Spaghetti in Lamoux. No 5.


I spend my days in my bath. Drinking wine. Floating in the murky tepid water. I lie there pencilling my poetry onto the blank pages of the cheapest of note books.

I lie there sometimes asleep. sometimes staring into the eyes of a naked man who I have drawn onto the wall. Sometimes facing my sex as it happily floats up in a defiance of gravity. Like an eel leaving its weedy cave to hunt for food.

I leave when the sun’s rays have faded from between my windows blinds and naked but for a towel around my shoulders I walk to my wardrobe. Treading on the shells of pistachio nuts and unpolished floor boards as I go. I choose a suit. I dress. I spray cologne. I light a cigarette and I leave my room. I usually meet the old man who lives next to me. The Moth we call him. He has such a stench to him. Something which is odd for he is often seen buying the famous soap from the Soap lady. A puzzle which I care not for. I step out onto the street and make my way to the Rue d’Bloome. I get there acknowledging the other regulars on the streets. The other boys who lean in the dark for Men to come and shine some light on their lives in the manner of a few coins and some drinks. I walk into the Cafe Babel. There are the usual drunks crashing about. The usual dancer lifting her feet high above the crowds head. I walk up to the bar and order a gin. I am convinced that I have the biggest smile in the cafe. Most of the boys on the street are smiling. A Navy ship was due in. Bringing many bored and freshly paid boys. I sit waiting for the first of them to arrive. As I place my order for another gin. A boy runs in from the street. The Ship was caught in a storm. The ship has sunk.

I stand around on the street for one or two hours. There is no point. I go home. I pour a bath. I pull a cork from a bottle. I write words into the cheapest of note books. I sigh and I close my eyes.


I am a son of Turkey. I left the empire of my forefathers to make my fortune trading here in the west. Across the Mediterranean to Italy I went. Down to Northern Africa. Up to Spain and Finally through France and to the strange city of Lamoux. Here I bought a ship with the money I had earned as a merchant in Northern Africa. I use it to transport items of cargo from this strange country, so small it is merely a current in the loaf of Europe. Across to another small country. The British isles. I transport a whole manner of things, mostly boxes of clothing and material made in the factories of Europe. I take them to the British and return with other oddities. Tonight I return with something a little different. Yesterday’s night, all was steady and the evening calm. My men and I were sitting smoking on deck. I noticed on the horizon a glow was being generated by a faint light on the horizon. A fire. We steered for it and noticed it was another ship. Burning. As we got closer we could smell the smoke and start seeing the dark forms of bodies in the water. The night was a veil of death. We moved forward still. Yelling our throats coarse for any survivors. Ringing the bell. There was a reply. A man floating in the water. Arms thrown over a trunk. We pulled him from the water and still he held to the life saving trunk. We asked him what happened. He moaned and he fainted. My name it is Can. It is my kismet to be here so far away from my home. It is my kismet to save this man. I believe he will put me on the path that I am meant to be upon.


It is a great day when you realise you can still suprise yourself with rotten lies and evil deeds. It is a better day when something good comes from something bad. I can see once more. Not as good as I would like, but I now no longer need to worry about who will look after me for a while yet. God is looking after me. I am the new Padre of Lamoux. The old one now in irons for trying to kill a killer. He lead me into this lovely church. Telling me that he would take me down to the cellars for a private interview. I could smell his intentions from the start. I may have been blind but I am Malugain. Vice is in my blood and I can sense when a man has killed. I can sense if he would do it again. I can sense when he will do it again. The Padre’s first mistake was enquiring about my rings. I told him they were my fathers. He then decided that was enough. He lead me down the steps. The smell of death growing stronger with each step. Then I knew what he was up to. He did suprise me when he said he would bathe me. I accepted. He then told me to undress. I did so and hopped in my bath. The whole time he was talking of Christ. And then he came at me with some sort of blunt stick. Straight into my eye. The blow hit me right in the eye splitting my eyelid and the light was blinding. I screamed. not with the pain but with blinding light. He came at me again hitting me in the stomach as I had climbed out of the bath. then as I was lying on the floor I found that the blinding light was dimming and I could see. My eyelids were no longer melted together. I stood up and I beat the black and rotting gut from his sides. I locked him in down there. I then went to his room and threw on a robe. I called for Jean. I told him to quickly get the police. While I was waiting I stole as much as I could fit into the big pocket of the robe. I cleaned up my eye. I thought up a plan. The police arrived. I told them I was a padre from the South of France and that the church suspected the Padre of crimes against the poor. I told them I was sent to see if these allegations could be clarified. Yes they could be. What made it easier was that the Padre was lying on the floor rocking back and forth. Crying for forgiveness. The Police took him away. Jean looked at me. The confused fool is the easiest to trick. I told him that I knew his secret. I told him I knew what he was planning. With that he ran up the narrow stairs and he now does as I say like a timid pup beaten into easy submission. I am now the new Padre of Lamoux. I stand before my happy congregation Reading from the bible and looking intimidating. No one has asked any questions of Padre Daniel. They all seem happy to be rid of the fool. And at the end of the day I simply take all of the collection money. My life, once more, is that of a king.


~ by yesknow on August 5, 2010.

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