The Tragic Story Of My Good Friend Eichid

Today is Tuesday; that much we can state with certainty.
Just as certainly, we can say that Eichid hasn’t looked this strange in a long time.
Stranger than strange, in fact. Almost uncanny.

And that is because, without warning — you won’t believe it, but it really happened —
yes, he budded.

Yes, you will say I’m exaggerating, that it’s impossible. But please, you must believe me: it is exactly as I am telling you.

That heap of scrap metal called Eichid has… budded.

Just like that, red buds appeared. At first shy, then almost defiant. In the end, even violent — with that piercing red that hurt the eyes.

Faced with this utterly unexpected event, Eichid found nothing better to do than lean his body against a famous statement by Galileo G., light a cigarette, and admire, in ecstasy, the intense red that was invading his body.

To be more precise, we should say he did not even do that much.

This brutal change — which would have deeply unsettled anyone else — for him seemed not to exist at all.
Yes, to him, everything still felt the same.

And that was even stranger.

The truth is that the change (read: “budding”) had also occurred within his soul. Only its effect was equally unexpected.

Eichid now believed he had always been the same.
That the warmth he felt as happiness had always been there.
That these blood-red buds had always covered his body.
And that, since forever, he had known HER.

Yes — for an SHE was the cause of the change.

An SHE like any other: brunette or redhead, with one or several eyes, with one mouth or two, with one heart or two.
Probably two.

For her, Eichid had budded.
For her, he huffed and puffed through thick metal tubes.
And for her too, between seven and eight, he trembled through all his limbs of iron and sheet metal, which resonated in an almost sinister way.

To be more precise, it must be said that Eichid believed he had just been born.
Until then — he thought — he had lived in a kind of womb.
And now he had been released into the world together with the first blood-red bud that appeared on his rusted metal body.

Everything had happened one evening, between seven and eight.
We cannot pinpoint the exact moment.
Not even Eichid gave much importance to the red spot that appeared on the piece of bodywork which, for nearly ten years, had served as his north-western extremity.

For, in truth, he had not been born then.
He was probably quite old.
Forty, fifty, or even a hundred years old.
No one can say for certain.
And, in the end, it does not matter.

Much more important is that he had never been unhappy.
He did not know what boredom was.

He invented games to fill his days and never grew tired of them.

For example, he calculated the directions of the cardinal points and located his body’s extremities accordingly.

To the north-west — the piece of car body.
To the north — an old cooking machine.
To the north-east and east — nothing (this was one of the few things that sometimes disturbed his soul).
To the south-east — pipes and cables.
To the south — a fallen concrete pole.
To the south-west — a chamber pot.
To the west — a bicycle saddle.
Downwards — the earth.
Upwards — a small metal barrel, sometimes filled with water.

Other times he would blow into the metal tubes scattered across his body and listen to the sounds emerging at the other end.
He knew nothing about resonance.
In matters of general culture, he was rather tone-deaf.

But that did not stop him from spending entire days blowing into pipes.

The fact that he did not get bored was also due to his poor memory.
Each time, the games were new.
Even though he had played them yesterday, and the day before, and who knows how many times before that.

But it was not only that.

The sounds gave him fantastic pleasure.
He began to dream.

Each sound — a dream.
A low sound — the smell of strong perfume.
A high sound — a breath of wind.
Or who knows what else.

Words cannot capture it.
Words are sometimes bland, stale.
His sounds were pure. Warm.
Like a child’s smile.

No, Eichid was not unhappy.
He had simply never yet known that explosion of joy.
The exuberance of budding.
The emotion of anticipation.

That moment, between seven and eight, when the iron of his body grew cold and hot in turns, and at the street corner SHE would appear.

Here I must stop.
Words are no longer useful.
Everything I am telling you is, in a way, a lie.
Things were much deeper than this.

How can you paint truth out of sounds alone?
Not even Eichid could have said much.

But, my God, Eichid, what happened to you?

He will not answer.
He lives now only for those few moments when SHE passes by.
For the glances she sometimes lets fall upon him.
For her footsteps.
For her face.
How happy she is.
And Eichid — a hundred times happier.

He trembles at the thought of seeing her.
Today he trembles more than usual.
The sound is almost sinister.
But he smiles.
And gently blows into the tubes.

Today, he has decided, he will sing for HER.
Only for HER.

Today is Tuesday.
That much is certain.

I would go on, but I am stalling.
I am trying to delay the moment.
But there is no point anymore.

Here it is:

When he saw her appear, Eichid froze.
He forgot everything.
He was dying and being born with every passing second.

Then he began to sing.
At first softly.
Then louder and louder.

The sounds rose, clear.
They bound themselves together.
They danced.

He had succeeded.

SHE stopped.
She smiled.
She placed her hand on her heart.

Eichid was about to explode with happiness.
He closed his eyes.

When he opened them, a man was beside her.
He was speaking.
She was smiling.

Eichid understood nothing.
He sang louder.

They turned for a moment.
And then, incredibly, Eichid saw a trace of fear in her eyes.

He told himself he must be mistaken.
But perhaps not.

The man took her in his arms.
SHE did not resist.

Eichid blew with all his strength.
But they could no longer hear him.

Locked in a kiss, they had become inseparable.
Poor Eichid could no longer separate HER from HIM.

Later they left, holding hands.

Eichid did not sleep that night.
The buds had vanished.

Still, everything seemed normal.
But it was not.
Eichid was no longer the same.

He forgot his games.
He forgot how to sing.
He no longer calculated anything.

Until one day.

By chance, he blew into one of the tubes scattered across his body.
A low sound.
Then another.
Higher.
Then another.
And another.

And slowly, music returned.
He lost himself again in sound.
He forgot himself.

To be more precise:

Today is Tuesday.

And all of this I have imagined.

Where?
I was standing at the edge of the city.

Doing what?
Standing.

How?
Leaning against a famous statement by Galileo G.

I was also doing something else:
I was lighting a cigarette.

In fact — not even that.

And now, most patient reader, I must leave you.
I have directions to calculate.
I have games to invent.
And perhaps… tubes to blow into.

Farewell.

Your good friend,
Eichid,
greets you.