‘I’m Hattie. Please come in. I’ll take you to the garden cottage.’ Jack hasn’t quite got used to being called Giacomo Moroni. It’s a recent nom de plume; a name of convenience. For so long now, he’s been Jacques: Jacques Moreau. Admittedly Eduardo, when in fatherly mood, had occasionally called him Giacomo, but then the name had come out sounding a whole lot more like Jack. ‘Jack-omo’. Now there is something that startles him about the extra syllable in the mouth of a native English speaker. He is not much accustomed to native English speakers. ‘You’ll be Gee-acc-omo,’ his landlady said. For the first time in his life, he has been travelling on a passport that calls him by his real name. Sipho Jack Maseko. But his rented studio is a dream. It’s even nicer than it looked in the pictures. ‘It’s perfect,’ Jack says. ‘You’ve made it all so perfect.’ His eyes are taking in the black-brick floor tiles, diagonally scored; the narrow oblongs of roof window through which he can see a heavenly Magritte-blue sky.
What do You think about Sex And Stravinsky (2011)?
