another old piece (unfinished, &, to be honest, I don't much care for it, but I'm really not in a writin' mood much of late--but I will say that I finally got around to watching "The Treasure of the Sierra Madre" & think it's now one of my top 10 favorite movies)
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The chairs squeaked because the people that were in the chairs were moving restlessly, & though they tried to hide that they were restless from the other. We should be somewhere else, they whispered to one another. We arent supposed to be here. Something bad should be happening to us but isnt, because we arent there, because were squeaking in these chairs. Somebodys messed up. Something has gone horribly wrong. How are we going to straighten this out?
Which was a very good question.
While they continued squeaking in their chairs refreshments were brought out on silver trays by young men & women, very attractive, wearing pressed black uniforms. These servants said nothing, made no noise.
A bearded man, with just the touch of an implacable accent, said to the young woman who was handing him a glass of wine The way the light shines off these silver trays reminds me pleasantly of Venice in the early spring The young woman made no sign of understanding what he had said. I would like to take you there. You remind me of my daughter. You could be her twin.. The young woman left without a word, without a sound.
The room was very tastefully decorated. A large picture window behind them looked over the ocean. It was midafternoon, apparently, but wasnt it night just a short time ago?
Something is supposed to be happening, but it isnt, because were here.
They got very drunk on the wine, but it did nothing to allay their feeling of unease, & the squeaking of the chairs became a dull roar. The light slanted in towards evening, brightening a wall of portraits opposite the picture window. There were flashes from the ocean livening the glasses of wine, the brandy.
Still they came, bringing the silver trays. The men & the women in the chairs felt no desire to leave the room. The elegant woman wearing pearls pissed herself, blushing furiously, & the tall man with the white moustache fell out of his chair.
They became talkative, & were soon talking as though a group of classmates that have come together after a separation of many years, although they had never met before this...day? What happened this morning?
They did not talk about that, it seemed to be something horribly taboo, like asking the priest at the end of the sermon if hed given or received oral sex lately.
But they did seem bonded in some way, it was obvious early on what it was that bonded them, although the wine was washing it away as the room grew orange with the fire of sunset, then purple while candles were brought in by the servants, They were bonded by the fact that they were here instead of there. But what was that?
There were times when they werent in the room for stretches up to fifteen minutes, & they would speculate about the servants. Did they speak English? The bearded man tried asking them questions in French, in Italian, in German, but received the same formal solicitude. An older woman wearing cats eye glasses & a formal navy blue pantsuit suggested shyly that they might be...she struggled with the word...automatons? Robots?
The tall man with the white moustache had drunkenly tried to make a grab for the young woman who looked like the daughter of the bearded man, & did manage to grab hold of her bottom, but it was like grabbing at an article of furniture that was being dragged past.
They tried to compare their lives...before...like a party game. Theyd all pissed themselves at this point.
The bearded man was...is, he corrected himself...a professor of History. The elegant woman with the pearls writes a society column for a paper in New York. The man with the white moustache owned a deli in Queens. The woman in the Navy Blue pantsuit worked in a government office in Harlem, but was taking time off because of a nervous breakdown. She brought a little brown bottle of prescription pills out of her handbag & shook two little pills into her hand, washed it down with wine.
Doctor says Im not supposed to take it with alcohol, but shit.
The others--an elderly Asian man, had not lost a look of numb terror throughout the afternoon pantomimed playing a violin. He pointed to his ears & nodded, then pointed to his mouth & shook his head. Mute. An older woman said in a thick accent that might have been Slavic said that she cleans houses & takes care of her grandbabies. She was the only one who had not touched the wine, drinking coke instead.
There was the faint sound of rain outside.
The servants brought more wine. The Asian man pantomimed playing the violin again. The young woman made no sign of understanding his request, but when she returned she brought a dark leather case & laid it on the little table to his side with the same dispassionate courtesy with which shed brought the wine. It was highly polished & shown in the candlelight more like a magnificent animal than a musical instrument, & it growled like one too, when he placed it to his chin & drew the bow across the strings.
He was drunk & it was not perfect, but close.
The bearded man knew the song, it was one of Stravinskys lesser known pieces, & he had not heard it since he was a student in Berlin, many years ago. The tall man with the white moustache fell to the floor with a crash, & started snoring.
It filled the room, mingling perfectly with the rain outside. The storm was building, but there was a break in the clouds, & the candles were overpowered for just a moment by the light of the full moon.
The woman in the navy blue pantsuit was the next to fall, her glasses skittering from her face.
One by one they fell, the Asian man last of all, two of the strings on the violin snapping as he landed on it...
Fortunately, it was still in one piece, although in much shabbier condition when the subway pulled into the station, the squeal of the brakes waking them, six people with damp laps, still quite drunk.
The bearded man looked at the young woman standing with her friends, clustered around the pole at one end, thinking without the peircings & multicolored hair, she might be the twin of his own daughter.
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The chairs squeaked because the people that were in the chairs were moving restlessly, & though they tried to hide that they were restless from the other. We should be somewhere else, they whispered to one another. We arent supposed to be here. Something bad should be happening to us but isnt, because we arent there, because were squeaking in these chairs. Somebodys messed up. Something has gone horribly wrong. How are we going to straighten this out?
Which was a very good question.
While they continued squeaking in their chairs refreshments were brought out on silver trays by young men & women, very attractive, wearing pressed black uniforms. These servants said nothing, made no noise.
A bearded man, with just the touch of an implacable accent, said to the young woman who was handing him a glass of wine The way the light shines off these silver trays reminds me pleasantly of Venice in the early spring The young woman made no sign of understanding what he had said. I would like to take you there. You remind me of my daughter. You could be her twin.. The young woman left without a word, without a sound.
The room was very tastefully decorated. A large picture window behind them looked over the ocean. It was midafternoon, apparently, but wasnt it night just a short time ago?
Something is supposed to be happening, but it isnt, because were here.
They got very drunk on the wine, but it did nothing to allay their feeling of unease, & the squeaking of the chairs became a dull roar. The light slanted in towards evening, brightening a wall of portraits opposite the picture window. There were flashes from the ocean livening the glasses of wine, the brandy.
Still they came, bringing the silver trays. The men & the women in the chairs felt no desire to leave the room. The elegant woman wearing pearls pissed herself, blushing furiously, & the tall man with the white moustache fell out of his chair.
They became talkative, & were soon talking as though a group of classmates that have come together after a separation of many years, although they had never met before this...day? What happened this morning?
They did not talk about that, it seemed to be something horribly taboo, like asking the priest at the end of the sermon if hed given or received oral sex lately.
But they did seem bonded in some way, it was obvious early on what it was that bonded them, although the wine was washing it away as the room grew orange with the fire of sunset, then purple while candles were brought in by the servants, They were bonded by the fact that they were here instead of there. But what was that?
There were times when they werent in the room for stretches up to fifteen minutes, & they would speculate about the servants. Did they speak English? The bearded man tried asking them questions in French, in Italian, in German, but received the same formal solicitude. An older woman wearing cats eye glasses & a formal navy blue pantsuit suggested shyly that they might be...she struggled with the word...automatons? Robots?
The tall man with the white moustache had drunkenly tried to make a grab for the young woman who looked like the daughter of the bearded man, & did manage to grab hold of her bottom, but it was like grabbing at an article of furniture that was being dragged past.
They tried to compare their lives...before...like a party game. Theyd all pissed themselves at this point.
The bearded man was...is, he corrected himself...a professor of History. The elegant woman with the pearls writes a society column for a paper in New York. The man with the white moustache owned a deli in Queens. The woman in the Navy Blue pantsuit worked in a government office in Harlem, but was taking time off because of a nervous breakdown. She brought a little brown bottle of prescription pills out of her handbag & shook two little pills into her hand, washed it down with wine.
Doctor says Im not supposed to take it with alcohol, but shit.
The others--an elderly Asian man, had not lost a look of numb terror throughout the afternoon pantomimed playing a violin. He pointed to his ears & nodded, then pointed to his mouth & shook his head. Mute. An older woman said in a thick accent that might have been Slavic said that she cleans houses & takes care of her grandbabies. She was the only one who had not touched the wine, drinking coke instead.
There was the faint sound of rain outside.
The servants brought more wine. The Asian man pantomimed playing the violin again. The young woman made no sign of understanding his request, but when she returned she brought a dark leather case & laid it on the little table to his side with the same dispassionate courtesy with which shed brought the wine. It was highly polished & shown in the candlelight more like a magnificent animal than a musical instrument, & it growled like one too, when he placed it to his chin & drew the bow across the strings.
He was drunk & it was not perfect, but close.
The bearded man knew the song, it was one of Stravinskys lesser known pieces, & he had not heard it since he was a student in Berlin, many years ago. The tall man with the white moustache fell to the floor with a crash, & started snoring.
It filled the room, mingling perfectly with the rain outside. The storm was building, but there was a break in the clouds, & the candles were overpowered for just a moment by the light of the full moon.
The woman in the navy blue pantsuit was the next to fall, her glasses skittering from her face.
One by one they fell, the Asian man last of all, two of the strings on the violin snapping as he landed on it...
Fortunately, it was still in one piece, although in much shabbier condition when the subway pulled into the station, the squeal of the brakes waking them, six people with damp laps, still quite drunk.
The bearded man looked at the young woman standing with her friends, clustered around the pole at one end, thinking without the peircings & multicolored hair, she might be the twin of his own daughter.