Spaghetti in Lamoux No 7

ANNETTE

I am the famous dancer of Lamoux. I lose control and gain control. I pulsate with the city’s rhythm. I feel the energy of the street flood through my veins. It lifts me high. It lights me like the Roman Lighthouse. The cafe groans under the weight of a hundred men. A hundred men squeezed together. Laughing, fighting, talking, smoking, leering. I watch them all as I kick and I twirl. I light up their faces with every turn. With every twist. It is a great show of splendor. Proof that Love can be manifested. Proof that love can be manifested in physical form with out having to share my bed.

Afterwards. when the stars have shifted, when my dancing is over and it is the hour after night but before dawn. When the Sinners are deep in sin and the sleeper’s deep in sleep. I creep off to the Cafe Taffe. There I can have my Spaghetti, the biggest most loveliest plate of Spaghetti and I watch the boy with his guitar. By this time there are very few songs left in his heart. His thick calloused fingers pick at the strings. I walk in. I sit down and I order my pasta. He usually sings of great men and women. Or catastrophe. I know this man well. For he strums his guitar while I dance in the old cemetery. I recognised the sweet rhythms from the first time I heard them. I will dance for him here one night. Here at the Cafe Taffe. I will dance and I will be the light that shines on the music. The figure that mourns over the words that he sings with his soft, northern voice.

CAN

The sailor is still asleep. He has a story that will answer many questions. Inside his trunk he has a book of loose pages. A great story of a man that is well known. Alexander Sandking. I keep shaking my head. This Alexander lived long ago. It tells of how he was a wealthy child, a native to Lamoux. He gave it all away for the life of adventure. His hero’s were Rimbaud. Byron. Shelly. The Poets who lived lives not caught behind the cafe window but wandering far beyond the walls of europe. He travelled to my country, this Iskander. But he left. Love found him. The strongest thing in the world is love. It brought him back to Lamoux and there they stayed. Until, one day, he realised that he had not yet finished leaving footprints on the road for others to follow. He left his love. This love, this girl, she descended from gypsies. It is said that she was so mad that after two years of waiting for Iskander to return she put a curse on him. He would suffer the same fate as his heroes. Meanwhile, Iskander had built a ship and was sailing it all around the lakes of our Mediterranean coast. It is said that a great storm came up and destroyed the ship, the wind called the very spirits from the men on board. It left nothing but the legend of Iskander Sandking and his ship, the Estella.

I do not know how this man has ended with this book of pages telling the full account of Alexander and the adventures he had on the Mediterranean. I can only assume he knew someone who was a sailor on the Estella. Yet there were no survivors. Yes, this sailor has a story that will answer many questions. Many questions.

PADRE DANIEL

Prison is merely another form of church. The seats are hard. the rooms are draughty. There is the gossip. There is the self-pitying. The Preaching. The Lecturing. The difference here, is that I am a boy again. My luck has dissipated like a morning frost. I thought I had that Malugain. I only needed to bludgeon him once more and it would have been just another lost soul off the street. Now he has taken my place. Now he is lord of the lambs of Lamoux. I am to be tried in a fortnight. Jean sends word when he can. He says that Malugain does not send anything to the vatican. This will anger them and he will pay for this. For the next two weeks I swill sit here. I will pray. I pray that a lady hears of where I am. I pray that a lady sees where I am in her fire. I pray that she finds me. That she uses her influence over the powerful men in this city to have me freed. I pray for Madam D’bough to find me.

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~ by yesknow on August 11, 2010.

One Response to “Spaghetti in Lamoux No 7”

  1. love it

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