copia de Don Quijote (2)

DON QUIJOTE

Hoy hago un paréntesis en las historias de mis tios para contaros que hoy he comido con Don Quijote.
Farouk Maxwell, un querido amigo de hace años, que ha tenido una vida alucinante.

Parsi que a los 12 años se fué a vivir a Londres con su padre, separado de su madre. Algo inaudito en la cultura india de la época. A los 16, se fué de casa. Vivió como un “homeless”, un “sin-casa”. Tuvo toda clase de aventuras, conoció los bajos fondos, durmió en la calle hasta que resurgió de sus penurias/cenizas gracias a un acaudalado inglés que lo acogió del arroyo y le ofreció trabajo. Ahora tiene mi edad , 65 años, es un señor viviendo con su esposa en una casa maravillosa en Northampton cuyo interior alquila como escenario para varias peliculas.

Mientras comía con el, en un momento dado se quito las lentes y era DON QUIJOTE, su pelo ralo blanco, su barba, su cara enjuta, su nariz ligeramente aguileña... Su figura alta y fibrosa... Se lo dije “¡como te pareces a Don Quijote!” Era su misma imagen...

Ha escrito la historia de su vida que estoy deseando leer. Como hoy es el dia de nuestra lectura colectiva en “La Acequia” de mi querido y admirado PEDRO OJEDA ESCUDERO, he pensado que era una buena ocasión para traerlo a mi blog.


Today, I want to make a parenthesis in the stories of my aunt and uncle, because I had lunch with Don Quixote. Farouk Maxwell, a dear friend from many years ago, who has had a fascinating life.

A Parsi; when he was twelve years-old went to live in London with his father, separated from his mother. A rare happening in the India of those years. When he was sixteen, he ran away from home. He lived like a hobo, had all kinds of adventures, lived the life of the underworld, sleeping in the streets until a wealthy Englishman rescued him and offered him a job. Now he's my age, 65, and is living with his wife in a beautiful house in Northampon which he rents as scenario for some films.

While we had lunch, at one point he took off his glasses and he was DON QUIXOTE!, his white feathery hair, his beard, his drawn face, his aquiline nose... His tall wiry figure. I told him “you look like Don Quixote!” He was his spitting image...

He's written his biography which I'm dying to read. Since today is our weekly “Don Quixote” reading in my dear and admired PEDRO OJEDA ESCUDERO'S blog, “La Acequia”, I thought it was a good occasion to write about it in my blog.