"With music, you can do anything, even go on a merry-go-round." That's what the ticket seller said before letting you enter the yellow submarine.
"And what song is on the other side?" "Eleanor Rigby"
"Eleanor who?"
And anyway: there was a very small gentleman and a very tall one.
The very tall gentleman spoke to the very small one.
The very small gentleman said: "Thank you for talking to me."
"Dad, why did that gentleman thank you?"
"Because there are people with whom no one ever talks."
That was the first time I saw loneliness. The real kind, not the kind of the cool kids.
Then there was Grandma Bruna. Dressed in rags, every morning she opened her office, and her office was a bench where she spread papers, old magazines, and books taken from who knows where.
Then she would take a box full of colors and fill all the pages with doodles.
It was serious work. And from that work, she occasionally lifted her eyes to smile, but no one picked up her smile.
That was the second time I saw loneliness. The real kind, not the kind of the bored ones.
Well, back then I didn’t know, but there's a song for Grandma Bruna and also for that very small gentleman. And it talks about a woman who collects rice from the church after a wedding and a priest who mends his socks at night. In short, two people like Grandma Bruna and the very small gentleman.
In that song, there are violins descending from the sky and blowing away human sorrow.
And there's a melody of those that sometimes came to Mr. Paul...
Imagine, as a child, it made me think of two people holding hands, but it was quite the opposite. Maybe that’s why I sometimes imagine Grandma Bruna and that very small gentleman together, doodling, chatting, and smiling.
Anyway, that song is "Eleanor Rigby," the other side of the yellow submarine. And I think it's beautiful that these two little masterpieces began their journey together.
Ah, Eleanor Rigby is the one who collected the rice at the exit of the church.