Zip!. Nataniël

      LEANING MAN

      One of the most important facts about living in the city is that very few people will know who you are. You can hide anything you want to, even your appearance can be hidden for a long time before somebody will notice. You can live next to the most obese person and will not know it until the day they break down the door. Terrorists, murderers, neglected elders, immigrants, tropical animals or people who cut their own hair can live next to you and you will not know.

      I was a young man when I arrived in the city. Every day was a revelation. I did not have to greet anybody, I could go into a shop and buy clothes that were never intended for me, I could have a meal anytime of the day! One night I went into a place with neon lights and experimented with drinks I had never heard of, I also met somebody who, later that night, took my innocence in the most pleasant way.

      I was so grateful that I decided to become involved in the community, to help somebody less fortunate than me, maybe correspond with somebody in prison or in some war. So I phoned the jail and told them I would like to write somebody some letters. The person on the other end said I was a manbitch and put the phone down. Then I asked around but people said there was no war either. Finally I bought a magazine that was wrapped in plastic to see if I could find an address.

      On the second-last page of the magazine were messages from all kinds of people looking for friendship. The one that caught my eye was called Lonely At The Top. I decided to write. I wrote that I was a young man who loved my new life in the city and that I hoped my letter would be welcome.

      Two weeks later I received a letter from Lonely At The Top saying he was also a young man in the city, and he did not mind my letter, it made him really happy. He also wrote that he had never seen writing paper with naked little soldiers before.

      Then I wrote back and said I hope he was not upset by the naked little soldiers, I had bought the paper when I was still planning to write to somebody in the war.

      Two weeks went by, then three weeks. I heard nothing from Lonely At The Top. Finally I got so upset that I went to a place with neon lights and experimented with drinks all night. Three days later when I woke up, there was a letter from Lonely At The Top. He apologised for not replying sooner and said it had been raining and when he tried to write, the letters got really wet.

      I then wrote back and said, Go inside.

      Then he wrote again and said it always happened, even when he went inside. I got really upset. That could only happen if you were living in a box. But why would he call himself Lonely At The Top? Maybe he was homeless and lived in a box on a roof.

      I wrote a letter and asked him what he did for a living. He wrote back and said he cleaned the windows of very high buildings.

      And that explained it. He was lonely because he worked up in the air where nobody could speak to him. Unless I went to a high building and opened a window and spoke to him, there was nothing I could do. I decided not to write again.

      One month later I received a letter. Lonely At The Top wrote that he had never done something like that before, but he would like to invite me for a visit.

      I thought maybe he got excited by the little soldiers, so I took some blank paper and wrote that I did not think it was a good idea, I did not even know his real name or who his family was.

      He then wrote and told me his name was Freedom. He said his father grew up on a farm and had to walk to school every day. He said it was a very windy area and by the time his father was twelve, he had walked in the wind so often, he was leaning forward at an angle of 45˚. He could never stand up straight again and grew up leaning forward. Very few people spoke to him because they thought he was falling over.

      I wrote back to sympathise and asked him who his mother was. I did not know that leaning people could marry.

      Freedom wrote a long letter. He said his father had always been looking at the ground and one day at the station he saw two beautiful feet. He tried to look up but could only see up to the knees. They belonged to a very, very tall girl. He followed her and when they were alone he asked her to lie down so he could see her face. She agreed to lie down only because he was as un­usual as she was. She told him she was from the East, but nobody would talk to her because she was much taller than anybody else. So she came here to work in the circus and find a husband. Then he asked her to marry him and they went to live on the farm, because they could both fit into the barn. Until Freedom was born. That was the end of the letter.

      In my mind I saw a man at a 45˚ angle. Then I saw this very, very tall girl from the East. And then I pictured the baby. What I saw in my mind could not be true. So I wrote and asked Freedom for his address.

      Two weeks later I got on the plane and flew to the city where he lived. I was very nervous, so I experimented with drinks the whole way. Finally a taxi dropped me in front of a large building. I was too nervous to go in, so I decided to walk around for a while.

      About three blocks further was a very tall building, made entirely out of glass. I looked up. And then I saw him. The tallest man on earth, looking like one of those waving figures made by the balloon companies, leaning across the street, slowly wiping the windows of the glass building. Nobody noticed him. Why would they? It was not something their minds would be able to take. But he noticed them, he was looking down, looking at the little people. And I did not really want to know what he was thinking.

      I went straight back to the airport. I did not want to be his friend. I thought he was too beautiful. Powerful, towering and free. I did get a little bit frightened. And I did learn this: If you are not right for the place you’re in, you’d better find a place that’s right for you.

      (from the Black White Man Woman stage production, 2012)