‘Pierre Mejlak’ Articles at j’accuse

I thought he wouldn’t make it. Then I got an SMS at four in the afternoon “Nibza li ha niddizappuntak habib. Qieghed imsiefer u l-isfiga kollha qed tinqala’. Forsi guest post mar-ritorn ghalkemm ma tkunx l-istess.” Then four hours later “Sibt internet!!! Gej tieghi! x”. By nine in the evening I had received Pierre’s piece. The Festschrift was completed – in “photofinish 1996 style” as Pierre himself described it. Pierre was a wonderful discovery – two Gozitans meeting in Luxembourg – and if there’s one thing I envy him it’s his smooth talking charm peppered with trés gozitan humour. Books & Beans was the name of a bar/café in Luxembourg before it became the name of the blog of one of blogosfera’s most pleasant wordsmiths. I’ll stop here – ladies and gentlemen I give you the fashionably late Pierre J. Mejlak. It’s not his fault he was in Paris….

Ma’ Jacques fis-Sul Palco

It-Tube llejla xbajt għall-mewt. Qisu r-rużarju. Dejjem l-istess daqqa, b’New York, New York dejjem l-aħħar radda tas-salib. Iżjed ħadt gost il-bieraħ għand Mark. Kien hemm Ludvic, ħabib tiegħu, li f’għaxar minuti sajjar platt għaġin b’dak li sab mhux-maqtugħ fil-kċina ta’ Mark. Għoġbuni t-tnejn – kemm l-għaġin kif ukoll Ludvic. Kien hemm ukoll Matthew, li qed iżur lil ħuh u qisu mħajjar jiċċaqlaq hawn ukoll.

Barra l-ksieħ. U fejn noqgħod jien, f’wied li jiġi eżatt taħt ground tal-futbol, il-kesħa tinħass iżjed. Mhux suppost indum ħafna hawn. Hekk kif jitlesta l-appartament f’rue Adolphe Fischer niċċaqlaq. Hemm inkun waħdi u nkun iżjed komdu.

Illum erġajt rajt lil Maria. Vera post żgħir dan u jekk tiltaqa’ ma’ xi ħadd u ssellimlu bla ma biss tindenja tistaqsih x’jismu, sa ġimgħa wara hemm ċans tajjeb li tkun erġajt rajtu. Darbtejn jew tlieta. Ma’ Maria laqqagħni Vincenzo fl-ewwel ġimgħa tiegħi hawn, fejn inzerta kien hawn fiera – speċi ta’ lunapark kbira – bl-isem Schueberfouer. X’ħin toqgħod tqis, naħseb infaqna għoxrin euro nilagħbu tellieqa taż-żwiemel. Tixħet ballun u skont f’liema toqba ddaħħlu, iż-żiemel jiġri. Jien kelli ż-żiemel numru sitta. Għajjien immens u ma damx wisq ma beda jinqatagħli lura waħdu. U x’ħin rajtu dejjem wara nett, kollu grif u melankolija ġenerali, sirt kważi kważi nħobbu iżjed.

Ma’ Maria rġajt ħbatt is-Sul Palco, il-bar ta’ wara l-Posta. Taħdem bartender hemm. Ma nnotajthiex mill-ewwel. Fuq it-TIME kien hemm artiklu dwar Barack Obama, li mix-xejn sar Senatur Chicago. Toni Sant kien ibbloggja dwaru u meta ġiet quddiemi tistaqsini x’irrid kont mitluf fih. Come vanno le cose? staqsietni. Ma stennejthiex hemm u billi togħġobni imbarazzajt ftit ruħi. Għidtilha tajjeb. Ma sibt xejn aktar x’ngħidilha. Flok macchiato ħarġitli macchinato u ħarġitli imkissra qisha ż-żiemel li lgħabt fuqu. Vera stħajt imma hi tbissmet għax ħasbitni qed niċċajta. Kont se nistaqsiha jekk ratx Fahrenheit 911 iżda hekk kif kont se nibda d-domanda Maria telqet fuq mejda oħra bi tbissima li biha qisha riedet tgħidli kkalma, daqt nerġa’ lura.

Fuq it-televixin bdew juru tellieqa tal-Formula 1 u kif bdejt nara min hemm quddiem jidħlu żewġ Maltin. L-ewwel smajthom. Imbagħad rajthom. Kien għadni qatt ma ltqajt ma’ Jacques, għalkemm wiċċu ma kienx ġdid u ismu lanqas. Kien endorsja lil Cassola u bħal għoġobni li ħareġ għonqu. Miegħu kien hemm wieħed jismu Owen. Jacques qalli li kien għadu kemm mar dawra bil-karozza. Mar Remich, qal, u wara baqa’ sejjer Remerschen. Ra ħafna baqar. Sejjer jara Juve Ajax l-Erbgħa f’bar Taljan qrib il-gare u stedinni mmur miegħu. Nitħajjar immur. Semmejna lil Toni Sant u lil Mark, li t-tnejn qed jibbloggjaw. Jien imħajjar iżda x’naqbad ngħid? Jacques ma jikkommettix ruħu. Iżda ma nimmaġinahx se jdum wisq iħares mill-ġnub. Ma jidhirx it-tip ta’ fuq il-bankina.

Kien qed jgħidli li anke hu Għawdxi u kont se nistaqsih minn fejn, meta reġgħet ġiet Maria tara hux kollox sew. Id-domanda dwar Fahrenheit 911 kont, ormai, fassaltha b’mod sabih u kont se nixħitilha qisna ħbieb tal-qalb li dejjem jixħtu l-affarijiet lil xulxin, iżda Jacques, pront pront, ħa f’idejh id-diskursata, li għandi ma reġgħet spiċċat qatt.

Last night, Merlin’s flagship author Pierre Mejlak launched his latest collection of short stories entitled “dak li l-lejl iħallik tgħid” (“what the night lets you say”). The event was held in the sumptuous settings of Mdina’s Palazzo Falson – a jewel in Malta’s heritage crown and will surely be registered as an all-round success by the organisers. Merlin has hit on a winning formula that is a combination of finding worthy texts, packaging them in an exciting wrapping and creating an aura of anticipation around them. In doing so it may be leading the way to the rediscovery of Maltese literature by an ever widening audience.

Marketing ploys may spice up the look, feel and spin of a literature piece but the proof of the pie is in the eating. Whether you are leaving the magnificent setting of Palazzo Falson or walking out of your bookshop of choice with book in hand, there is only so much that the package can sell (and it has gone some way in doing so by getting to buy the book). The list of deserved praises that Mejlak’s previous works have attracted might tickle the fancy of a first-time reader but there’s no better selling point than the wonderful weaving of ideas and words that is Pierre’s imagination set to paper.

The moment you start reading a story of Pierre’s you switch off from reality and follow the author’s melodic pan pipe into the realm of fantasy. In pIerre’s case, the elaborate insights of an observant narrator combine to provide a simple, unputtdownable text that transforms the mundane into an attractive fun-fair. You willingly join the Pied Piper for the ride and enjoy every single word of it.

Minor spoiler alert: the next paragraphs contain hints of the first story without revealing the plot.

I confirmed this feeling with the Prelude and first story (“l-ambaxxatriċi”) last night. Pierre promised, Pierre delivered. (I’m quite sure he’d deny the promising bit but he will definitely smile half-shyly at the delivery stage). For the story about the lady ambassador, Pierre has ventured to the Europe of Mitterand, Spadolini and Platini – and his characters now roam the corridors of the Elysée as happily as they did the piazzas of Qala and Nadur.

The storyline pushes the suspension of belief to its limits – toeing the fine line between credibility and fisherman’s lies – until you notice that the narrator is not desperately marketing the latest twisted truth but is actually conniving with you, the reader, in awe and appreciation at how quickly an elaborately designed story served someone else a dual purpose. And the moment you actually reach the end of Pierre’s Archer-like tale you are at one with the narrator’s observation … this time gazing angrily at a coffin.

Objective achieved : you thank the narrator for the ride and eagerly turn the page for a ticket on the next rollercoaster ride in a very, very colourful and unpredictable playground.

Two-thumbs up. Again.

One for nottebrava:

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