So there we sat - the CD whirred, hovering in the air within the machine,
but neither of us had the courage to press the play button; neither wanted
to see our fantasy - with all the infinite possibilities of what could be
- irretrievably corrupted with the actual light of being.  The percussion
section quivered with conspicuous silence, like an empty lockeroom with
thirty seconds left to go in the big game.

"Got family?" I asked.  He bristled with anger.  "Did I say something
wrong?" He then began to tell me a story:

"In the Domdaniel caverns, under the Roots of the Ocean, Met the masters
of Spell...."

I was transfixed, but this is silly - there are no "masters of Spell" under
the ocean any more.  No. I can't set myself up for disappointment over and
over again like this.

"Stop!" I said.  "You don't mean it.  In the morning you'll tell me these
phrases have absolutely nothing to do with the music, or worse: that your
publisher just tacked them on.  Then you'll tell me that you were meant to
stand alone."

Thalaba pressed the play button and the deep brass chords of his
eponymous music began to fill the room.  I sat transfixed once again but
oh, how ephemeral is bliss.  My nostrils caught a whiff of cologne--it was
faint--but it grew ever stronger with each passing measure.  I knew this
scent.  Then it hit me.

"Tchaikovsky!  You didn't - not him?!?" I shook my head in sarcastic
disappointment.

Thalaba got red in the face.  "It was years and years ago.  He means
nothing to me now."

"Yeah right - his fumes are swirling us like the fires of Dante's Inferno
- and I suppose that's not Francesca hiding behind the curtain????"

I went to leave but he pulled me back in a manner that was both frightening
and curiously titillating at the same time.

"Well, I...I...suppose everyone has a past...."

"That's not why I pulled you in," Thalaba answered.  "He's out there."

"Who?" A long trailer passed back and forth in the darkness.

"Boulez.  He's driving around in his mobile IRCAM unit looking for
dissidents." Strains of "Pli Selon Pli" emanated from a weathered
loudspeaker atop his roof.  "If he sees you with Thalaba, you may be
the object of public disgrace...."

In the end, I decided to stay and listen further.  But can Thalaba justify
our relationship? So know one will laugh? Does he have what it takes for
the long haul? Only time will tell....

To be continued.

"John Smyth" <[log in to unmask]>