The ocean glittered in encore as the sun set and the moon rose. Where light from above had warmed roof and heart alike, lights within, gloaming golden and orange behind jalousied pane, twinkled life indoors, happy shadows of simple domestic bliss where bread was bread and wine was wine and gratitude for the day was served first. In concert, closing or opening act debated, the claret sky twinkled life from the watchful velvet heavens. The sight was, as it had been before and as it would be again, sublime, if one had the mind to see.Trev didn't. He had found a small alley off a small street, a place for locals, a vista to the small harbor in the distance, a place to get lost, a place to be lost, a place, with open windows and aged wood, redolent of lore, legend and sea, of hands labored in cause, a place breathing neither need nor want, a place to get drunk. And drink he did. Drank the colors till the colors danced in his eyes and around his head and sound sat upon his head, feet kicking the top of his lobes. So he did what lost and drunk do, he drank more, his hands on the bar, rolling as if at sea, heavy his head felt, bobbing. Another glass, another lifting and down like gavel rang empty what was once full.
As coin upon coin was offered up, coin attracted what coin is wont and beside his listing was flesh firm and soft, eyes the larger in reflection, fingers twirling, a code neither secret nor discreet. He talked, the words feeling visible, objects upon a platter, notes hanging in the air, an orchestra in support of tale told. She listened, her face a pleasant mask, hiding nothing and in that nothing, nothing sincere, sincere as nothing asked, nothing wanted, beauty held, growing by the dram.
Lost, time. To lose time, to that place he sought, those hours given forth, banked in memory denied to journal, foe of pen and paper, stranger to all but strangers. She offered neither flesh nor warmth as it seemed from afar as it would seem from eye and ear witnessed, but lostness, a few hours stolen, extracted. That is what he wanted, an extractor, someone to pull from his mind an hour, an hour removed from the hours before and the hours to come. She could do this. Extract him. Her trade, skill. Worthy of the exchange, for who can buy time? Who can create time?
He nodded. She smiled. And lips were sealed to the ears that asked. "Did you find him?" asked John.
"Not hide nor hair," replied Arn as the bartender looked to the stairs. "Yet."
15 comments:
Whoa! That is a lot of chapters rolling out of you since I last came!!
I wish I could drown time in a glass of alcohol sometimes! But no such luck! :)
Or maybe luck in some sort of way...
Wonder what it might taste like...
so loving the title of this one...it sums the segment up so well. And I can feel the emotion and see it expressed on Trev's face. A desperation to hide away from it all. The kicking at his lobes--such a perfect description.
Of course, my drink of choice is still hot chocolate.
--snow
"So he did what lost and drunk do, he drank more, his hands on the bar, rolling as if at sea, heavy his head felt, bobbing. Another glass, another lifting and down like gavel rang empty what was once full."
Now that sounds a little too familiar. I think I know THIS person in 'real life'
Meleah, :-D
Snow, always nice to see you stopping by. Plenty of hot chocolate with your name on it at DT. :-)
Mona, I think I would choke on it. :-D
Do they have panto in the States? With audience participation. The wish that someone could call out to him, tell to stay put for just a little while longer, was strong, but then who is to say that it will not remain a stranger to those that aren't...:-)
Two main thoughts swam parallel with the reading of this chapter, two that have done so before, many many times. I remembering stepping out of the air-conditioned airport having flown from the winter into 30 degree heat. It is like a wall, a wall of heat that hits, but a jellied one. An instantaneous arrival, the moment stamped in sensation. In that same manner, The Story surrounds, envelops, engulfs. Like one never left. ...Which one never does. There are books that are read that either because they are special or they were read at a significant time change us, stay with us, a life-long love affair that doesn't wane. Particular passages, particular characters, the language, the lesson and so on and so forth that probed so deep into one's heart, into one's core, that they became a part thereof. And the phrasing, once again, as I read the phrasing is a source of marvelling, from the aesthetic first strokes of The ocean glittered in encore as the sun set and the moon rose..... through the tawny tones of a vista to the small harbor in the distance, a place to get lost, a place to be lost, a place, with open windows and aged wood, redolent of lore, legend and sea, of hands labored in cause to strangers and extraction and masks and lost-ness, through it all the second, reoccurring each time that one reads something you have written, language sitting like the untouched stone to be chiselled and carved, full of potential and in the right hands the destiny to be a thing of great beauty and eternal delight and you have those hands, so to speak, magic hands, and it isn't just particular passages or particular characters, it isn't parts of the language used or some of the thoughts behind, I simply cannot think of a single chapter that didn't arouse thoughts of creative genius. Thrilling and simple, a winning combination. Like and beside his listing was flesh firm and soft, eyes the larger in reflection, fingers twirling, a code neither secret nor discreet. Quick comment, perhaps more when time permits. Wonderful chapter. Waiting on Arn. :-)
Sunshine, I'm not sure how to explain a chapter like this one, which is written to be savored like cognac rather than shot like whiskey or guzzled like beer. My mind finds a familiar groove that for me feels comfortable, some nether-land between poetry and prose where the words rise and curl like smoke, creating shapes like clouds in my imagination, a place to be rather than to do.
As always, thank you for the wonderful and thoughtful and engaged comment. They are the wine in my glass and I twirl their claret aroma, allowing the bouquet to bloom with all their simple complexity. :-)
Your host picture looks great with you under the shadow of filtered sun!
Are you undergoing PS es ? You seem to be getting younger!
I'm fighting a rearguard action against age, not so much of body or heart as of mind. And the fighting is brutal! :-D
Oh, I just loved THIS:
...from the watchful velvet heavens...
I started singin' a song when I was reading Madame Storm's comment...
"Come on home, girl" he said with a smile
"I cast my spell of love on you, a woman from a child!
But try to understand, try to understand, oh ... oh ...
Try to understand
Try try try to understand
He's a magic man!" oh yeah
Oh, you've got the magic hands
'Magic Man,' by Heart
Ah, such a moniker suits you well, Mr. Tree.
:-D :-D :-D
Oh Strumper, you already had my pants around my ankles, but my underwear too? :-D
*fans self just a bit to gain train of thought*
Not working darn it.
OH! What I was going to say before.... well...
I wonder what reaction YOU the writer are trying to get from ME the reader toward Trev? My feelings are mixed toward him right now... have been for a while. I go from compassion to frustration to a wee bit of ambivalence... to just plain confusion. I don't MIND feeling the range of emotions but I do wonder if that is what you are wanting to accomplish through his character right now.
Makes for a very interesting Story as long as one does not get distracted by the comments!
Jen, interesting question. The short answer is none at all, which is to say, I don't write with the idea of doing anything to the reader, and, I hope this doesn't come out the wrong way, I rarely have the reader in mind when I write. So, your question, which is a great question, is one that never enters my mind. It just doesn't occur to me to see my characters as puppets that I use to manipulate an audience.
I try, with all the characters, and I feel I fail more than succeed, but I try to make them 'round' as opposed to flat. Staying within their basic character, I try to show warts and all, without being inconsistent. With Trev in this scene we see a couple of things. (1) a sense of despair; (2) his consistent reaction to despair, which is toward some sort of self-destructive behavior; (3) a certain flirtation with the dark and hidden side of sex as part of #1 and #2 above; (4) that underneath it all is an insecure and immature kid, who has a good heart, wants to do good but is confused as he interacts with others--in other words, his social skills and interpretation of the social strata is a bit lacking, and this lacking causes friction (aka pain) for him; and this pain is recurring, like groundhog day, same thing, over and over again and he feels like he is lost in a maze, circling, lost. And the spiral downward takes on a life of its own.
Taking the above into consideration, when I write, I try to explore a tiny, tiny segment of a character's character. In this chapter, we see Trev's despair, the heavy pain of regret and confusion seek escape (another common trend we've seen in him) via wine and women, even if just for an hour. His seeking this escape in the dark places is more complex than perhaps I understand, but dark it is. I'm not even sure Trev understands this about himself. He needs help. Mairi has tried in the past. And Em too in a different way. The girl in this scene may or may not be what she seems. So stay tuned. We might be on the edge of an interesting twist and/or addition to the story. ;-)
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