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Expedition Contributions
Joined: 20 Jul 2005 Posts: 47
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Posted: Tue Apr 11, 2006 7:05 pm Post subject: Seattle 03 |
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oi Guest
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Posted: Fri Apr 21, 2006 7:07 pm Post subject: reminds me.. |
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one day i found a violin in a heap of garbage on a street of zagreb. inside the violin´s box there was a photo of an old man holding that very violin, smiling, an old woman by his side looking proudly, he´s just about to start playing.
he must have died, how else could he have thrown away a thing so precious. worse, he must have died with noone to r e m e m b e r him, or who could be as pitiless as to reject ..
it´s alarming how a situation can change, all of a sudden. this white-haired man playing the guitar, on a sunny day, in this tidy nest he has built for himself and his wife, maybe kids..oh how pleasant. i can´t help thinking of something awful coming along. |
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Fernsprechteilnehmer
Joined: 05 Apr 2006 Posts: 7
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Posted: Fri May 12, 2006 6:44 pm Post subject: |
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And then he started to play the same tune over and over again, it must have been two hours or more. It was the only tune he remembered. Whenever he finished it, he looked around thoughtfully as if he was planning the next part of the show. Then he just started playing the song again. He could have chosen a better one, Anne thought while watching him calmly and fixedly. It was a traditional tune, Ye Jacobites By Name, from Ireland or Scotland or these kind of places where it’s said to be green, and where all her neighbours somehow descended from. He was of Italian origin, so God knows where he picked up the tune, must have been in the Irish quarter, back in the days. Something must have happened when he heard the song; something I don’t know, she thought, a bit embittered. He only remembered the chords roughly, and his tremor didn’t make it better. But he knew the lyrics by heart, from beginning to end, and when he sang the lines
Adore the rising sun
And leave a man undone
To his fate, to his fate
it seemed to her he sang these lines a little bit more fervently than the rest. Maybe this was his subtle sign of protest against her totalitarian regime named Care, maybe it was mere idiocy. It was hard to tell these days. At times she didn’t feel quite sure if he recognized her at all, or if he just treated her like he would treat a piece of furniture: friendly but indifferent. The first stage of all the deterioriations always went like this: first she didn’t feel quite sure if something was any longer the case; then that very suspicion was proved, turned into effect, and from that point onwards it would never be the same again. This had happened so often that the thought that her husband will quite definitely never recognize her again very soon didn’t frighten her, it simply bored her. She picked up the book that lay on the mantelpiece. She couldn’t read the letters without her glasses, but she knew it was the Bible because she knew it couldn’t be the fishing book. She could tell them apart by the colour of their covers and their weight. Her husband did not show any apparent reaction after she pretended to start reading. I could as well go away and do something useful, she thought. Maybe it would make him stop playing; but then it would also make him stop playing if the globe or the cupboard were removed. She put the book back on the mantelpiece - without being able to read the letters, it didn’t offer her any insights. She was wondering whether this was different if she had her glasses on; she only was quite sure that the insights she gained from the fishing book were even more limited. It was highly likely that her husband had the opposite opinion on that matter, if he had any opinion left at all.
And yet there’s one difference between me and the cupboard, she thought. I can talk to him. She stood up as firmly as possible and declared:
We go to bed now.
The old man looked surprised and puzzled, but he stopped playing. He waited, curious about what would happen next. After he realized that apparently nothing was about to follow, he picked up the guitar again for a second, yelled
Adore the rising sun!
And leave a man undone!
To his fate, to his fate!
before willingly following his wife into the bedroom. It must be a sign of protest, Anne thought, smiling. |
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Clarion Guest
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Posted: Fri May 12, 2006 8:31 pm Post subject: Sunday Afternoon at Home |
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Sunday Afternoon at Home
Jesus, I hate him. Yes, darling, what a beautiful song and yes, honey, hasn't your playing improved. He's following me around, following me through the whole house like a two-year-old who has done his first poo in the potty. I sat outside and he followed me, filling the garden with his wavering voice and squeaky tunes and the neighbours whispered amongst themselves. One day soon, I will break the neck, break the neck of the damned guitar that he caresses and strokes and hits. And the strings will snap with twings and twangs and I will have to be careful so they don't hit me in the face and tear my skin. It won't break off cleanly, will rip out some of the body, leave a big nasty hole and I will have to look out for the splinters so they won't bite into my flesh like the other day. I couldn't walk without pain and each night, there was a red smudge in my socks. It doesn't wash out properly. I've chucked them.
He smiles at me, lovingly, with these fading lips of his and when he gets up to kiss me on the forehead, I can barely keep from turning my face away. It will have to die tonight. |
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Nasrin
Joined: 12 May 2006 Posts: 7
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Posted: Sat May 13, 2006 6:13 pm Post subject: A place to rest |
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The clouds in front of the sun slowly moved away. In an instant the room became flooded with sun. She lifted her head up from the magazine and her gaze followed the strong ray of sunlight that extended across the floor and almost imperceptibly touched her husband’s toe. Once again, she thought how lovely it all was.
She could sit there for hours and listen to the soft sound that his fingers produced, when sliding gently over the strings of “Rita”. Rita is the name he gave to his favourite guitar. He never told her why he did so. So many years that they have known each other and there were still these little secrets between them. But they were part of their relationship, which after thirty-seven years still was an intensive, vivid and diversified one. Different from the partnerships of most of their friends, she thought, who spent a lot of their time watching TV or walking around in the city. Boredom, they did not know. They needed no TV, just sitting there, enjoying each other’s company quietly, was something very special, something she highly appreciated.
There was this silent form of communication between them. She could tell his mood - and sometimes his inner thoughts - by the way he played and by the pieces he played. Today he was passionate and turbulent, like he was when they met for the first time. A deep-drawn sigh slipped out of her.
He noticed her sigh and also her furtive glance at him well. She probably thought he doesn’t because of his concentrated playing, but he always did. Although being totally devoted to the sound of “The Spanish Romance” the globe on the top of the piano caught his attention. How he would have loved to see Spain for once in his life. They have never been to a far away destination. Now they were too old for long journeys, she kept reminding him, every time he came up with a suggestion. Were they really that old? Today he felt like a teenager. But the picture on the piano next to globe revealed all the things that had already happened. They raised two wonderful children, and dedicated their whole lives to them. Of course it was all a great pleasure but now they have time for each other, time to conquer the world!
She always said that she was satisfied with where she is, and that she would not miss anything. And then he used to say: “Darling, how can you miss anything that you do not know?” That was so typical for “his girl”, as he used to call her. Never curious, rarely trying anything new. He gave her a smile and she smiled back.
All they needed was a place to rest. She leaned back and closed her eyes, trying to capture the moment for herself, and thought: “No one knows how many more of these moments we will have.”
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