2023-07-06 15:57:45
Daniel kisses his son as if he were a hero. He then he walks with his hands in the pockets of his overcoat, slowly going down the Chacabuco until it is called Maipú and flourishes on the corner of Avenida Olmos. Take straight steps like a diabetic but bend the streets like one of our own until the La Perla restaurant. He has a tasty Milanese for dinner and does not take off his dark glasses even though it is late. She writes some magic words and stretches out the moment because she has been invited to a party in Sun Petals.
Domingo Zipoli and Rodrigo Bueno discuss the musical identity of Córdoba
Daniel Salzano, immanent director of the Municipal Film Club, essential poet in the Saturday newspaper, and author of many Sunday songs, awaits his friend and leg for that night. It arrives around twelve Cachoito De Lorenzi smoking a red These are times when there are ashtrays in restaurants and the designer from Córdoba, the one who invented the logo of La Voz and the shells of the SRTsits down and orders a coffee while Salzano touches the top of his cheek. He wants “a tear” interprets the waiter. It’s a cocktail consisting of hot milk with a sad drop of coffee.
Cachoito shows the designs of a setting that he made for Jorge Bonino, one of the greatest and most ignored artists in Córdoba, to take to the Di Tella Institute in Buenos Aires. He then asks “what do you think baby?”, It’s his catchphrase. Salzano stretches out her upper lip and makes it clear that she likes him. But he does not concede.
Both walk, then, by the Colón ready to go up La Cañadheading to the party. Right at Bonafide’s door they meet Carlos Busqued, the author from Chaco who chose Córdoba as his notebook to write his corrosive stories.
The gods of Olympus already rest. The sky lights up, it’s July 6th and Córdoba is celebrating
Daniel kisses the hero as if he were his son, he carries his pockets in his hands and makes a corner in the flowers that the muni put under the Tipas. He comments on the magical milanesa that he ate before writing some tasty words, and the three ascend La Cañada. The night smiles at them with dark blue teeth like the sacks of Monserrat.
Wrapped up for the winters of yesteryear, as if they were three native versions of Humphrey Bogart, the friends approach the door of that bar blessed by nature. In Pétalos de Sol, there where the lack of windows gives away a permanent dawn and the night is always ending, they say hello to some friends. Leonor Marzanoby the way, born in Santa Fe, enjoys her night off with Myriam Stepford. The latter, having a rather crossed conversation – typical of a person who was born in Switzerland – confesses that she intends to unite the capitals of the provinces in an airplane that her husband gave her-a treacherous millionaire named Raúl Barón Biza-. Leonor, much younger, opens her eyes wide and asks him to take care of her and on her side tells of her tours playing the piano. With her hands, she describes that catchy musical discovery that sounds like a double bass and is called “tunga tunga”.
They all descend through the Pétalos entrance, although technically they ascend to the limbo of the Cordoba night, our only religion. Upon reaching the followinglife, what we call joda, they witness a table like no other: Domingo Zipoli and Rodrigo Bueno discuss the musical identity of Córdoba and they make gestures similar to those of a guitar solo. They both lean in like ACDC’s Angus Young and laugh. Rodrigo talks regarding a song to be called “Soy Cordobés” and Zipoli gets baroque. At that moment appears the Emaides dog with three fernetsone per opera, and encouragement to produce a concert for both in the General Paz Cultural Center.
The Comedy Theater opened the curtain once more following 16 years in ruins
The mere idea of this show attracts the attention of Chango Rodriguez, who considers himself essential and, for this purpose, he sends his friend and neighbor from Barrio Alberdi, Deodoro Roca, to make the management official.
Outside, the kids at the traffic light fall asleep without dinner, shivering in poverty and waiting for the Gabi Borioli Come by and leave you something to morph, some La Luciérnaga magazines to make biyuya, and that hug that only she has.
The cold is called heaven in July and makes the dark street rougher. The asphalt pebbles twinkle because they are the urban version of everything described by the astronomical Observatory a couple of blocks later. The village dreams of Fat José, that homeless poet who attended the marches and, unlike all the ghosts of July 6, did not leave an obituary because he was destitute.
25 years following “the end of the century” between Talleres and Belgrano
Downstairs the thread continues because the day of the city is coming and nobody works early. 450 years of the foundation are celebrated and everyone is talking regarding the reopening of the Teatro Comedia. Emaides and Salzano listen closely because they know what it is regarding, while Ana María Alfaro leans on the Urban Woman’s shoulder to find out what’s new.
“Ah, the Odeón Theater” says Juan Filloy who attended its inauguration in 1913 when he was barely 19 years old and had just graduated from Monserrat. He tells that he was an ad-honorem collaborator of the Vélez Sarsfield Popular Library, practiced boxing and amassed revolutionary dreams with his colleague, Deodoro Roca. De toque Roca clarifies that soccer separates them: he is a fan of Belgrano, while Filloy would be a founding member of Talleres.
The drinks get long and the alcohol begins its effect among those who celebrate the best night in the galaxy, where music lives, and the great national debates.
Then he makes his entry Gringo Tosco with Antonio Seguí who has a radiant tie bought in Paris. From right to left, everyone knows that the trade unionist’s overalls are the uniform of many struggles and they worry because they smell gunpowder on it. In this City we are the factory of national ideology, the tension between assets and reagents that greet each other at the bar, but shake off burning ideas.
Seguí offers a drink, always seductive but careful, to Olimpia Payer -our great painter- who, due to the invitation, abandons the conversation with Genaro Perez. Modernity is like that.
Others surround Tosco and his ideas, like the whirlpools of the University City. Among them there is an obscure character, the journalist Rivera Indarte who would later become street. Born in the Private Hospital, his career includes being expelled from the university for being a thief, and from the country for similar reasons. False and a liar, he is the most notorious anti-poet because he sold his pen once morest and in favor of Rosas, as the offer rose. None of that prevented me from continuing to be in the Center.
In the antipodes of the bar, Jules Charles Thays or simply Carlos, is the man of the shadows, the lord of the trees. He debuted here by painting the city with a green silvapen. He is pretty drunk and says that his paths will be curved so that the end cannot be seen. Modest and smiling, author of Parque Sarmiento (and capable of making bouquets of flowers to survive) he has many parks for the whole country in his pocket.
The Pétalos de Sol Bar firmly complies with municipal regulations and closes at the indicated time. Many of the attendees cross the Plaza de la Intendencia hugging -but still- stumbling, and when they pass in front of the Municipal Palace they notice that it has been restored. On its ground floor a collection is exhibited that includes some portraits of themselves. Incredulous, they attribute it to wine.
While the priests throw the bells of the morning into the wind, friends say goodbye at dawn. Daniel Salzano himself rests his ear on the pedestrian street and listens to the children who live in the downtown area. He walks to the stop while from background slides the voice of Mario Pereyra. When the car arrives, he kisses the driver as if she were magical, tucks his overcoat into the trolleybus so that it flourishes in tasty corners, and puts on his straight glasses.
The gods of Olympus already rest. The sky lights up, it is July 6th and Córdoba is celebrating.-
By Pancho Marchiaro
(Published by Hoy Día Córdoba on 7/6/2023)
1688660522
#Cordovan #limbo #years #Cordoba