Voices of Lamoux. Number Ten.


Tonight I will go out. Make my self look good. Pick a sprig of Rosemary and put it in my button hole. I will fill my jacket pockets full of pistachios and leave a trail from my door to the Rue d’Bloome. I leave the building as the lamps are lit and I can see The Moth walking down towards the local grocer. I know I will find a customer tonight, I have to. Even if it is a Robe. There is usually one who shows me favour and asks me to read him my prose. I make sure my back pocket always has one of my cheap note books inside it in case of his custom. I follow the Lamps to the Road of lust and cigar ends. I pick a sprig of Rosemary and put it in my button hole. I see a few of my fellow brothers in perfumed arms and wink at them. I walk into the Cafe Babel. It is already full of the men and women who come to turn gossip to truth and truth to laughter. I find Gloriette the barmaid. She fixes me a gin and her son Garflough walks by holding empty glasses in his hand. He stops and asks me if I want to buy a cigar. I decline. I tell him he should come back later when I have a friend. I walk out into the cool night air and watch the people. I look out for the sort who will keep me alive. I take a pistachio out of a pocket and shell it. I throw it into my mouth as a Sailor walks in. He must be straight off his boat as he still carries a bag. I know he is one for the boys as he goes straight to the bar without even glancing at the dancers. Particularly Annette, the most beautiful and graceful dancer on the Rue. I walk up to him and notice he looks tired and angry. I ask him what the matter is. He tells me he went to the Cafe Taffe to watch the guitarist there. However, they say he has not been seen for days. I tell him not to mind and that I and the Cafe Babel will take the weight of the world from upon his shoulders.


This city. This Lamoux. I left it once and I found love. I returned with him and he left me. That was many years ago. I could never leave again. I am far too old. I am a part of this stupid city like it is a part of me.  A most pathetic and sad situation. I remember when I was a young girl. There was magic in the flowers of the city. Poetry would beat from the heart and soul of Lamoux and everyone believed in the future. Now it appears that the people here only believe in the magic of Madam d’Bough. That she comes and goes from the dead and only she can make a future that the people can believe in. This city has gone mad. Where are the lovers? The true lovers? The ones who will lie in bed all day philosophising, analysing one another’s dreams, making up revolutions. That is it. Where are the Daughters of the revolution who will sons of Art and couple to make lessons for the future generations to learn and take example from? Timpaux, who lodges in the bottom story of this house, believes I am the soul of Lamoux. The oldest inhabitant. Maybe. He believes that when I die the city will die too. I am not dying so far, yet I see the city’s spirit slowly fade. The flowers now bloom only because it is spring. They would once bloom because there was reason to. I can see the park from my big house. Timpaux goes there to think about much and achieve nothing. I can see a lot of the kites and in the distance one or two hot air balloons. Maybe I am not too old to leave Lamoux. Maybe tonight I will pray. I will pray to Saint Gideon for some wings and perhaps I will fly above the kites and beyond the balloons and back to the land in which I found my love.


I have had word from my love. I am to be freed from these prison walls within the week. Free to walk back into that church and beat the eyes from the head of that bastard Malugain. I have received this information from a letter she had sent. She outlined that I was to go straight to her abode upon my release. No doubt she will then tell me how best to go about getting back into the great church of Lamoux. How to go about killing the man who should already be dead. How to become king of this forsaken city. And Jean. I know he will have been faithful to me and informed the vatican of what has happened. Jean. I will repay his faithfulness with a night with that dancer he is always spying on. I will repay my love for this. With all the gold she can carry. she will be my secret little queen. And the first thing I am going to do is touch her beneath her old frayed dress and show her just exactly thankful I am. Madam d’Bough is never going to forget the day that she freed her Padre Daniel from the cells of Lamoux.


~ by yesknow on August 26, 2010.

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