LAMOUX No 9

TRABEQUE

I was sitting playing my guitar. The sun was as warm as a wine stained smile and I was watching the dancer bowing down, rising up, and kicking her legs up high. It was as if she was scaring the usual cool winds and clouds of a Lamoux afternoon. The Bell-tower of the old church was slowly casting a shadow over my balcony as the sun sunk slowly into the west. I looked up at the old church. It had none of the charm or warmth of the small church in my home village. My Village. I wondered if anything had changed. They would have built a new church. I sighed and I wondered if any of them thought about me. I strummed my guitar a little louder. I looked down at the cemetery. The girl’s mouth seemed to be opened in a smile. She danced barefoot across the fallen head stones. Through the shadows of the old oaks where she would flatten the long grass with every step. I looked back up to the church. There was someone looking down at the girl. A man. He seemed to be watching her with great intent. I stopped strumming. The girl Stopped dancing and looked up at me at my balcony. I leant against the iron railings. A cobweb caught against my pants as the girl looked up. I pointed up at the church’s bell tower. She turned and looked. The man quickly stood up and ran behind the bell. He then went back down the trapdoor like a rabbit down its hole. The girl quickly got her cardigan and left. This will probably be the last I see of her dancing in the old cemetery.

HONDURAS

We are close to the harbor of Lamoux. I have sat here smoking cigarettes with the Turkish captain of this cargo vessel. The bundle of pages that was given to me by my fellow sailor has caused him concern. He asked me how it came to be in the chest. I told him it was a gift. This Turkish man, Cam, seems to know of the sailor whom the story concerns. He keeps mumbling about it and asking questions. I merely tell him the truth. I haven’t any idea about it. I just want to get back to Lamoux. I can not sleep for nightmares. I need to get back to Lamoux. I need to make my way down the hard worn stones to Cafe Taffe. I need to watch the dark man play his songs of men like me. Songs of ship wrecked fools in love with the unattainable. All while I eat a plate of the most well earned spaghetti. This is all I can think about. I have told Cam that he can keep the Manuscript as it clearly means more to him than I. He has refused. He believes it has come into my possession for a reason. So I shall keep it in memory of the man who gave it to me. We get to see the light of The Roman Lighthouse tonight. Tonight, when I will get to walk the streets of my dear Lamoux.

FLEUR

The story of Madam d’Bough is a strange one. The woman they found in the river is not the real Madam d’Bough. The real Madam d’Bough is long dead. But she took an apprentice who learnt all her tricks. Most importantly she learnt how to manipulate the feeble minds of men. She lived in her mistresses house after the old lady’s death and took on her persona and clients. It is not known how she ended up a corpse in the Inkon. That river holds many souls and rarely lets up its secrets. People say she had been inadvertently ruling the city of Lamoux through the advise she would give to the men in power who came to see her. There was also a rumour that she was the lover of the Padre. That she was the reason he became so powerful. It has only just been told that Padre Daniel is in the city’s cells and is to be tried for the murder of the broken souls of Lamoux. He will no doubt be waiting for Madam d’Bough to use her influence and free him. He wouldn’t have heard of her fate. This would be the ideal time for a woman to take advantage. The ideal time for Madam d’Bough to fight the rumours of her death. To stand up. To reclaim her lover. To expose that criminal Malugain. To set the Lion of Lamoux back onto its throne. This time the sister of the soap lady will no longer be in the shadows. Soap will mean nothing to me when I hold Lamoux in my palms.

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~ by yesknow on August 20, 2010.

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