Healed or No Deal?

The Reike woman continued her healing process on Narcisa’s slumbering carcass, knowing that, in Narcisa’s case, sleep was just as crucial a form healing as any, since for the past two and a half years Narcisa had not once willingly fallen asleep. She was afraid of it, and it usually happened without her permission, as her body would often shut down between hits of crack or even mid-sentence.

This sleep was different and we all knew it.

It was peaceful and serene and nothing resembling the usual tormented nightmare reel that ran through Narcisa’s tortured brain every other time it’s been lights out. We all breathed silently, afraid to interrupt it.
A good twenty minutes went by, and she woke up as Ana Lucia finished her magic. Jonathan and I stared in awe, waiting for her to start speaking in tongues, or shape shift into an angel, or the devil… or anything.
Anything. A sign.

She lay still for a beat with her eyes lit up before looking over at Jonathan and suggesting in a half-whispered croak, “Sushi?”
“Uhh… Sure,” We both said, shuffling to our feet.

Ana Lucia chuckled as she handed Narcisa her clothes. As Jonathan thanked the healer profusely, Narcisa got dressed and it was big hugs and kisses all around as we left the building with an overwhelming sense of ease.

The sushi restaurant was closed so we settled on a kilo joint next door. Narcisa ran to the buffet while Jonathan and I claimed a table.

“So,” He whispered to me, looking back at Narcisa who was ritualistically plucking palm hearts from a big bowl of salad with her chopstick fingers. “What do you think?”
“I donno…” I replied. “It’s hard to tell.”
“More will be revealed, I guess,” Jonathan nodded as he stood up to go grab some food for himself.

Narcisa sat down next to me.
“Well?” I said.
“Well. I feel good,” she told me as she ravaged a plate of mashed potatoes and palm hearts. “I trust these lady, man. It’s hard to explain. She make me feel comfort-able…. Is only first time I can relax when some body putting the hands on me an’ I don’ feel like they gonna molesting to me.. Is good like these, an’ then I can relax, got it?”
I got it, alright. “I could tell you were relaxed.. you were snoring…” I laughed.
“Oh man, It was SO good. I don’ sleep like these in a long time.”

Jonathan returned from the buffet with his plate of food, smiling brightly. We were all having a pretty successful day and he was finally letting his guard down enough to show it, which is the reason why, I believe, it was precisely that moment that Narcisa was hit full-force with a wave of madness.

NOTIFICAÇÃO: Os eventos relatados neste site são contos de ficção registrados na Biblioteca Nacional com todos os direitos autorais revertidos ao autor Jonathan Shaw e Alessandra DeBenedetti. Os personagens mencionados são inteiramente fictícios. Certos eventos, personagens, lugares e relatos, foram baseados em fatos reais, porém qualquer semelhança a qualquer pessoa viva ou morta se trata de pura coincidência. As várias fotografias apresentadas se encontram com o rosto distorcido para preservar o anonimato das modelos que representam personagens fictícios.

Hopeful Encounters, Elephant Slippers and My Narrow Escape from the Jaws of Death for the Umpteenth Time…

“Stop here!” Narcisa yelled to the cabbie, putting her hand on his shoulder. We were in the middle of traffic, but she jumped out anyway while I waited for him to pull over so I could once again pay, this time with money I made Jonathan cough up.
The back neighborhoods of Copacabana were bustling with bikes and cars and skinny beggars, and Jonathan was sitting on a corner waiting for us on his motorcycle.
I smiled at him in good faith, relieved to know that Narcisa had once again not duped by either flipping the fuck out on me or taking me hostage up to the roving favelas where, in my head, she was at any given second about to lure me into the boca, take all my money and leave me for dead as Urubu buzzards and little boys with over-sized machine guns would poke and probe my dying body like cartoon characters.
Anyway, he was relieved to see us too I think.
“Oi, Cigano!” Narcisa shouted as cars honked and dodged her, missing her lanky frame by centimeters. “Let’s go into this store! We got some time, right?”
“Yeh, you’re appointment’s in fifteen minutes,” he said, looking at his watch.
We walked into the little thrift store and her eyes lit up as she picked up a pair of slippers that were shaped like elephants. “I must have these Cigano!” she whined.
I picked up a small white gown and thought of Jonathan’s ex, Amy Fields and her husband Noah Levine, who just had a baby girl.
He knew what I was thinking. “That’s perfect!” He said as he put it on the counter with the elephant slippers.
Narcisa grabbed a purple hat and sweater and added them to the pile, along with a motley assortment of Zoo Cards that featured photographs and descriptions of all the members of the reptile family.
“What the fuck do you need these for???” He asked her.
“Is for the e’speriments, Cigano, you’ll see…” she explained as she dragged a floor lamp and a coffee mug shaped like a palm tree over to the counter.
“Right… Hey Sailor, I got you a present,” he said as he handed me a little key chain with an anchor on it, an homage to my nickname, and my epic Pirate-themed back-piece . “Happy Birthday!”
“Yes, Happy Birthday! You almost as old as the Narcisa!” she added, tangled up in what appeared to be a telephone cord.
I laughed and thanked him for his on-the-fly thoughtful gesture and after packing up all of our new things, untangling Narcisa from whatever mess she’d gotten herself into and haggling with the sales clerk, we were back on the street.
“Okay, I’m ready to be healed!” Narcisa exclaimed. Jonathan and I nodded as we walked toward Ana Lucia’s office for the much-anticipated Reike healing session.
When we arrived, Ana Lucia greeted us. First, she gave Jonathan an understanding and compassionate embrace. I could see tears begin to well up in his eyes. Things were hopeful…
As she gave me a big long hug I could feel her energy and warmth passing gently through my body. Narcisa’s eyes immediately lit up upon contact with hers.
This woman was a powerful healing spirit manifested in the body of a four-foot-tall plump little thing with frizzy hair, that much was evident.
She led us up the stairs and into a tiny room with a small brown cot, and a wide array of stones and candles, ordering Narcisa to undress.
Narcisa stripped off her clothes and proceeded to lie on a table where Ana Lucia put purple gems on her naked body.
“Iss coooold!” Narcisa laughed.
She wrapped Narcisa in a blanket, and told her to relax. I could see Jonathan was crying, and I started crying too.
Narcisa was full of life and she emitted a sepia-toned aura as her muscles tensed and her clenched fists finally opened.
Ana Lucia smiled, put a finger to her ear as if to say listen.
Narcisa was snoring.

NOTIFICAÇÃO: Os eventos relatados neste site são contos de ficção registrados na Biblioteca Nacional com todos os direitos autorais revertidos ao autor Jonathan Shaw e Alessandra DeBenedetti. Os personagens mencionados são inteiramente fictícios. Certos eventos, personagens, lugares e relatos, foram baseados em fatos reais, porém qualquer semelhança a qualquer pessoa viva ou morta se trata de pura coincidência. As várias fotografias apresentadas se encontram com o rosto distorcido para preservar o anonimato das modelos que representam personagens fictícios.

“I’m so tired” Narcisa said suddenly, out of breath. She lay down by a waterfall in the park.
“We’re supposed to go see Ana Lucia the Reike healer, remember?” Jonathan reminded her.
“I know Cigano but I’m just so…. tired…” She closed her eyes.
We sat there for a while without saying anything until Narcisa’s eyes popped open. “Pumpkin soup! Now! Go!”
And she sprinted back down towards the art school cafeteria. We followed behind her and sat down next to her at a small table. The old woman who’d witnessed her pushing the cat in the pool an hour earlier looked at us with a mix of trepidation and pity.
Narcisa ordered her pumpkin soup, and I ordered a tomato soup.
Jonathan ordered a cold soft drink.
We waited for the soup to come as Narcisa’s eyelids grew heavier. When it came she scarfed it down without conversation.
Then she belched loudly. “Tiiiii-red.” She repeated.
“I know, Princess, but Ana Lucia is expecting us at 4. Why don’t we go to Copacabana for a while and wait there?”
“Good. We go then.” She got up and left, disregarding the bill, naturally.
“Stupid cat,” she muttered as she walked by the fountain again.
We caught up to her and Jonathan started up the bike to give her a lift to the bottom of the hill, since at that point she had resided to half-dragging herself down it like a broken robot saying “Tiiiii-red Cigano… so so tiiii-red.”
She slept the whole taxi ride to the beach. We got out at the last kiosk before the little military fort separating Copacabana from Ipanema. Jonathan was already there, typing away on his Crackberry, eating an ice cream bar. 

Narcisa rubbed her eyes, looked at the ice cream bar, and then the feeding frenzy was on. She snatched the ice cream from him, quick as a gila monster, swallowing the whole thing in one bite and spitting out the stick. She then called over a boy who was selling empadas and ordered four guava and cheese flavored ones. When she was done with that she called over another boy who was selling “Globo” wafer biscuits, ravaged those, crumbs flying all over the place. Pigeons began to crowd around the mess.
“Get away!” She spat as more crumbs flew out of her mouth.
“You planning on eating any of that?” Jonathan laughed.
“I love you Cigano! You are the beautiful man.” She said as, squeezing his head, she kissed his cheek. “Now we must go to see the Ana Lucia!”
He looked at his watch and nodded. “Okay, yeah. Let’s go.”
Narcisa stomped at a few pigeons and yelled at a taxi that came to a screeching halt.
“Come Alessandra we have to go!”
I jumped in the cab. “See you there!” I yelled to Jonathan, not sure at this point if “there” was even where we were headed….

NOTIFICAÇÃO: Os eventos relatados neste site são contos de ficção registrados na Biblioteca Nacional com todos os direitos autorais revertidos ao autor Jonathan Shaw e Alessandra DeBenedetti. Os personagens mencionados são inteiramente fictícios. Certos eventos, personagens, lugares e relatos, foram baseados em fatos reais, porém qualquer semelhança a qualquer pessoa viva ou morta se trata de pura coincidência. As várias fotografias apresentadas se encontram com o rosto distorcido para preservar o anonimato das modelos que representam personagens fictícios.

Are you guys sick of my Rio adventures yet? Feel free to let me know. Here’s #6:

The Parque Lage. I’d heard ALOT about it, reading Narcisa: Our Lady of Ashes (you know how JS spares no details). I’ve already mentioned in a previous entry, the kinds of shenanigans and goings-on here. Like, ya know smoking crack with scorpions and being assaulted by monkeys.But now I was there, in this cloistered yet still expansive, lush and green tropical gated-in box, its lid bursting open with life and energy and birds and insects chirping and the whole nine. 

Narcisa was feeding off this energy no doubt and was well on the up-swing back to the land of the living after our little “episode” with the cat that had occured a few minutes prior, and we were all just generally feeding off the oxygen-laden greenery that I, living in the desert of Los Angeles, am often deprived of.

“Gimme a cigarette,” Narcisa said as she led us through a small aquarium that was hidden inside a cave, tapping on the glass of every poor fish’s tank, the tanks all built into the rock.

After we walked through that, Narcisa took my hand and walked me through another cave to see some bats until she remembered something far more interesting and entertaining.

“Cigano! We have to show her the trick! To the top of the castle. Go!”

“The echo trick?”

“Shot the fock op, retarded! You ruin it! Come, Alessandra, lets go…” 

And she began to leap- literally- like a baby goat, up the side of the brush to where the ruins of a small tower stood. She waited for me and Jonathan to catch up and then started up a winding stone staircase to the very top of the crumbling monument. She gestured to the 6-pointed star in the middle of the floor in the open-aired circle at the top.

“Stand on it”

I stood on it.

“Now say something.”

“Hello (hello hello hello)” my voice echoed. It was pretty interesting.

Two guys, who were resting up at the top after a presumably long hike commented on my echo trick, in Hebrew. Narcisa then proceeded to explain the architectural flaws of the tower- in Hebrew- back to these men, turning to me and asking- in English- if I had any clue what she was saying, and then laughing to Jonathan- in Portuguese- how funny it was that we’d wound up here, in the Parque lage, on top of a little tower with two Israeli guys. In a little circle. Full circle. The way life always is.

“I’m jealous of you Narcisa” I said, in Italian this time.

“Why?”

“Because you have all the power, speaking these languages like this. You could go anywhere in the world and totally have your bearings.”

“Is no so good like this all time, you know? Is frustrating.”

And I looked at her thinking, yeah, maybe she’s right. Maybe it isn’t easy to walk around with all that knowledge. Maybe its more like a burden, or a curse. Or maybe an inescapable ball and chain to her fellow man. Maybe Narcisa suffers of information overload, I thought as we walked back to down the crumbling stairs.

 

 

NOTIFICAÇÃO: Os eventos relatados neste site são contos de ficção registrados na Biblioteca Nacional com todos os direitos autorais revertidos ao autor Jonathan Shaw e Alessandra DeBenedetti. Os personagens mencionados são inteiramente fictícios. Certos eventos, personagens, lugares e relatos, foram baseados em fatos reais, porém qualquer semelhança a qualquer pessoa viva ou morta se trata de pura coincidência. As várias fotografias apresentadas se encontram com o rosto distorcido para preservar o anonimato das modelos que representam personagens fictícios.

“You got a cigarette for me?” Narcisa asked.
“Sure.” I handed her the pack and a lighter.
Jonathan popped his head out of the art supply store. “Everything cool?”
“Yep. Just hangin,” I said. As I listened to Narcisa finish her story about her days in Israeli rave existential gangbangs, I began to relax a little.
A soothing figure caught my eye, and I eased my way over to one of the canvases on display about 5 meters from where we were standing.
“Check this out,” I said to Narcisa. No answer. “Hey Narci–”
That’s when I heard it. A cat, shrieking like it was being dismembered by hyenas, a deafening squeal that echoed through the courtyard.
What. The fuck.
I turned around slowly and saw Narcisa standing guiltily over the water fountain as the cat continued to flounder and wail, hoisting itself out of the water and taking off to run through the halls like a banshee.
“WHAT!?! WHY!!!!!?” I said, first confused, then laughing.
Jonathan came out of the little store.
“What happened?”
I didn’t have to answer.
“She pushed that poor cat into the fountain! That’s what she did! Terrible!” declared an angry older woman who’d been enjoying her lunch prior to the incident, french fry in hand.
“It’s just a cat, man!” Narcisa yelled, not understanding the big deal.
“No, Narcisa. No. That was bad. You don’t do things like that,” Jonathan reminded her.
Narcisa became overwhelmed, and, pacing back and forth, began to apologize profusely for her existence.
The security guard walked over.
“That cat got water all over the hallways!” He said, pointing at the art school.
“I’M SORRRRY MANNNNN!” Narcisa blared with her arms out like Christ waiting for redemption.
“Focking sheet!” She huffed and puffed and paced.
“That cat has been severely abused and traumatized,” the old lady chimed in.
JS took over. “You know what lady? So has my girlfriend.”
The lady got quiet, as did the security guard, as did Narcisa and I, if not for my inaudible giggles.
“Well. Gosh, I’m so sorry,” said the woman.
“Yeah I’m sorry too,” said the security guard.
“No I’m sorry…” said Narcisa, hanging your head, flaunting her abuse and trauma for our captivated audience. “I’m just the very bad person”.
I laughed harder.
So we said goodbye to our new friends in the courtyard and walked back into the park, through the snail trail the wet cat had left, Narcisa laughing the whole way. “That stupid cat man. Now he never gonna leave his ass e’sposed again!”

NOTIFICAÇÃO: Os eventos relatados neste site são contos de ficção registrados na Biblioteca Nacional com todos os direitos autorais revertidos ao autor Jonathan Shaw e Alessandra DeBenedetti. Os personagens mencionados são inteiramente fictícios. Certos eventos, personagens, lugares e relatos, foram baseados em fatos reais, porém qualquer semelhança a qualquer pessoa viva ou morta se trata de pura coincidência. As várias fotografias apresentadas se encontram com o rosto distorcido para preservar o anonimato das modelos que representam personagens fictícios.

As the taxi bumped through Botafogo traffic, Narcisa began to smile brightly.
“Is SO good this day, Alessandra,” she said.
“Why’s that?”
She paused a beat, thinking with gleaming eyes.
“Is like this. I don’t expect I EVER gonna leave the house again. I CAN NOT to leave the house because I’m always e’scared of the peoples and the things are going to kill me, or rap-ed me, or arrest me. Or the extra terrestrial shit. Some crazy shit gonna happen to the Narcisa all the time, and all the things like this. You know? That shit man, I e’smoke, and then I become the crazy girl. Afraid of the shadow! No to ever leaving even my little room!” She said, waving her hands around, then she thought a second longer. “But now I am here, in the taxi cab. And the sun is so good on my face. And I’m HAPPY to be alive. I WANT to do thing with my life. I don’t want to smoke the crack right now…. Is crazy! And you are here, and we gonna go to my favorite place on the whole Rio. You gonna love the Parque Lage, man.”
She was silent the rest of the ride.
Upon arrival at the park gates, she descended the cab like a queen from a horse-drawn carriage. I  grabbed  my purse, payed the driver and clumsily followed behind, scratching the mosquito bites on my ankles, making “psst psst” noises at a nearby cat. The cat scurried over to Narcisa and me and a did a few laps of 8’s through my legs as Narcisa leaned down to pet it. This went on for a minute, until she grabbed me by the hand.
“Let’s go find Cigano,” she said and we walked up the cobblestone driveway to the building where the art school is.
Jonathan was waiting for us next to his bike, typing away on his ratty silver laptop.
As we greeted him, a couple more cats came around, weaving through our respective legs, until they too realized we had no food and went back into the big tropical brush to tend to their cat business. There were many cats. Beautiful cats, everywhere.
We walked through the big entry way of the colonial-style art college into a big courtyard with many rooms off of it where art was being displayed. Narcisa yelled at a plant.
“Why you looking on me like that!??!” She said to a leaf on which
someone had placed a sticker of their face. “This is the most e’steew-pid art exposition I ever see. Ruining the plants to make the shit art that no one even notice? Re-tarded!”
“Do you want some pastels?” Jonathan asked Narcisa, poking his head into the little art supply store.
“Yes, Cigano. Right now, and the psychedelic color only. I’m e’staying here with my friend Alessandra now. Go!”
I felt a slight surge of panic as Jonathan disappeared into the little store. We were alone now. Babysitting Narcisa. In public. I lit a cigarette and thought about all the stories I’d heard of Narcisa in public places. Crazy stuff.
Off crack now a full eight hours, Narcisa was a ticking time-bomb. I shrugged it off as she told me a story about Israel, half-ready for an overdue critical meltdown.

PAST RIO ADVENTURES

NOTIFICAÇÃO: Os eventos relatados neste site são contos de ficção registrados na Biblioteca Nacional com todos os direitos autorais revertidos ao autor Jonathan Shaw e Alessandra DeBenedetti. Os personagens mencionados são inteiramente fictícios. Certos eventos, personagens, lugares e relatos, foram baseados em fatos reais, porém qualquer semelhança a qualquer pessoa viva ou morta se trata de pura coincidência. As várias fotografias apresentadas se encontram com o rosto distorcido para preservar o anonimato das modelos que representam personagens fictícios.

It has been brought to my attention that somewhere between my adventures part 1 and my adventures part 2, that the “real” part 2 had gone missing, making what I had originally posted as part 2 actually part 3. From this point forward the blog you may have read as PART 2 shall now be officially known as PART 3, even though it still says part 2 and the blog you are about to read from this point forward is now the official part 2. Should this not make sense to you, that’s okay, it doesn’t make sense to me either. Basically what I’m saying is that I’m retarded. Please read the following for further clarity.

PART 2 “THE LOST BLOG”

A week into my visit, the Dakini woke up with a white hot Bundsen burner under her skinny ass and decided she was done smoking crack “forever”.
I was across town sleeping in the notorious little apartment Jonathan had given me the keys to when the phone rang. I didn’t answer it at first, too exhausted to come down from the loft bed, just waiting for the machine to pick up so I could hear the message:
“Hey Sailor! Me and Narcisa wanna come meet you for breakfast at the little bar downstairs, whaddya say? Gimme a call when you’re up.”
I fumbled for my cell phone. What time was it. 7:30. Assholes. I’d been up till 5 editing the rewrite of Narcisa Our Lady of Ashes. But I got up. I knew I had to. Even in that half asleep state, I knew Narcisa was already having a rare and glorious day and I didn’t want to miss any of it.
 The fact that she actually wanted to leave her “laboratory” was a huge miracle. That she was willing to venture forth from the
little room in which she has locked herself for weeks and painted and grafittied all the walls with strange cryptic speedfreak writing, poetry and crazy scrawls, designs and psychadelic mandalas, the place that she refers to as simply her “cubicle”, was a rare and unexpected occurrence I didnt want to miss.
 The fact that she also. wanted to eat breakfast?   Wowzers!!
 This was going to be a glorious day for all of us, maybe all of Rio De Janeiro….
I jumped out of bed and called Jonathan back, thrilled at the prospect of spending some quality time with Narcisa, who I’ve grown quite fond of, if not a little too fond of after spending several months working on projects in her honor.
  I threw on some clothes and went to the little bar downstairs from the now-legendary, and palpably haunted apartment that was the real-life scene and scenario of most of the disturbed actions that inspired the now-infamous book, Narcisa – Our Lady of Ashes.
  I ordered a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice and a double cafezinho with a half a kilo of sugar.
I sat there for a few minutes, chain smoking Hollywood cigarettes and watching the cab drivers drinking their beers, vaguely wondering how they could possibly be wasted already. I got up and walked over and talked to the huge green parrot that sits on a perch by the cash register.
Time went by.
I sat back down, starting to doubt that they were going to show. They live in an unpredictable little version of reality, where it seems that anything goes, and I really do mean anything…
Sure enough though, just as I was about to pay my tab and go back to bed I heard the familiar growl of Jonathan’s motorcycle.
“Tudo bem?” Narcisa asked me as she ripped her helmet off.
“Tudo bom, e voce?”
“Tudo legal” She answered, as she kissed me on either cheek.
This human-like behavior caught me way off guard, I gotta say.
Being kissed by Narcisa is like being blessed by the pope, being touched by the hand of a president, being anally probed by extra terrestrials. I don’t know… It was an honor, to say the least..
And as Narcisa sat down and barked off her order to the waiter who hadn’t even made it to the table yet, even while blowing large pink bubble gum bubbles and chattering in five different languages to invisible spirits only she can talk to, I knew it was gonna be just the beginning of a very strange and interesting day indeed….

“PART 2″ (which is actually part 3)

After sufficiently stuffing her face with everything she ordered, and then eating the shrapnel, Narcisa promptly informed Jonathan and I that we would be taking a field trip to the Parque Lage, the famed place of many of her crimes, such as this one:

“Soon I getting com-for-table inside there, Cigano, I make light up an’ go for take it one big hit an’ then, boo! I look him an’ he sitting right over there at the rock by side of me…”
“Who!?”
“The e’scorpion!”

And this one!

“an’ then it come all for sudden the big e’sploding with the… morcegos, how to say it? The bat. Bat! Hundred the bat Cigano, an’ all come fly fly fly out on the back the cave, hundred the terrible little bat, flipping flipping all over me, squiking like the mouses an’ the rats, attack on to my head, flopping flopping squiking an’ fly fly all over my eye. “

Let’s not forget this one:

“Yes, the monkey, Cigano! They attack-ed to me! An’ they all e’stand-ed ’round me all e’scream on me, an’ they make the throw the thing on to me, the branch an’ the rock, all thing like these.”

She also informed me that she and I were taking a cab and that I was paying.

“Ey! Vamo pra Parque Lage, okey?” She screeched at one of the cab drivers who was at that time enjoying a beer.

The cab ride to the Parque Lage was interesting, not as interesting as the ride HOME, but that is for later. She told me of her childhood in the small town of Penedo, about her siblings and about her love for babies, her hope to one day have one, which was another surprise to me. Narcisa was starting to seem more like a girl than this ghost that I’d always viewed her as.

NOTIFICAÇÃO: Os eventos relatados neste site são contos de ficção registrados na Biblioteca Nacional com todos os direitos autorais revertidos ao autor Jonathan Shaw e Alessandra DeBenedetti. Os personagens mencionados são inteiramente fictícios. Certos eventos, personagens, lugares e relatos, foram baseados em fatos reais, porém qualquer semelhança a qualquer pessoa viva ou morta se trata de pura coincidência. As várias fotografias apresentadas se encontram com o rosto distorcido para preservar o anonimato das modelos que representam personagens fictícios.