Badelaide

An exercise in thought

Away from the main street, cobbled and trimmed with medieval buildings still living.  Away from the street performers and tourists I ducked, the colour and noise becoming too much.

   And there was the large wooden door old and maybe rotting a little and the cobbles were not so light or easy to walk on.  I heard piano music.  On opening the large door to the courtyard I found a child who was almost not Italian, playing a dull but beautifully pitched piano.  I was so moved for his fingers were almost too small to stretch to each key – he played without error.

   The man, who had seemed to be a drunk asked me ‘what do you want?’ and I thought of my writing which is becoming a stranger to me; ‘I wish to convey silence.’

‘Look for Badelaide.’  So I did and I found the old play in a musty leather volume with no title.

‘Act III, the last act.’

‘Page 38?’  He nodded.  The page was sparse, the dialogue was sparse.

 

-          Drip

-          What?

-          There is a drip

-          Shh

 

The silence came from the page to me but I was disappointed.  It was no good, I don’t write dialogue.  There was silence, silence sat in between the lines of speech, silence took the pauses in the words.  The man had slipped and I was calling to companions in dialect who stumbled to us full of words.  I left them.  I left Badelaide too.

 

And then I was naked, the sky overcast and standing on shingle.  She  and I agreed, and she advised me  to plunge into the water quickly so as to experience the cold in one shock, I was sure of my decision.  I was pulled out by the waves, I tried to put my face in the water.  It was at this point that I changed my mind and did not want to die after all.  I called and suggested we let the sea take as back to shore.  We did and were spat onto the beach.

 

Reviews

[Katherine Moure]

That sounds like a regular Friday night to me. I like the parallel of getting drunk/drowning. I like the description of the town and "almost not Italian" in reference to the piano player. I especially liked the part where the character is SURE of their decision (and feels that they are sure) and then changes their mind and surrenders their body to the tide. The insignificance of humanity-- being spat on the beach. The whole piece oozes of the unexciting chaos that takes place in the mind of a writer. unless I'm totally wrong-- which, you know, I often am-- I think I could read a lot more of your writing.

[Hyatt_B]

Please don't give a review unless you are brave enough to be honest. I don't need affirmation or people being nice out of politenss. If you like what you read say why if you don'y, say why.
I'm here to learn not have my ego massaged