Alfred Villavere Poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

Alfredo de Villaverde


One evening in a town that shall be nameless I walked past an expensive restaurant and
since this was before air-condition windows were open the pianist played Chopin, a music
I like as it is not taxing to the ear. I went in ordered a drink the waiter said I had to eat something
ordered an apple. I got a fruit cocktail. When he had a break, he came over to me introduced himself
as Alfred we talked about this and that before he had to play again, but we agreed to have lunch the next day. Alfred was a nobleman from the highland of Spain, and during the civil war, he had sided with the wrong side and had to flee. Coming from an artistic background, he could play the violin
and the piano, and thus he crossed Europe for a living.
We met for lunch nearly every day he became my mentor, we spoke about politics, the art and literature our lunch that often lasted long. Alfred had a failing though, depression and when
It hit him he sat at home half asleep sipping from a bottle of brandy, I brought him some food he hardly touched, there was nothing I could do to assuage his illness. After a week he snapped out of it and became himself again. Meanwhile, he had been fired and undaunted he picked up
his violin and played at street corners he played so well the local orchestra hired him he played the first violinist at a televised show. Alfred hated fascism, claimed football the beginning of it
with waving of flags and so on. I told him I had been a goalkeeper when he asked me way
said I was not into a team sport, he liked to hear this.
I had to leave for a few months when I came to see him Alfred had gone no one knew were
Didn`t look for him Alfred did what he wanted, there are times; however, I`m not sure if he
was an illusion, a product of what had helped me to overcome my struggles.