Listening to a harpsichord sonata of Domenico Scarlatti from the local classical station on the car radio, Tuskel McGazer for a moment or two felt himself lost in the delicate strength of the music’s beauty and then thought “Poor Scarlatti. How many people are listening to you right now? You worked so hard to write this sonata. Most people are making money, or having sex, or if they are listening to music are listening to Madonna or ‘N Sync or Beyonce. The people who make money and have sex and listen to this popular music are the Strong, the Uncaring Ones. Poor Scarlatti gets trampled under foot.”
Sympathy for Scarlatti turned into rage in the echo chamber of Tuskel McGazer’s mind and then he remembered the popular movie “AMADEUS” In “AMADEUS” Mozart was the hero and Scarlatti was so full of jealousy against Mozart that he plotted the young genius’s death.
What a cruel fate for Scarlatti! Here he had worked his life long to write those sonatas for the delicate keyboard instrument of his time — the harpsichord — and whorish, insensitive, money-making Hollywood had made a movie libelling him and saying he was a murderer.
Didn’t everybody take the side of the famous against the less famous? Weren’t all those money-makers and sex-havers like Mozard and wasn’t he poor Tuskel, with his ridiculous name, given to him by his foreign traumatized benighted idiotic parents like poor Scarlatti?
Driving on the freeeway one morning listening to the delicate gentle arabesque traceries of a harpsichord sonata of Scarlatti a car from the left lane cut in front of Tuskel and he slammed on the breaks. Then he realized: I will not live forever. Life is made of moments. The only infinity given to us mortals is to plumb these moments to their depth. Not to worry about the future because it did not exist, nor the past for it did not exist but the inexhaustible fountain of possibility that is Now. He deliberately rear-ended the car, causing a collision in which his spine was severed rendering him paralyzed. In the rehab facility he caught Clostridium difficile a diarrhea infection that left him like a corpse, odor-wise, and one of the orderlies, who had psychological problems jammed his thumb into his ear rupturing the ear drum. He lost all his money in the law-suit and ended up a derelict.
He told his story to one of the other derelicts named Jack Jelly and Jam. JJ&J told TM that it wasn’t Scarlatti int he movie it was Salieri, and that all his rage really had done no good at all to Salieri because he had died centuries ago. As the sun was rising and a breeze made the stink of Tuskel’s body more of a palimpest for the writing of desire, and the seventeen year red-eyed cicada molted and added their repetitive whir to the clanging of cans of garbage going into trucks as they pulsed through the city, they began to make love. The movement of their bodies as they did so was nowhere near as subtlely rhythmic as the work of Scarlatti, nor as audaciously pellucid as that of his non-rival Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, but wouldn’t you know it, it did the job.