youth – Page 4 – three good words

January 20, 2015January 21, 2015

wild at heart

plugs in, player on
here I am, hearing a song
that sounds innocent
but would be rated R
celebrating consumption
of substances that have
no legal function
as it so sleekly does

and yet it’s not the lyrics
not the text itself, not what is sung

but the beat
the bass,
the melody
that brings me back
way back

back to those days when
we used to party hard
dance and sweat and dance some more
lights flashing
beats pumping
amps crackling
volume sky high
you heard the beat with your body
and felt the music with your heart

…

there was nothing but the music
coz rhythm was a dancer
and you had to let the music
push the feeling on
and those were just the popular ones

but we went deep down
into the sheds, the areas, the hidden bunkers
where the world was dark and light
filled with sick beats
intercepted with unbelievable strains
of perfect melodies
oh that drive
that drive to celebrate life

that’s what it does
this song that’s great
and kind o’ just wrong
it takes me back to that time
when you and me and all the others
danced in the dark
until we had to stop
we were simply exhausted
and so walked out
mildly shocked
to see the sun was out
and those other people
were actually living their lives
being offensively boring adults.

A sigh and a smile to that freedom
I can’t even describe
the joy, the exuberance
of celebrating that one thing
that would never stay forever
loving every second under the sun
needing nothing more than great music
to love our young lives
we were so achingly wild at heart.

child dancing nezartdesingdottumblrdotcom

November 7, 2014November 24, 2014

saving grace, 5

Ariane found Father Claireborne seated in the kitchen with a glass and a pitcher of cool water, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief. John was right, humid as it was getting now, rain would pour soon, hopefully very soon. All tracks would run cold then. Ariane still felt that would be a good thing. Sitting down across of the Father, she asked all the same.

‘Father?’

‘Yes, Ariane, is something the matter?’ he asked, drinking more water.

‘When I came back from the market with Katie just now, we met Officer Turlington.’

‘Mr. Turlington?’ Mrs. Bellamy asked behind her. ‘What was he doing on the Hunting Trail?’

‘He was with a search party,’ Ariane said, still looking at the Father who now listened with interest. ‘He said that there is a convict on the loose, and that he is dangerous.’

‘And you think he has come here?’ Father Turlington asked, frowning.

‘What?’ Mrs. Bellamy asked, now sitting down next to her daughter. ‘Would such a man dare?’

‘Those who once defy the laws of man rarely find self-restraint when necessitated to break them again.’

‘What do you mean, Father?’ Ariane asked, suddenly feeling she had betrayed more than she wanted. She could already see that feral body hanging from the gallows, grunting and growling until it was still.

‘I have a hard time believing our mischievous neighbours would go so far as to break into this house, especially if they know it so well,’ Father Claireborne said, smiling a little. ‘It made little sense to me, you see, why they should break the window. Theft of pastries and boiled sweets, I can understand, but this now seemed too crafty. If you say there is a criminal on the loose, hounded by Officer Turlington and his men, it could very well be the man found this house peaceful enough to break in and take what nourishment he needed.’

‘Are you certain, Father?’ Mrs. Bellamy asked, now visibly concerned.

‘I am sure he cannot stop at a market-booth for victuals,’ Father answered, drinking from his glass once more.

‘So there could be a dangerous criminal in the house and we do not know it?’ Mrs. Bellamy frowned, now clearly anxious. ‘Ariane, I do not want you to leave this room, no, even leave my side until we know that he is captured.’

‘Ah, Mrs. Bellamy, I would not go that far to detain the young for a sinner’s sake,’ Father Clariborne smiled. ‘I am certain the man has already disappeared, escaped to a safer hiding place where he would not be so soon detected.’

‘But if he’s dangerous, Father,’ Mrs Bellamy said gravely. ‘I would not want my daughter wandering down the Hunting Trail with some fiend escaped from the gallows at her heel.’

‘Mrs. Bellamy, you sound quite gothic,’ Father Claireborne smiled, but it did not last long. ‘It may not be so wrong to notify the Commission, however. We could go together and report as one. They will quite likely return and search the house, and I am sure the moment the convict sees the red jackets, he will run as fast as his life is dear to him.’

In less than fifteen minutes, Father Claireborne, Mrs. Bellamy and Ariane were all three walking towards the officer’s station, the chaplain nodding benevolently at every face he knew and saw. In the station, sand-stoned and cool compared to the humid heat of the empty court before it, the report was made, and a small troop of guards dispatched to search the chaplain’s house, all seven men armed with pistols and rifles and looking very grim.

Ariane said nothing and watched, feeling she had signed the death sentence for the man-thing. It had not looked dangerous. Ferocious yes, and very obviously starved, but not something one would hang by a rope and wait till it twitched and turned to death. And yet she had to wait until the inspection was done, furthered by Officer Turlington, who by some form of communication had found out that Father Claireborne’s house was to be searched, and thus came with his dangerous dogs and rifled men. Officer Turlington had them search the house again, from the rafters to the cellars, but nothing was found, though the dogs barked as if they had seen the very devil.

An hour had passed by the time Officer Turlington emerged from the house. Half the neighbourhood had come to see, but it was all for naught. Officer Turlington looked furious, as if not finding this man was a personal insult, though he was civil to Father Claireborne as always.

‘And who is this man?’ the Father asked after Officer Turlington had given his negative report.

‘Someone we have been wanting to capture for some time. Finally, by the help of a deserter, we could secure him, but alas –’ Officer Turlington pressed his lips together and tried not to get redder than he already was.

‘A deserter you say? Is the man a soldier?’

‘Pah!’ the Officer barked bitterly. ‘He’s as much a soldier as a devil is a saint, Father.’

‘What is he then?’

‘A pirate, sir, and one of the worst these waters have seen for the past twenty years.’

‘A pirate?’ Mrs. Bellamy frowned. ‘Why not say a murderer and be done with it?’

‘That is the point, Mrs. Bellamy,’ Officer Turlington said grimly, ‘as far as we know, the man has never murdered with his own hand, but his men have done much destruction in the same vein. We cannot stop them from scavenging and torching ships, but since we captured him, all these devilish enterprises have stopped at sea. It is heavenly quiet, but God forbid the man be joined with his men. Then the cobra’s head would be rejoined with the body, and the snake will bite again, slithering out of sight after poisoning half the country!’

Officer Turlington looked ready to burst with rage. Father Claireborne layed a quiet hand on his shoulder and asked him to join him in the house for some fresh cider. Father Claireborne could not affront Mrs. Bellamy with ale yet, she did not approve of drinking alcohol before sundown if it had to be drunk at all. Officer Turlington agreed and the two men proceeded, closely followed by Mrs. Bellamy and Ariane, who did not like to stay in the small court, surrounded by all those wild-looking men of the search party. Some were giving her looks she didn’t like, and so was glad to know herself on the other side of the closed house door.

Not long after, Tenny walked into the kitchen asking if it was all right now to hang the linens, there was still a good deal of sun before the weather broke. Ariane was sent out to help the washing woman, which she did in silence, listening to Tenny talk about what it meant to have a criminal in these parts, and how dangerous such men were, and now it was said it was a pirate, scavenging fiends that would burn in hell for all eternity, murderers and oath-breakers in whose presence no living soul was safe.

Ariane listened and helped spread the white sheets across the lines, thinking of how the man-thing had eaten out of her hand like a starved animal. She tried to think how that could command men to an extent that made Officer Turlington look as if he would explode. She could not see it. He was still hardly human to her, more a thing and beast than anything with reason, even though he stood upright and had the build of a grown man. He maybe had the look and the limbs, but definitely not the smell nor the articulation, she had never seen anything so dirty.

With Mrs. Bellamy’s Christian ways of cleanliness and the fact that Father Claireborne adhered to them without question, Ariane had no patience with dirt either, and could not tolerate anything that would smudge her dress or linens, which made her monthly indisposition quite a trial where a catastrophe always seemed close at hand. That she should think of such things now, but with the white sheets, wide as sails before her, billowing in the usual sea-breeze coming up from the near coast, she could only think of those bright red stains she abhorred, as they betrayed not only carelessness, but something about her Ariane could as yet not fully accept, though it was a part of her these six years. She did not know why it happened, and saw it as due punishment after the Fall, for it was Eve who ate the first fruit and thus her descendants would be constantly reminded of her trespassing, for why else would God allow such a thing to take place at such pagan times, always when the moon waxed and her mood plummeted… no, she should rather think of something else.

Right then Ariane’s eyes fell on her own dress, where she saw those stains made by the tomato juice that had spilled and sprayed onto the white skirts, which she had tried her best to clean out, but it would not do without some soap and she would not change again, her mother never liked that. They were mere shadows now, and only visible to the eye who knew they were there, but she knew, and so saw them clearly. They were further reminders of what was out there, running away from Officer Turlington and his search party with their rifles and horrible dogs. How long would he survive? She could not imagine that so many men would not finally succeed in finding one who had to ambush innocent girls for tomatoes.

Well, she would see. Officer Turlington would hardly curtail his triumph once the man, if he was one, was recaptured. And then he would be hanged at the gallows, the dead body swaying in the ocean breeze. Ariane picked up the next linen and spread it across the line, hardly hearing what else Tenny was saying. Looking at the pure white of the cloth, she thought of those faded eyes that seemed to have no colour and wondered for a moment if the man-thing was maybe blind. But for something blind he moved very fast, and she did not think blind eyes could issue commands to be silent. It was a command, there was nothing pleading, nothing soft in that first look, his dirty finger pressed against grimy lips. How dirty he was, the complete opposite to this dream of white. Ariane traced a hand across the white plane, her hand and arm starkly dark against it, every finger clearly seen. He did not curl from her hand as sometimes happened on market days, he did not hesitate to touch, but feral as he was, he probably hardly saw her, just grabbed what held the food he wanted and ate as an animal for he was hungry like one.

Stepping away, Ariane picked up the next linen and continued her work, trying her best to listen to Tenny, but hardly finding patience for what the washing woman was saying, it was all about terrible deeds, murderous pirates, and other horrors Ariane didn’t want to think of. She looked to the sky, saw the silver in the white clouds tumbling to mountains above, and thought of the few hours that were left before the heavens opened and let out all the rain. With the sun so hot, and the air so sticky, the sheets would have dried to an untainted white until then. Everyone would rush inside once the rain poured, everyone except the man-thing running away from Officer Turlington and his awful men and dogs. Hopefully, when the rain finally fell, it would not only sweep away the tracks, but cover the feral creature and wash away all its dirt as well.

November 6, 2014May 16, 2020

saving grace, 1

Port Augustine
1795, The Spanish Main

The sea was so clear it was breathtaking to see the waves break on the silt. Along the shores of a small town, not far from a large port, there was a church with a spire, a marketplace and five grand houses, a sixth slowly falling into disrepair. The waters beyond the spotless shores were famous for the pirates they hid, turning the night air into dark, star-speckled blackness thick with mystery. Even on quiet days, there remained that subtle knowledge: the possibility of immense treasure buried in hidden caves, in deep unknown pits, or held down by an anchor deep in the sea – waiting to be found. And thus the pirates came and never left again. They searched, and searched, and torched and burned and did worse where they wished to find, yet few ever found what they were certain to obtain, feeding the gallows with more and more bodies to hang. For the law was never far, sailing the coasts, lying low in bays, with men as cunning as they came, commanding soldiers who stood red and bayoneted at every gate and office door, with precise orders to shoot first and ask later, one could never know what the mothers’ sons were after next.

In all this, there was Ariane Bellamy. She was both daughter and maid, daughter to the chaplain’s cook, Mrs. Bellamy, who hailed from that wild place of bloodied freedom, Haiti, where she lost a husband and a son, yet spoke French as her native tongue. As Mrs Bellamy’s daughter, Ariane was the maid to the holy man of Port Augustine, a small town that sat snug in an open bay, facing out towards the depths of the Spanish Main. Arianne Bellamy was not like the other girls descendant from Freemen, for she had the protection of the chaplain, a broad knowledge of Scripture and an undying faith in the benevolence of the Supreme bestowed on every creature. By Mrs. Bellamy’s insistence and the instruction of the chaplain everyone called Father Claireborne, Ariane knew how to read and write, add sums, play the piano and sing very well. Were it not for the colour of her skin, one would have thought Ariane Bellamy a right little lady.

Like her mother, Ariane had power curled tight in her young limbs, and her face was often considered ‘too pretty for her own good’. She had a natural grace and though good-natured maybe ‘a little too clever’ as some of the market women said. But, Ariane was never seen without her best friend Catherine ‘Katie’ Freeman who was one child of many to the neighbouring Freeman’s farm, and so sensible girl. It was understood that as long as Katie was there, Ariane’s ‘wilder ways’ would remain in their adequate boundaries.

It was a hot day, the heat dripping with coastal humidity. Ariane and Katie, hardly disturbed by this, were carrying back shopping from the market, Ariane with a woven bag and Katie a basket, both wearing white muslin dresses. Ariane juggled two tomatoes every now and then while ambling along with Katie. The path they walk along was a walking trail away from the usual road, well known by the inhabitants of Port Augustine and a very convenient shortcut. Almost everyone in the small town used it, and it was said that at dusk those lovers who wanted to meet were found there as well. It was a bright day, and both Ariane and Katie enjoyed its pleasantness, young women as they in fact were, beyond sixteen yet not quite seventeen, graceful in their simple muslin dresses, a stark white setting off the smooth, deep caramel of their limbs.

The latest talk of the town was the last Governor’s Ball, whose splendour spread across the country like wildfire. Ariane and Katie had been talking about nothing else since the gossip hit Port Augustine like a hurricane. No one could think of anything else as it seemed but the Governor’s Ball and what might have happened there. Ariane and Katie were discussing possibilities as they walked. They talked about what kind of dress they would wear if they were ever to be a lady invited to one of Governor’s Balls, something they knew would never happen, but there was such a thing as hope. They described to each other the tresses and crêpe, crinoline and swaths of cloth in the most vivid colours, the diamonds and necklaces, diadems and rings, both doing their best to outdo the other, talking in blissful earnest as the sun beat down on their curly heads.

A gunshot cut through the easy calm. The sound of dogs barking followed. These were not unknown sounds to the two girls, yet this time they were very close. Another gunshot and more shouting, and both Ariane and Katie stopped as they were, two more bullets ricocheting off tree trunks in loud zings. Presently, not far down the trail before them, a group of men emerged with a large noise from the green darkness surrounding the path, all of them armed with rifles and pistols, at least three with ferocious dogs on their leashes. The two girls moved together and searched each other’s hands, sensing the danger of the moment. The men did not look like the usual guards of Port Augustine, but harsher, fiercer and far more dangerous. Ariane and Katie stood stock still. Both sensed in the other an acute wish to disappear. They exhaled, audibly, when the group was followed by a man they recognised, Officer Turlington who frequented the chapel often to converse with Father Claireborne.

Hayworth Turlington, lieutenant of the standing guard and currently hot and angry, with a pistol whose gun powder was running out, damn the thing, Hawyorth Turlington, clambered out of the dark green into the light,and stopped. He looked again. The Clairborne girls were standing a few yards away, staring at him. What the devil were the daft things doing here, so far from – he saw the bag and basket full of food stuffs they were carrying and understood. The local farmers probably set up their stalls again, and the trail was a shortcut to the market place. They were dutiful girls, the Father had raised them well, and they would not want to waste time. Hayworth Turlington as yet did not know how they were connected to the holy man, but he always saw them at Father Clairborne’s, going about their business of which he knew little. They stood together now, very quietly, like young apparitions on the hidden trail, their eyes wide and wary. Maybe they had seen something. Even so, he would have to get them to the Father quickly, Clairborne would never forgive him if something happened to them.

Officer Turlington approached Ariane and Katie quickly, asking them in a curt, military manner if they had seen anything unusual while walking the Hunting Trail. Both girls shook their heads. Did they see anyone foreign maybe? Again the girls shook their heads, still clutching their hands, standing close. Seeing that the two could give him no information, Officer Turlington ordered them to rush home swiftly, there was a dangerous criminal in these parts, and he did not want them out of doors alone, Father Clairborne would never forgive him if anything happened. He did not say what that anything might be. Ariane and Katie nodded and said ‘Yes sir,’ which satisfied the officer by his ‘Very well. Run along now.’ He turned abruptly and ordered the group of men to proceed further into the green, ‘He’s probably looking for his mates, so you know what that means! Onwards!’ And the troop disappeared as one into the trees and undergrowth, guns and dogs and all, Officer Turlington’s regimentals flashing red once, and then he too was gone.

October 28, 2014

life in time

you are in cotton
carried in hands
of such magnitude and gentleness
all you know is…

the need to know
to live and learn
to jump and run

dance to music
savour the moment
watch a setting sun

to love
to hold
to know you and me and you
as what you are

all the you there is
tremendous

to understand the infinite
in expression

to know of time
and memories
to learn there is both
a you and an I

to be young at heart
and wise, caring, kind

…bliss

October 12, 2014May 17, 2020

chance encounter

Dana has stopped fearing the dark. That woman isn’t about to come tearing into the diner to knife her down. It’s been a while since their last night. Six weeks at least, if not more. Dana forced herself to stop counting. She only managed because she’s seeing someone now. His name is Sean, he works in an office and has a nice apartment not far away from the diner. He’s not bad looking, a bit taller than herself with short dark hair that he takes good care of, and he has very nice, clear blue eyes.

They met at a party Samantha took her to, and he asked her out for a drink after they chatted for a while in a corner of the living room. Dana went because Christie forced her to, and Sean made her laugh more than expected which calmed her down. He was very sweet, asked her to the movies and went out for a nice Italian dinner with her. She waited till the fourth date before she agreed to go to his place for a drink. There they talked for over an hour, drinking Screwdrivers with expensive vodka. Sean kissed her when she came back from using the bathroom. She had learnt that a bathroom said almost everything you needed to know about a guy. Sean’s bathroom was tidy without being freakish, which was a relief.

She came back and sat down, Sean leaned into her and said ‘You’re very beautiful.’ That’s when he kissed her. She enjoyed it and didn’t mind when he stole his hands under her top. Soon enough he grew hasty, but she asked him to slow down, which he did. He smiled sheepishly and took his time. It was nice, she enjoyed it, but she didn’t stay the night. She told him she had some stuff to do the next day, something with Christie. Sean nodded and smiled a that’s-ok smile. He walked her to his door and kissed her again, he was a really good kisser. Then she went home. That was three weeks ago, and they kept on seeing each other about three times a week. It was nice. Dana felt cared for, and she liked that.

The Prince has decided to leave his Kingdom and pay a visit to a dilapidated monk who lies wasted in the arms of an Angel. In His arms a body feels fragile and frail, the movements too quick, the suddenness too hard, yet His smile brings life back again. Questions are asked which are answered accordingly, he doesn’t want her, the sister, the mother, the soul that allowed him to conceive a possibility of rest, he doesn’t want her to feel she has failed. The Prince stays for an evening, eating and drinking, laughing and talking and then in a moment he remembers that last week was the Seventh which explains the sadness in His Highness’ limbs, the weight holding down the light in His royal eyes. He refrains from asking about Her, whom the Prince will never mention, will never acknowledge with a syllable or a sound, only to feel weak with curiosity, buried underneath questions, for they had been marvelous once, but that was in another life, another world, so perfect and terrible it was close to a fairy tale.

While clearing the debris of the evening he cautiously points to the fact of the Seventh looming dark in the past. She smiles sadly and nods saying that it was to be expected. He still loves Her, she says and her eyes say it is a deep love, like those sung in stories, and her body says the Prince is not alone in His misery, but he turns away before he reads the last sentence written on her skin, feeling the tatters of his monk’s habit flail. Even now in her presence it is too much for him, too much to see her honesty, too much to feel the presence of the past between them. For despite all attempts to the contrary, certain words have not yet been said.

On her knees she holds him firmly, gently, tightly, covering him with heat and softness, sucking him in till there’s just blackness and rain turning the ceiling to sleet. In intervals she releases and descends, withholding and repenting, increasing in boldness and subtlety, an ingenious trick that makes his thoughts drop dead and his brain suffer a heart attack. On the plains, outstretched, he is only reaction, a body burnt by the sun, melted to a carnal cry, dark and dissolving in the fading light. When he is alive again she lies next to him, smiling against his skin, kissing away the remnants of his sanity, subjecting him to the loss of will and power, leaving him without direction, a lobster, cooked and roasted, without a shell.

Dana is in the Mall with Sean. It’s Samantha’s birthday soon, and since Sean knows her now, they decided to pick a present together. Neither have a clue what to give her, Sam always has the newest gadgets, and she loves glittery things. Dean takes Dana’s hand and smiles when she smiles at him. They walk on to the next shop but find nothing there and take the escalator to the next floor. It should be something playful, something that makes Samantha laugh. They’re walking past a electronics store when someone walks out and almost into them. He apologizes immediately – ‘Amanda!’

He looks genuinely happy to see her. Dana wants the ground to break open and swallow her whole. She finally remembers Sean and says,

‘Hi. Sean, this is Carmine. Carmine, Sean.’

Both nod at each other. Dana can barely make herself look at Sean.

‘How you been?’ Carmine says. Dana blushes bright red.
‘I’m good. We’re looking for a birthday present for my friend Samantha.’
‘The blonde one?’

The fact that he remembers makes Dana blush even more.

‘Yeah. It’s her birthday this weekend.’
‘Sweet,’ is all he says before looking at Sean and smiling an easy, open, How’s-it-going smile.
‘Well, don’t let me keep you,’ he says. ‘I’ll see you round.’

Next he’s gone and Sean turns to her asking,

‘Who’s that?’ quote 1
‘Oh, just a guy from work,’ Dana says, her ears very hot.

She turns to Sean and forces her whole face to smile. She even goes so far as to kiss Sean, who takes the kiss a little further before he suggests that they check the ticket store, the mall still has one and apparently Sam mentioned something about a band. Dana remembers to nod. They start walking but – What was that? Why was he so happy? Why didn’t he even care?