Chapter 18. The Musician's Acquisitions.

March 18, 1992

Twenty-four-year-old Emile Lorty, an obscure French musician who during his existence on earth managed to create four huge symphonies but never presented their flesh and soul to anyone, except for his loyal friend Bernard Fleury and a certain circle of people, for he considered these creations too great and brilliant for a society whose nature, of course, would never be able to appreciate them properly, and accordingly, after their discovery to man, would most sincerely despise their author, at this hour was in a magnificent state of mind among the very peculiar spaces of the Hollywood Walk of Fame—today, March 18, 1992, the solemn opening of Donna Summer's five-pointed Hollywood star was taking place here: for this reason, the rhythm of the most famous composition of this truly amazing person was continuously heard by Emile Lorty's ears at this hour—the rhythm of the song "Hot Stuff". Emile Lorty perfectly understood why he should be present at this very place and at this very hour—he was not talented, he was exceptionally brilliant, for there were no extremely exquisite notes in his creations, but there were truly exquisite feelings! Not at all striving for public recognition and success, Emile Lorty proved that he was many times more and at the same time many times less than just a talented musician—he created because he saw his own recognition in it, but not because creativity was one of the means of his existence: the one who creates for the sake of bread does not create; and when the results of creativity become a commodity, they cease to be the results of creativity. The reason and basis of true creativity is not hunger, and the price of true creativity is infinity. Coming from a poor and ordinary French family of farmers, Emile Lorty, being born and raised in need, did not in any way strive for immeasurable wealth, but always craved to have the necessary sufficiency—surprisingly, his unknown origin did not spur in him the very strings that compel geniuses to achieve fame, glory, and recognition at any cost and in all kinds of ways: no, he created waves on the field of the lyre only because from his earliest years he had познал his true destiny—to create a certain musical concept, a cycle, an ouroboros, which would contain a whole closed world, and accordingly would not need a continuation, for its continuation was its beginning. Emile Lorty, realizing his importance for this world, but not for this society, permanently and inspiredly created—looking at his example, every true philosopher would never have been able to refrain from uttering the very phrase that contained the following kind of maxim: at the present time, true geniuses are able to come only from the common people, and all other, recognized and unrecognized talents, mediocrities, and other creators—from all other people. Being by the nature of his professional activity—but not by calling and fate—a civil servant, Emile Lorty on the zebra-like pages of his music notebook, and accordingly in his musical works, often spoke about what he, due to his social position and occupation, was forbidden to talk about aloud: those of the chosen circle of people who knew how to listen and hear found answers to their questions—for those who had just embarked on this path, the path of enlightenment and insight, for the first time in their lives, questions arose of the most contradictory, and therefore the most close to the truth, kind.

So, looking with his partly intent and to some extent scattered gaze at the frantically raging crowd, Emile Lorty suddenly distinguished among its limits, as if among the limits of a pile of stones, a thin faceted diamond, the young nature of the previously unknown Alexandra Savich: as a truly creative person, he distinguished a unique landscape among all of nature and with exclusive inspiration began to study every stroke, every detail, every breath, and every look of this truly unique eighteen-year-old givenness of the almighty Universe—her straight gentle hair the color of a crow's wing gave rise to indescribable feelings in him, which can be compared only to the fire that arises in every truly sensitive soul while in an ancient Catholic cathedral during a sacred service; plunging into her pure eyes, shimmering in their gray-blueness, alternately transformed him from the greatest person on this earth to the most insignificant, for they simultaneously created and destroyed new worlds inside his soul, and accordingly new lives; her purest white skin fascinated him with its immaculate and virginal imprint, which, it seemed, was placed on her flesh by the Creator himself; her cute chubby pink lips, sometimes proudly compressed, sometimes slightly parted, hid behind the gentle tenderness of their essence heavenly pure teeth, each face of which in its form was truly similar to the heraldic appearance of the most noble and ancient Scottish families. Emile Lorty fell in love with Alexandra—fell in love with her, young, youthful, gentle, at first sight: his heart happily fluttered, and his mind was clouded—but was it not his mind, contrary to his heart, that brought him to this very place and at this very hour? Was it not on purpose, was it not for this that he came here? What did his mind and what did his heart tell him before? Did it matter if he completely succumbed to the very eloquent words of what was in his chest, thereby banishing the views of what was in his skull? But was everything really so? Was there not a hidden motive in the actions of his true nature? Be that as it may, Emile Lorty decided to act—he should approach Alexandra Savich as soon as possible, make her acquaintance, and then offer to spend time in the first cafe that came across over a cup of strong hot coffee: however, in order to do all this, he first had to overcome in himself the most exceptional kind of feeling of shame—she was indescribably lovely, while he considered himself truly unattractive. Frantically wanting to get closer to her, he was motionless, like a stone or a statue—he had to overcome himself to achieve what he needed so much and what he had so long and languidly desired: having cut himself on the unusually sharp facets of the shame he was experiencing, he realized that he was doing the right thing, for shame in such situations was always a harbinger for him that he was acting correctly—this was the first circle of hell, his first torments, groans, and sufferings. Subsequently, after overcoming all the circles of hell, Emile Lorty by no means led it, but always transformed that hell into paradise. Having received a proposal of the corresponding kind, the young Alexandra Savich did not refuse the questioning Emile—did the knowledge matter for what reason: out of boredom, in the name of not wanting to be alone, or even because of a sympathy that had arisen? Emile Lorty could with a clear conscience move on to the next circle of hell he created with his own hands in relation to himself—the flame increased, the torments and sufferings became more burdensome, the soul became warm, but it was not yet burning. In his unique sensual experiments in the name of great undertakings, Emile Lorty always, regardless of situations and circumstances, created in his mind an ideal image of the very girl whom he liked in one way or another in reality—this was necessary so that he would subsequently experience a significantly deeper disappointment and truly soul-tearing suffering: the more torments and sufferings, the lower you sink into the depths of hell, the sweeter freedom and loneliness, the higher you fly into the essence of paradise—Emile Lorty realized this, and therefore he did not at all want to change the very mechanism that worked so accurately and flawlessly. On the third circle of hell, in the first days of acquaintance, Emile Lorty, with all the sincerity inherent in his nature, in a fit of feelings, opened his soul to a very chaotically chosen object of his adoration—at this very hour, it should be mentioned, the ideas and main sketches of his truly brilliant works were born: emotions and feelings were his fuel—without rejections, obstacles, and sufferings, he would not have created such soulful creations as they were under the prevailing circumstances. His works were entirely woven from feelings—there were not so many worthy thoughts there: did this in any way affect the exclusive brilliance of these creations? And yet, given the above, did it then matter to Emile Lorty whom to invite to meetings and dates, if he was only interested in emotions? Of course! He, like every creative nature, very bravely strived for exclusive beauty, and therefore he chose secondary subjects for them only guided by his own heart and understanding of beauty. Emile Lorty! He was addicted to emotions! He devoured them with the greed of a dog that is only thrown the rough flesh of a bone so sweet to him a few times a week—with what frenzy he growled then, when they wanted to take this bone away from him! Continuously feeding on these emotions, he was still different from the majority of existing people who were subject to a similar attraction to such processes—Emile Lorty, unlike many, fed on his own feelings, and not on the fruits of others' souls, for he was a true ouroboros, a creature that devours itself: a kind of vampire that feeds on its own blood. Intentionally, but not forcefully, but naturally, awakening these emotions in himself, he sometimes still preferred to slowly taste them with the decorum of an ancient aristocrat, slowly dividing their essence into thousands of small parts, while very skillfully wielding a knife and fork—but more often he liked to eat them with his hands, often raw. If there were no emotions, there would be nothing to taste—that is why he chose those whom he was truly in love with and who he really liked. Everywhere, in every specific case, he was the most direct initiator of these relationships—this was necessary for him in order to surely and as soon as possible get a refusal from the girl: Emile Lorty never tried to please girls, but was always what he was—these feelings often allowed him to feel the suffering of the fourth circle of hell, for it was many times more painful for him because he did not play any roles, and therefore he could not be a beloved for any of them, but everyone, claiming that he was good, gave him a vow of the most sincere and pure friendship. He did not need their friendship, just as he did not need their love—he was only embodying his destiny: it was impossible to embody it without rejection. During his communication with girls, he never seemed like a bad guy, for he was not one, although, it must be admitted, he had everything necessary to create such an image in their eyes, including material tools. Men with such behavior, which Emile Lorty intentionally chose, did not have the slightest chance of achieving any reciprocity from ordinary, unremarkable women, for women love nothing so much as a manifestation of disrespect and a manifestation of love. On the fifth circle of his own spiritual hell, he always silently listened to the speeches of his beloved about all kinds of details of their lives, about their plans, goals, views, and shortcomings—tirelessly talking about what was not there, they significantly revealed to Emile their true nature, as well as the shortcomings inherent in this nature: Emile silently indulged in tasting these speeches, while they, intentionally using certain manipulative techniques, tested and checked him, once again making sure that he was not suitable for them as a beloved. He never violated their personal boundaries and always respected their inviolability—they, on the other hand, always considered him timid, weak, and indecisive: having extensive knowledge, he despised everyday trifles—they, on the other hand, considered him stupid. Thanks to his actions and inaction, with the help of his words and silence, they constantly raised their own self-esteem—they admired the fact that they knew how to please and were liked by men: he was the foundation for their self-esteem. At the same time, they did not at all guess what kind of person he was and for what, why he needed this communication—at the moment of entering into a romantic relationship, Emile Lorty was already unconsciously creating within himself a model of the corresponding refusal, for only a refusal was able to give him what he so frantically wanted, and also only it was able to not deprive him of everything most important in life—loneliness and freedom. Maximum attachment, sharp and cutting feelings, fiery emotions—without them, this refusal had no meaning at all. In those very minutes when the girls experienced a unique feeling of joy for the reason that Emile Lorty was unusually easy and relaxed in communication, sincerely believing that only one word, willfully broken from their coquettish lips, would make him kneel, they did not at all guess the depth and scale of what was happening, that he was creating these plots, and not they—he wrote these works using almost identical plots: for women, after each date, he was only the personification of absurdity and weakness—he, on the other hand, slowly tasting these feelings in the evenings, inscribed his name with sharp stigmata of his own pain on the hard stone of the countless, like a school of fish, history of mankind. Unconsciously, Emile Lorty realized that he might someday have a relationship with a girl, but this would be possible only when she herself strove for him, for she would know his depth, scale, and nature: she would know his facets and flight of thoughts, and therefore, being the same, but with the intention of achieving a similar worldview and world-tasting, she would completely surrender to her feelings for him—she would lay herself on the altar of the service of her feelings, and he would not be able to refuse her, for all his creations would already be finished by that hour, and accordingly loneliness and freedom, as well as life itself, would no longer have any meaning for him. It is then, when he fulfills his destiny before the Almighty, before the Universe, that he will no longer need freedom and loneliness—so why not live the remaining time completely succumbing to the influence of love? Does it matter how to spend this time waiting for death? Does it matter to us how to spend free time in a hospital when we are waiting for our turn to see a doctor—to watch TV, read a book, love and experience love? Is it a bad occupation? But there is still little sense in them, for a person is already in the hospital—he should think about the upcoming meeting with the doctor and tell him about all the troubles that have befallen the unfortunate, and then… find healing!