The origin of philosophy does not lie in astonishment, as Plato and Aristotle taught, but in despair.... Things I write here are what I shall no longer talk about; they are the shavings thrown off by the plane as it shapes the day's work. Cesare Pavese
Pelegrine: A Holographic Journey
Channel 1 When Pelegrine arrived in America, she was overwhelmed because she could not enter the harbor of New York because there was such a thing called a hurricane and she didn't even know the meaning of the word and needed a dictionary she didn't own. So the ship circled for twelve hours before the girl set foot on solid land after rocking eleven days on an autumn sea. After all, her nineteen-year-old life began with the adventurous guts of a girl with three suitcases, a bicycle and a first pair of skis from her mother on her fourteenth birthday. The big red secret. Up till then she was tying cut-up inner tubes around boards to her soggy boots. Skiing that way was just a little fun. Her stomach smashed on the toboggan, three people straddling her back and only Pelegrine's feet scratching and carving ice, to steer the sled into a barbed fence, tearing to pieces her fur coat and the rabbit once more, ripping a big hole into her inner thigh, was a little more exciting. And all the children screamed after her while Pelegrine ran home as fast as she could, rags and all. And her mother, she was very pissed and yelled even more than her fellow injured. The five-year-old girl escaped down the cellar steps and the furious Mom picked-up a stale loaf of bread and hurled it angrily after the girl. Good thing, she missed. A deep, fleshy wound glared at her. Little white hamburger dots stared into her face. The torn-off sleeves and missing pockets made her feel more miserable than when she actually hit the piercing wire minutes ago. There was no such thing as stitches, a doctor or attention. Till today a caterpillar-sized wad decorates her memory of an injury never tended to.
Channel 2 When Pelegrine was fourteen, her poor and struggling mother traded cabbages and eggs back and forth until she had what she wanted. This time a pair of skis. And Pelegrine should not find them. A difficult situation, especially since the girl was thin, limber and wiggly like a spiral. To keep her out of trouble and away from big, conspicuous presents was not easy. It almost worked. Christmas Eve crept slowly into the afternoon. Fidgety Pelegrine dropped a needle and down she crawled, under the chair and under the bed. She saw nothing. No needle but something new bumped into her head. Real skis. She soon forgot why she was where she was, squeezed under the bed. Because suddenly she saw only the end of her strapped feet onto boards that never really moved right. Five years later, these red twins would cross an unknown ocean with her. She wasn't sure why she went so far. She left not much behind, only an invitation to perpetual gloom.
Channel 3 Kurt, her landlady's son wanted to marry her and if she had, Pelegrine would have two children and would have learned child bearing, keep her mouth shut and maybe acquiesce to the world around her much better. She will never really know what kept her from going into the housewife-mother trap. Instinct? Restlessness? Desire for adventure? For sure, life there was relentless and hard. No heat in the room she rented from his Mom. A stove, yes. But after the giant coal bags were dragged-up the one-hundred-seventeen steps, she didn't