Thomas el Topo (Thomas the Mole)

Opposite our local video store in Den Haag (The Hague) is a supermarket called C1000. Three years ago – upon returning the Danish Dogma-film ‘Festen’ – I stood in line in this very supermarket buying a packet of cheese and a loaf of bread (this was dinner, before meeting Carmen I was not much of a cook). Nonchalantly – and cunningly – I placed the Festen DVD on the counter to impress…well anybody really. Sad? Maybe. Instantly successful? Certainly!

The man standing in front of me soon noticed the case I had just placed between his dinner and mine. I remember him buying one of the more expensive and fine pieces of meat C1000 had to offer, together with red wine and spices too obscure to remember. I was in luck, if anybody would recognize my superior knowledge of art-house cinematography it was this man. I was right. The man – dressed sophistically – turned and asked me: “Ah, Festen, did you watch it?” The simplicity of this question did not disturb me. This was my new best friend. We would – in the future – see much more Dogma-films together or films in general for that matter.

Equally as casual as I had put the DVD on the counter I answered: “Yes, I did”. I could not produce more of a response as I was too exited about the classy tête-à-tête I was having. The man – whose wife was becoming increasingly annoyed by our conversation as it was their turn to pay (I didn’t like her, she obviously was not of the same standard as my new movie friend who I had already prematurely named Lars) – followed my swift reply with a second – more expected – question: “Did you like it?”

Although this question was predictable I was taken aback by the charm with which the C1000 customer had made his inquiry. I did not have to think long about my second response. Now was the time to make my point and – more importantly – to impress the mysterious Lars. “Yes, I did,” I beamed. This was a lie. I actually did not like the movie although Lars did not and would never know this. I was however not letting this inaccuracy stand between me and eternal friendship.

Just as I was about to explain to Lars why I liked Festen so much he overruled me with the authority of a Russian Czar. “Well, I didn’t,” he catapulted back at me. He just as well could have hit me with a medium-sized rock. Upon making this statement he paid for his food and left. With his wife. For a moment I was dazed, did not know what to think. Sub-consciously I handled my groceries. The girl at the counter – oblivious of what had just happened – asked if I wanted a plastic back for my cheese and bread (which I could clearly carry in one hand although I had the DVD in the other). I said no.

Although this little history should have taught me a lesson, it didn’t.

Whilst traveling back-and-forth by train between Amsterdam and The Hague I tried the same. This time with a book. Even though I had finished reading Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment three weeks earlier (and had used every opportunity to flash this book – and my brilliance – at other passengers) I had kept it in my bag. Every time I had the chance I took the Penguin Classic Paperback out of my rucksack and laid it on the table. One day, however I was found out when a stranger mentioned “sad ending, don’t you think?” Overjoyed I said “Yes, I know,” trying to communicate my literary luminosity. “If you know the ending, than why do you still carry the book,” I could see the woman thinking. She was not thinking this – although I was unaware of that – but it pressed my nose on the very miserable fact: this was getting out of hand.

Since then and over the last few years I overcame this peculiar, narcissistic and self-styled form of exhibitionism. Until now.

Ever since accepting the job as English teacher I have been confined to the Madrid Metro network. Between classes – which are mainly taught at businesses scattered around the capital – I move, almost animal like, through this underground world. Primarily, green and unaware, not knowing anything about the new and unexplored moving society around me. Over the last couple of months I slowly have been learning and I discovered one very important thing: there are more paperback exhibitionists out there.

At first I spotted a young man reading Nietsche’s Also Sprach Zarathustra (it attracted my attention as this had once also been one of my ‘weapons’). It was obvious however that the youth was not taking in – or in fact reading – the philosopher’s masterpiece. “Who are you trying to trick, old chap?” I thought. However, meanwhile I was sympathizing with the boy (he could not have been more than 20 years old). “You only are doing yourself in,” I muttered without him – or anybody else – taking any notice.

Two days later – on my way to a ‘teaching gig’ up north in San Fernando de Henares I sat next to a middle-aged Latin woman. I had asked her to notify me when we arrived at the station where I would have to change to get to the business park just off Avenida de Castilla, the location of a new client. As she agreed she pulled out En el Blanco by Ken Follet. I was struck by a sudden sensation of competition, rivalry and – which was by far the most dominant feeling – thrill. ‘An opponent’ I quickly reasoned, and all the mechanisms of exhibition came flooding back in that Line 10 metro carriage heading north at about 70 kilometers an hour. Not to be outshone by this pretender I whipped out the birthday present I had received from Eduardo less than 10 days before: Icon, by Frederick Forsyth (Forsyth comfortably beats Follet, he has sold more copies, I found out later whilst looking it up on Internet).

With this, my friends, The Mole is back, tunneling through the Madrid Underground – not missing any chance in showing-off his reading skills and abilities. Thomas El Topo ha vuelto.