down those infinite spiral stairs. And Homer said: "Era, what are they doing?" And she said: "Nothing. Don't you see? They just go up and down." And Homer wondered why. Then the cat darted between the men, scaring them so much they screamed. They slipped on the steps and walked crooked, but didn't fall. Then Era said: "We have to go up."

​The boy felt too lazy to climb, and he wished with all his might that the stairs were escalators. But the cat was climbing ahead of them and wasn't touching him. Because of that, the miracle didn't happen. The elongated black-and-white men were much scarier up close than from afar. Some had mustaches, others didn't. All carried briefcases. Some wore hats. And apparently, the miracle of these little men was that they pooped gold coins. Era explained that a guru master meditating at the top of the tower kept them all hypnotized in a trance. He made them believe that the only thing they truly wanted in life was to walk up and down stairs. Meanwhile, his street sweepers scrubbed away all the gold coins they pooped for him.

​The boy asked how many guru masters there were. And Era said she didn't know, that there was supposed to be only one. Homer couldn't understand how he managed to spend the money if he had to meditate constantly so the poopers wouldn't break their trance. Era said then there must be more, that maybe they took turns. Homer said they would surely fight over the money and end up killing each other. The cat kept climbing ahead of them, and Homer peeked through a small window along the way. He saw the entire jungle, the river, the little stepping stones crossing it every five hundred meters, but he couldn't look for long because they kept ascending.

​The boy remembered he had been there before, though he hadn't recalled it until now because the place had changed so much. The last time he was at The Central, the entrance started outside, far beyond the moat. There was an entire city surrounding the tower, and smoke poured in colors from multiple chimneys. Purple smoke, violet, yellow, green, black. Not like now, where only a thin wisp of black-and-white smoke rose from the top. The city was very beautiful, full of parks and forests and trees with flowers. But when one went inside the buildings, it was as if the spell of wonder vanished. Homer remembered that The Central was camouflaged. That inside, the tunnels were all lined with painted cardboard walls. That you never really knew where you were. That the entrance to the tower and the black-and-white zone were hidden deep in the back. And that no one lived there. It was considered an old place, from the past, stinking and foul-smelling. Thick smoke poured from the ramparts, hiding the sky, and sticky oils and grease dripped from the walls.

​Eva—or Era, or Ema back then—had already warned him that such a lack of luster wouldn't have been considered normal in other times, but that's how it was and nothing could be done about it. The nightmare grew ever more atrocious as they ventured deeper into that ancient pavilion. Everything seemed to recall an abandoned asylum where the spirits of poor tormented people screamed from behind room doors. The betrayal was infernal. The urge to flee was greater than any imaginable terror. He remembered fleeing, and everything that happened afterward. And how he returned to the pavilion to rest. He asked Era if she remembered all that, and she looked him straight in the eyes, almost crying, and said she did.

​Homer remembered the people. The noisy burst of crowd life as people walked through the city streets. There were so many people, people of every kind, color, and look. The artisans, the fair vendors, the puppeteers, and the circus folk fascinated him. Though they scared him, too. He was conscious of their magical power. And of their tricks as well. Of how they copied one another. Of how they sent things to be made by machines of perfection. Of how many weren't even the owners of their designs, serving as mere middlemen for products they imported and cared little or nothing about. He knew full well that fashion designers had enslaved their seamstresses, forging metal shoes onto their feet that were impossible to lift off the machine pedals.

​Yet many of these products were truly beautiful. When you knew the hidden story behind each one, you lost the desire to buy. Homer felt ashamed many times for having desired things that later turned out to be the cause of misfortune for many people, even his own. Nothing was authentic; all the products appeared perfect, but it was just an illusion, a trick, a spell. True craftsmanship comes from within. It is made following a tradition or instructions that each artisan personalizes, improves, expands, or adapts to their taste or the taste of their people, to reality, and respecting the environment from which the materials are extracted—guaranteeing the survival of that environment and consequently of the craft itself, according to their experiences and way of being. Apparently, all of that was over, or very little remained, if it had ever existed at all.

​But artisans and fair vendors weren't the only ones. Teachers and booksellers set no better example than the rest. Era discovered back then that Homer's school principal was scamming families on textbook purchases. It all started because Era insisted on buying textbooks from a bookstore rather than the school. When she gave the book codes to the bookseller, she told her they were very hard to find. Secretly from Era, the bookseller called the school to buy the books there. That was when she discovered the principal had made a friend during the war who owned a warehouse and bought out-of-print books from publishers at very low prices. Then they sold them at school to the children at much higher prices and split the profits. Eucalyptus fields were cultivated, polluting the soil where their leaves fell. That was where all the paper came from. Forests of eucalyptus trees and deforesting machinery piled up, gently shaving the world. Drying it out. Killing it.

​Homer heard the story of a friend of his who, determined to fix it all, joined a political party. The first thing they told him was that if he had political ideals, he had to leave them at the threshold. That you couldn't have those there. And the secretary and the president told him that, saying "those" with disgust. Homer had seen builders play with politicians, building cardboard-and-plaster houses, charging for them—with the help of bankers—at the price of real houses. And when Era asked them why, they all said it was the fault of the Great Motobolón. Then Era didn't know what to say, because she knew very well that he didn't exist—that it was just a fairy tale told to children who didn't want to go to sleep. And she laughed, calling them all useless. If only it had been for something better...

​And as they climbed, Era told the boy that life was very hard, but that it was also a very beautiful thing. That he had to put energy into the things he did, to really do them, because otherwise it wasn't worth doing them at all. That all that mattered in the end was believing in what you did. Trusting those you knew was part of all that. That one had to love in every way possible, that one had to learn to sin well. That we should avoid suffering as much as possible and, above all, not torment ourselves if we didn't succeed. That we must always remember that we are life itself—that we actually live here and now. And that it was perfect.

​7. THE BEACH

​"If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't. And contrary wise, what is, it wouldn't be. And what it wouldn't be, it would. You see?"

— Lewis Carroll

​The three of us reached the top of the tower. At the top was a room with a balcony that opened out onto a beach. Era told Homer: "Here is where I leave you." To which Homer replied no way—that she was coming with him to go for a swim. After a while of arguing about how they had no swimsuits, no towels, and no desire, Homer said she could make all those things appear with a snap of her fingers, and commanded her to do so.

​Then she confessed the truth to the boy: inside the tower, her power faded. Being in the tower was the only time they were truly conscious. The rest, she said, was all a dream—a dream she dreamed inside her glass urn. The dream always started with her spinning; she wasn't spinning wool or cotton, but something else. That cursed stuff made her fingers bleed, and from the blood sprouted a spinning wheel. That helped her spin better, faster and faster, turning the wheel of the spinning frame. She always pricked herself, and then she got the first ball of yarn.

​The first of many, though the rest cost less blood. The first one, though... From those balls of yarn came fabrics and objects that formed her dowry. She described in lavish detail the jewels, wonders, and curiosities that filled what was becoming her palace all around her. Bit by bit, she illuminated the rest of the things as she passed. She loved that moment in the dream when she discovered landscapes, places, territories, maps, paintings, museums—a world made of thread, a thread made of that strange material she spun at the beginning of the dream.

​Sleeping Beauty confessed to having doubted the power of love for a moment. But before making her First Communion, she always went to confession, and she confessed it to the priest. He told her that wasn't a sin—that he himself overcame the power of love every day. He was madly in love with Doña Beata, a Swiss woman as beautiful as an angel (whom Sleeping Beauty thought looked more like a parrot). Yet he never let himself be carried away by such power, as it would have gone against his well-being. Dejected, she took the priest to the police station and explained the case. To which the inspector said it wasn't against the law to do such a thing; in fact, he regretted having locked up Paz, the gypsy girl who dealt in angel dust, crystal, weed, hash, and those forbidden things, because he preferred to marry the commissioner's daughter and get a chance at a promotion. She brought both of them before a Judge. And after telling him what was happening, the judge ordered her taken to an asylum. Except this time her fury was such that she went snip with her fingers, and a pair of scissors appeared, cutting those characters right out of the fabric. And then everything began to crumble.

​She did it. The balcony had a small door topped by a Rainbow, and everything on the other side was in color again. They went out, and the swimsuits were full of every color, hand-printed with a technique Homer classified as Hippie. Through the dunes they saw men, women, and children laughing and drinking. And then, as they reached the beach, the people looked at them, and Homer laughed, and everyone slowly walked away. The Sun set in the West while the Moon—a Crescent this time—rose in the East. And Homer hugged Era, and guitars played sweet music, and the stars began to twinkle. Then their bodies began merging, one into the other, bit by bit. Slowly, shapes began to disappear, and everything turned blurry. And little by little, Homer ceased to see. Little by little, Homer saw nothing more.

​THE END