I feel heavy with the weight of my son. I can not be responsible for his future. He is a child yet he is so quickly losing the tenderness of youth and becoming a man. He is not experiencing what children should. School, Friends his own age, playing in the street. He works in the cafe selling the cigars. His playmates are criminals, drunks and whores. He rarely smiles. I watch him. He is always looking wistfully to the skies. Night and day. Looking at the birds, the clouds, the stars, the balloons and the kites that all fly over our city. Lamoux always looks after its children. It always has. I have few choices. We could carry on as we are. Yet I know he will become one of the regulars of Cafe Babel. He will go from selling cigars to some other underhanded dealings. I need to send him to school. My boy needs to be educated. He needs to leave Lamoux for a while. See the world. I need to find money for this. I have little choice but to go to the church. To ask the father of my dear son. I will make that bastard pay for something. I will get something good from the evil that has risen from that man. I have to. Or else I fear the love of vice might carry down from father to son.


My heart it is beating in my chest with a roar louder than the ocean beneath a storm. I grabbed my poet tonight. I caught him on the Rue amongst the Rosemary and brought him home. I fed him some pistachios, bathed him and sat him by the fire. We drank wine and talked of different things. Mostly gossip the we had both heard. I asked him to read to me. I thought he would read his usual poems. Tonight it was something different. Tonight as I sat there with hallowed amazement reddening my face and fastening my heart. He read to me an account of a man. A sailor. One whom I have never met yet know very well. One whom once lived in this very house. It was the account of Alexander. The man who was once the lover of the landlady, Estella. She had told me much of their days together. She had told me the bare basics of his end. This was all she herself knew. The bare basics. Yet here was a boy from the Rue d’Bloome. A Rosemary boy. Reading an account in fine detail. Outlining the end of Alexander on board his ship the ‘Estella’. I asked him where he got this manuscript from. He informed me he spent the night with a sailor and was given it as a gift. I asked him if he knew where the sailor got it. He did not. He did say he was seeing the sailor again. They were keeping a very important appointment within the following days. While this boy was sleeping I typed the whole thing out on the lavender paper and hid the original. In the morning the copy and the boy were gone. I re-read the manuscript as I sat by the fire. Pistachio shells at my feet. I would show this to my land lady. I would see the spark within her eyes and within Lamoux re-ignite.


This city has lost its senses. My sister is now claiming to be the new Badam d’Bough. Something which she seems to be succeeding with also. I told her what I thought. I told her she was doing a thing that will slowly kill her soul. I told her she will eventually become nothing but a body in the Inkon. Just like the others before her. The Inkon calls all the criminals to its depths. Sometimes it calls the lovers. Sometimes it calls those whith nothing in their hearts but despair. Always it calls the criminals. It washes Lamoux clean. And here I am yelling at her. Crying at her. She merely laughs and tries telling me I am jealous. That I fear that she will be more popular than my soap. Where is this madness born? And here. Here is The Moth. Augustus. Telling me to go for walks with him. I agree and we walk to the Inkon’s bank. I sell him soap every week yet he has an extraordinary off-putting smell. We walk out into the daylight and I know it is the first time he has been out into the day for longer than either of us can care to remember. We walk down and we get talking and I, then, realise he loves me. This strange man whom everyone calls The Moth. Who tells me his name is Augustus on a weekly basis for a bar of soap is in love with me. I stand there on the banks of the river. There with this man who is telling me how much the city needs a good clean. And all I can do is smile. Lamoux has lots its senses. I fear this is just the beginning. And all I can do is smile.


~ by yesknow on September 2, 2010.

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