The Havanun Tales #14
Little rolling pandas
The art of not pleasing
In front of the city of Havanun,
the ocean.
The ocean is a floating depth,
often a friend,
drunk, sometimes.
Behind Havanun, the mountains.
From the mountains, once a year,
on a day in mid-November,
the little rolling pandas
come down
to bathe in the ocean.
So it’s a festivity,
a sudden snowfall,
a going out of children in the street,
closed schools,
the indulgence of adults.
Wet pandas and children make friends.
They choose each other,
one by one.
A spiritual adoption.
Until the evening they play,
then the pandas climb into the mountains,
disappear in the lulling mist.
And the children go back home,
eat vegetable soups and emotions
to grow up.
Panda cubs are whimsical.
Every child has to waste time
understanding his panda.
It’s called empathy.
It’s called don’t give up.
Oh, they seem more than usual, this year!
James exclaims,
then goes back to the pub to arrange the tables.
Dorothy and I stand outside the door and watch.
Dorothy tells me about
when she was a child.
She too carries her baby panda in her heart.
If I can’t please him in any way,
Dorothy said as a child to her mother,
I will try to make him joyful.
With James I did the same thing,
she confesses to me.
And I look at them both as you look at the sky.
Going back home,
being careful not to stumble
on pandas that mingle with the nightfall,
I tell myself:
Jonah,
you should do it too:
if you can’t please yourself in any way,
you should try
to make yourself joyful.
