Thomas Becket had been attending these lavish parties for a few weeks now, but this was undoubtedly the biggest and in the most impressive house he had visited thus far. His friend, a successful composer, had been dragging him along to these, in the hopes that Thomas would find himself a wife, or at least a lady that interests him. The composer believed Thomas to be far too reclusive for someone of his musical talent, and perhaps it was a woman that would give him the bravado needed to make it in these social circles. Everyone seemed to agree that Thomas was easily the most talented of their assembly of musicians. Everyone also agreed that Thomas was the poorest, quietest, and dullest. Though he is not quiet musically, but quiet in the way he spoke of his music. He referred to it as a common hobby rather than a burning artistic passion. There was no bluster in his tone and he spoke only passively about it, fearful of appearing vain or arrogant, the very things he needed to appear as to be considered a true artist. An artiste if you will. Evidently, his inability to laud himself to others has left him fairly lonely and impoverished, at least in comparison to whoever it was that owned this massive mansion.
He felt caged, locked in a zoo. People mashed against one another and formed a single drunken, swaying organism. Thomas slipped and shoved his way through it, polite as he could, trying to avoid being trampled, but was unable to really regulate his direction in the crowd. After being processed by the conglomerate of revelry and apathy he found himself ejected onto a third floor balcony, looking out into the sea. At the edge of the balcony stood a grey-haired man, looking out into the fluttering waves, wearing a sun-faded blue cap and a thick and blocky jacket, the same faded blue color, hanging off of him like an executioner’s hood. Thomas was hesitant to say hello to the man, as he wasn’t one to make his presence known, if that was not already evident. Unturning, the man told Thomas to close the doors behind him. Thomas did as he was told and waited for the old man’s next words.
The man kept staring off into the sea and Thomas grew increasingly uncomfortable at the silence between them, though the music and noise still pierced the thin sliding doors of the balcony. “Hello?” he muttered. However, he was an unheard man. Flustered, Thomas took a step forward and repeated that double syllable, just a little louder. It was the second time that the old man heard and again, without turning, greeted him flatly, “Yes boy? Never seen a man of the sea stare out to the sea?” Thomas blinked and left his mouth agape. “Don’t you see boy?” After a pause, Thomas clicked back to life, answering as best as he could, “See what, sir?” Without missing a beat the old man bellows, “I am a fisherman!” and swiftly, yet quietly followed with, “And I need another drink…”
Thomas could see the man swaying gently, now that he paid attention. And he did have that certain slur to his words. Thomas thought for a brief moment and said, as kindly as he could, “I only ended up coming out here to try to get away from the crowd a little.” He caught himself, “I-I mean, don’t get me wrong! I love this place but I have a little trouble around crowds if I’m around them too long. It’s just a nervous thing that I’ve had since I was little.” The old man turned slightly, with his body still facing the sea, as if pulled to it by some aqueous magnet embedded in his chest. “Got any whiskey? Or am I going to have to throw me wife’s bag off this ledge?” He turned his body only slightly more and lifted a posh looking beige handbag up for Thomas to see. Unsure of how to respond, Thomas didn’t say a word. The old man went on, “I ain’t seen her in hours. Just as I ain’t seen the sea. I swear I’ll toss it!”
Not wanting to see such a nice handbag belonging to some other person unceremoniously tossed from a balcony onto the beach below, Thomas tried to distract the drunkard in the only way he knew how, with his music. However, he couldn’t play him anything. Not with this racket and certainly not without a piano. He remembered the short pieces he carried in his internal jacket pocket and hastily pulled them out, “I don’t have any whiskey… I haven’t got anything with me, but my jacket. And there’s no liquor in there I promise, but there are piano arrangements, see, I’m a musician! My favorite instrument is piano. And you’re a sailor, right? A fisherman, I mean?” The old man responded with half closed eyes, “Aye, I fish for a living. It’s decent money.” He punctuated these two simple proclamations by calmly and casually dropping the handbag off the edge of the balcony. “Why did you do that?” Thomas exclaimed, followed by “Watch out below!” The fisherman turned back to fully face the sea once again and lethargically rambled, “I ain’t got need for this old thing, since you don’t got no more drink. You say you want to get away from the crowd yeah? Well I know this feeling. I don’t want a wife with a handbag. I only want a wife like the sea. With arms that embrace me and pretty to look at. Ain’t no luxury handbags with a woman like the sea. Ain’t no fancy crowded parties.”
Thomas took pause. It seemed as though the man would continue, but he did not. The two of them watched the sea for a moment. It seemed calm and gentle. Finally Thomas spoke, saying, “I suppose I can say the same. My friends keep dragging me to things like this. They think I’ll meet a girl. But I don’t want one that parties like this. I just want one to sit with. And play music with. Someone who will be my friend, not a drunken accessory.” The fisherman snapped into life, swiveling his head to look the young pianist in the eye. He roared to match the increasing volume of the world behind those sliding doors, “Ah hah! A friend! I shall be your friend! You, my good man must play me some of your music some time!” He ended his request with a heaving sigh and a hiccup. Thomas smiled and started to say, “Of course! I’d love to. I—” before being interrupted by the fisherman violently vomiting off of the edge of the balcony.
No comments:
Post a Comment