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THE OTHER DAY someone told me that I'm emotional, and I'm still very upset about it. It is one thing you don't call a Hollander.
Tell us we're dry and we're gratified, dour and we're elated, stolid and we're delighted, cynical and you've made our day. No Hollander likes to be called emotional, no sir, his head rules his heart every time.
Heat's off
But let's get back to me. I never knew people thought me emotional. "Vesti la Giubba, on with the motley, laugh Pagliacci, laugh," was my motto. Now that my guilty secret has been revealed, however, I can loosen my collar.
A new world will open to me. From now on when anybody asks me how I am feeling I shall describe the symptoms of my mental and physical ailments in unstinting detail. Gone for ever the brave smile and the hearty, "Fine thanks, and you?" Emotional, am I? I'll show you! When I go to see a sad film, I'll take a box of tissues under my arm and sob as loudly as my father-in-law did the time we took him to see "The Hoodlum Priest". Goodbye stiff upper lip and dignified composure. You've spoilt my fun often enough.
In future I intend to cry at all weddings and funerals in church, not behind the pine tree in the backyard. What a relief it will be when my throat will no longer feel stiff and my eyes stinging from tears unshed. Never mind if the mascara runs down my cheeks, I'm still going to be grateful to the person who called me emotional.
Actually, the only place I've ever really cried in during my adult years is Lourdes. Nobody tries to console you there, for everyone is too busy praying to see what you are up to.
Warmth
Mind you, there were quite a number of women of various nationalities who clasped my son and me into their arms and embraced us. That was being emotional, I suppose, but Joe and I just kissed them right back, beaming, and I'd think of the early Christians, and how people said: "See how they love one another."
The only thing that can pierce my defences, keep me rooted to one spot and shut my mouth is church music. If I had a thousand rands and you wanted it, all you'd need to do is play my recording of Joan Sutherland singing "Oh, Divine Redeemer", and hold your hand out silently.
My father was like that too. After he died I heard "Ave Verum" on the radio, and telling my family it was his favourite. I requested silence. Suddenly one of the children burst out crying.
"What's the matter?" we asked.
"I'm crying because this was Oupa's best", he sobbed.
One Sunday we heard an inspiring orchestral rendering of "Praise my soul the King of Heaven" on the radio. I never wasted my stiff upper lip on my husband, being Irish he is more emotional than I am. Turning to him tearfully, I asked: "If I die before you, will you ask them to play that at my funeral?"
He nodded at me thoughtfully.
"All right", he answered, "but just tell me what it's called, please."
Luciano Pavarotti, Vesti la Giubba
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v-H-MWJ4f14
Vesti la Giubba, English translation by Randall Garrou
http://www.aria-database.com/translations/pag05_vesti.txt
Joan Sutherland "O Divine Redeemer" by Charles Gounod
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FRDTeRuyFwM
Ave Verum by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart - Westminster Cathedral Choir
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qvFUw9HvRf8
Praise my soul the King of Heaven - Choir of Westminster Abbey
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sx1eMwlDFb8
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