exercises of admiration for the scarecrows

I’ve loved scarecrows since I was a little boy
as tall as possible thin and by all means with a hat on their heads I would sit next to to them not without warlness –

something between admiration and fear –
I would sit on the grass a few feet away
and I would watch them for many minutes
an almost esctatic peace – resignation to a feeling impossible to remove

I wouldn’t name them in any way
convinced that they already had a name
I had no intention to offend them
the contrast between the appearance of a homeless
and their unmistakable presence
attracted me from the very first moment
many years passed before I related them
with the image of a cynical and briliant american alchoolic writer
many years passed before I watched scarecrow with pacino and hackman
do you think crows are scared by scarecrow? crows are laughing
crows are laughing!

I would leave home with the backpack
and lay in front of a scarecrow from sărărie street
it was wearing a black overcoat jeans and a yellow scarf around his neck
I would jump over the wooden fence behind the house
and stay there – me and the scarecrow and the crows –
on the still wet grass in the early hours of the morning
I wished my father was a scarecrow
and listen to me when I tell him the most unspeakable thoughts
not to look surprised or dazzled
three days later I realised his name was scrondo –
I knew I couldn’t have been wrong
he was standing untroubled in the middle of the courtyard
not careless but immune to all the pettiness around him

older boys from the boarding school were waiting on sărărie street
they were seeking us out took our money small souvenir
gums or food packages received from home
on sărărie street the cars were passing with the speed of light
dozens of dogs and cats were laying on the asphalt with their guts out
on sărărie street we were going to school
and when you’re eight school is the greatest pettiness of all
one day scrondo had broken his arm
it was hanging from his elbow
and his one-fingered ragged glove had fallen on the ground
I haven’t straighten his arm I didn’t lift his glove
with my hands as lame but absurdly mobile
with five fingers on each glove
I kept them in my pockets and moved them as little as possible
two weeks later marta came to learn in our school
she was taking the same bus I used to take
she had two braids
and she used to laugh whenever I was trying to be funny
so I didn’t see scrondo till the end of the term
when marta felt ill with measles and her parents kept her at home untill christmas
two young man were gathering firewood from the courtyard
and he was lying on the mound
no grimace no resentment
no trace of fear