364. Dàjalog II.

13 Ott

The tippy-tappy machine.

In Fulginton Street, in the corridor. The Barbon Man, appuyed on the surface of a horizontal armadium, containing dirty plaids, property of the Common of Turin, is reading some free newspapers, from time to time attempting to resolve the sudoku puzzle.

A Cat, coming in from the little window, plops down on the free newspapers, and searches to bite Barbon Man’s pen.

The Depressing Man, an old tippy-tappy machine in his hands, approaches shily smiling.


THE BARBON MAN lifting his eyes to heaven, but unpercepted. How d’ye do, dear. Are you feeling a little bit better, this evening?

THE DEPRESSING MAN loosing immediatly his shy smile. So I wouldn’t say.

THE BARBON MAN, with an effort to smile. Come on, my friend, what are you carrying on?

THE DEPRESSING MAN rebegins to smile, but very palely. Look, do you know what is for?

THE BARBON MAN, illuminating. Oh, yes. Of course! I know tippy-tappy machines a lot of well. Where did you find it?

THE DEPRESSING MAN. At Palace Gate. I always go to that cimicious market in order to rasp on all the old mess they, very reasonably, throw away. I found a caffeteer, too, but one of the vendors popped on it, in order to let me not rasp it on, & carry it with me. What a s.o.b., isn’t it?

THE BARBON MAN, seeing the Depressing Man is on the brow of weeping, hastily says: Oh, yes, what a great bastard. Does it works? Hey, Cat!

The Cat stops biting the Barbon Man’s pen, & looks toward him.

Did you see this? A tippy-tappy machine!

The Cat runs toward the tippy-tappy machine, casting himself in it, entirely.

The Barbon Man & the Depressing Man laugh together.

THE BARBON MAN. Tee-hee, I was guessing he would adore it!

THE DEPRESSING MAN. Tee-hee, listen what a casin he makes herein!



The Cat exit from the tippy-tappy machine, with a magnificent panache on his head, & the mantle tweely adorned with flowers & red peppers. He makes some day-filay, fishing for compliments.

THE BARBON MAN. Yes, of course, you are beautiful.

THE DEPRESSING MAN. Very elegant indeed.

The Cat exit from the little window. Few seconds after horrid meeowing is heard.

THE BARBON MAN, rassuratingly. Some admirer. So, put your tippy-tappy machine here on.

The Depressing Man puts the tippy-tappy machine on the surface indicated.

THE DEPRESSING MAN. I’m undecided. What could we do?

THE BARBON MAN. With risk to sound banal, this evening I hadn’t any coffee, yet.

THE DEPRESSING MAN. How I told you, that broken-in-ass vendor popped on the…

THE BARBON MAN, shaking his head. Okay, but we don’t need it at all. Don’t worry.

He pulls a button on the tippy-tappy machine. Coffee begins to mount with the recognizable & well-known gurgling sound. Grateful odour swift ascends. The Barbon Man & the Depressing Man attends the coffee is completely mounted lustly annusating the ambient air.

THE BARBON MAN. What a marvel.

THE DEPRESSING MAN. I didn’t know it was able to do such things!

THE BARBON MAN. Such things? It does make coffee, it’s only that.

THE DEPRESSING MAN. Perhaps we need two cups?

THE BARBON MAN. Never mind, the cups are incorporated.

THE DEPRESSING MAN, as remembering, slapping his front. Oh, it has to be bitter, let me take some sugar…

THE BARBON MAN. Not even in dream! Please, dear, be calm, relax, give peace to your soul, don’t excite, set your mind at rest; & – please – don’t begin to pester me so, cullion-destroying as usual. The tippy-tappy machine is commanded to put abundant sugar in every cup of coffee it makes. The tippy-tappy machine does know, the tippy-tappy machine does make. Let it work.

Two cups of coffee come forth. The Barbon Man and the Depressing Man take a cup per head & start drinking. They ptoo off the coffee.

THE BARBON MAN. I like coffee with tons of sugar in, stupid machine! This is defectuous. It was expectable from a dirty catorch rasped on from the mess & the filth at Palace Gate!

THE DEPRESSING MAN. Bitter as hell! This I expected from using the machine for a performance it’s not called to give! I wonder if it’s working again! Coffee-powder is exitial for the engranagges, it would cast itself in every hole, inibiting…

The Barbon Man grasp him for the neck.

THE BARBON MAN. It’s not my fault, okay? Say: It’s not your fault.

THE DEPRESSING MAN, gasping. … It’s… not my… fault…

THE BARBON MAN, letting him go. Okay, so I’m sure of your bonafide. But I think the tippy-tappy machine is irrimediably broken.


THE BARBON MAN. Because one of its easier functions is properly making coffee.

THE DEPRESSING MAN. Yes, but coffee is not good. Perhaps there’s a waste. But I think he can do some beautiful music.

The Barbon Man makes a face like this.

THE BARBON MAN. Music? Do you call music the sound of a tippy-tappy machine? I don’t like the music of the tippy-tappy machines. It is twee.

THE DEPRESSING MAN with weep in his voice, stubbornly shaking the head. It’s not twee! It’s sweet; that’different.

He pulls a button on the tippy-tappy machine, that begins to give forth the typical twee sounds of the tippy-tappy machines.

THE DEPRESSING MAN, taking the tippy-tappy machine with two hands, as to embrace it, whispering. Don’t you hear how beautiful? I was used to listen at the tippy-tappy machine, at home, each day, for the greatest part of the day. My granny made some light coffee, with a machine appositly constructed, and brought it on a vassor with a little slice of pizza with artichokes, the little birds were singing in their cages, the sun was often shining, the wind was softly spiring, the wild waves were always saying something… How I complain my little home. It was in the bidonville of Il Cairo, do you know? Little obnoxius children were every moment in chase of some little pet, cat, or dog, & were used to kill them with stones, clubs, or half-spingards. When the butin was of at least of five or six dogs or little black people, we were used to come in the little square, & have a wonderful barbecue.

The Barbon Man looks at him with disgust, seeing he’s starting to weep.

They had some cocaine in change, & my sweet granny was used to offer tea & haschisch to all. At evening, often, we were used to run to the hanging of some homosexual. Granny was usually profiting to beg for us between the populace distracted by the beautiful, beautiful show, from time to time stealing clocks & purses. Ah, my sweet, sweet granny. Every morning at five she was awaken, & runned forth to steal some bread for our humble desk.

The Depressing Man weeps now openly.

& all my life had this precious companion, the tippy-tappy machine, with its irresistible, sentimental music. Do you hear? … Ti-ri-ri… Oh, I wasn’t used to request something too much hard from it. Granny was expected to wash our dirty linen, and the sun to dry it. But for the days of rain, when we called our neighbour Giovanna, that was paid with a certain number of blisters of propoli-paste for badbreath, for puffing on it. The tippy tappy machine was scanding every moment of my jolly day. At evening

The Depressing Man weeps now desperatly

I was used to go to the Great Ringlike Link, where finally I was allowed to re-embrace all my friends… At any moment, with my faithful tippy-tappy machine under my arm… Granny was expecting me till the morning… Oh granny, granny, where are you now?

The Depressing Man takes his head in his hands, sobbing loosingly.

The Barbon Man, a little bit uncertain on his legs, goes toward the loo.

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