Letters from the Johnny’s pub – Berry

 

The first chapters of Stars of dust: A gift for you

Translated by Emilia Maiella

 

I have many things but…

 

– Hey, you: I’m looking for a guy named Johnny.

– Everyone here is called Johnny.

– Yeah, but I’m looking for the most Johnny of all!

– Hey, buddy, try to calm down. Would you mind have a beer?

– Do you think you can buy me with a beer?

– What’s the problem, bro?

– I’m not your brother, okay?

– Ok.

– The problem is that there’s an asshole who calls himself Johnny B. Boogie, because of one of my songs, which you’ll certainly know, Johnny B. Goode…

– Oh, Mister Berry… I’m the asshole!

– Uh, it’s you? I’m about to hit you in the face, boy…

– Well, but I thought…

– Do you know what happens to those who think wrong as you?

– Look, Chuck…

– And don’t call me Chuck, I already said that I’m not your brother…

– How do you want to be called?

– Mister Berry it’s fine.

– Ok. Mister Berry, mine is only admiration. For me you are the father of rock and roll…

– What? Don’t even try: Chuck Berry has four children but has no heirs, ok?

– The thing is…

– Don’t you have a personality of your own, asshole? Didn’t your father give you a name?

– Hum, well, I don’t know who my father is…

– Uh… and why don’t you try to find him instead of pissing me off?

– You’re right Chuck… I mean, Mister Berry.

– You got yourself into a big trouble, boy…

– I’m sorry…

– Ah, are you sorry?

– How can we do?

– Now I have to hit you, do you understand?

– Oh…

– It’s for your own good…

– But…

– But first, is it possible to drink something in this fucking place?

– Red ale?

– Ok, red ale!

– Ah… congratulations, uh, Mister Berry…

– For what?

– Your daughter is a very good actress… and she’s also a hot chick…

– I didn’t know she was an actress…

– Isn’t Halle Berry your daughter?

– Who?

– She’s a great actress…

– And why would I be the father of all those called Berry?

– Oh, I did a blooper…

– And anyway, if she had been my daughter, you’d have already thought of taking her to your room, right, Johnny? Is that how you bring me respect?

– Well, you said she’s not your daughter…

– What does that have to do with anything? If she had been my daughter, I said, and you had the thought anyway…

– Well, but…

– This thing is serious: my daughter, Johnny, do you realize? No, I have to hit you and I’ll hit you harder… but after another beer…

– OK, Mister Berry. Hey, Johnny, another beer for Mr. Berry…

– He’s traveling, Johnny – he’s Johnny B. Strong.

– For me, everyone should be called Johnny in the rock field – I tell Mr. Berry.

– And why? – He says.

– I told you: for Johnny B. Goode. You are the father of rock…

– Ok, all right, Johnny, you understand nothing but I know you’re saying certain things out of admiration.

– Of course, Mister Berry.

– Now, though, the beer is over and I just have to do it, Johnny.

– What?

– Hit you.

– Well, after all, it’s an honor for me…

– Stop that…

– Thanks Mister Berry…

– Well no…

– Thing?

– You’re too complaisant…

– Me?

– Johnny, there’s no fun on beating you.

– Don’t say that, Mister Berry…

– You disappointed me, Johnny, you do not deserve my hits…

– Oh…

– I’m going Johnny…

– No, Mister Berry, I beg you, hit me: it’s a great pleasure for me…

– That’s enough, Johnny, you’re also a masochist: how disgusting!

– Ok. Do you know what’s up?

– What?

– Mister Berry looks like a McDonald’s sandwich name!

 

SBRANG!

 

– Thanks, Mister Berry, nice shot!

– I warned you, Johnny… and stay away from my daughter!

 

 

LETTERS FROM THE JOHNNY’S PUB

  1. Introduction
  2. Pete Townshend
  3. Keith Richards
  4. John Lee Hooker
  5. Janis Joplin
  6. Chuck Berry
  7. Patti Smith
  8. Syd Barret
  9. Debbie Harry
  10. Cheeta
  11. Mick Jagger
  12. Keith Richards, James Brown, John Belushi
  13. Stuart Sutcliffe
  14. Keith Richards 2
  15. Sgt. Pepper

 


CAGES ON iTUNES


Are we really free or are we prisoners of ourselves? Reading the reflections of Omar Mumba, the protagonist of this story, we live recluse in our mental restrictions and we stay this way for much of our existence, learning to move in the narrow spaces of those same bars.
In every type of system, there proliferate contradictions that become traditions to be respected. The society in which we live has applied the norm that says we can be happy, even if the others are not: all you have to do is not to be among those others.
It is a simple equation, basically, yet Omar does not seem to learn. It keeps a singular pastime, if we can call it so: keeping inside a big envelope, all the letters coming from those structures and associations present in forgotten places, where every need is absolute. He reads them continuously, even when he is in the hotel where he works and for this reason, he is mocked by colleagues and superiors. The attitude towards the neighbour in difficulty makes him intransigent, but above all leaves him alone. His days pass between listening to U2 music and household chores, work and a recurrent accusation: who gets his boss’ flat tyre?