Monday, January 8, 2007

David Hamlet

David Hamlet

City types, young, ambitious, ruthless in their civilized suits, the Man expected it to be some time before he was approached. The authorities had suggested probably towards the end of the evening, when sufficient linings of alcohol had relaxed the voices of propriety, but the Man was more hopeful someone would be stirred in the nearer future.

Of the fifty people surrounding him in the bar seven were possibles, seven had caught his eye, been touched in imagination, distracted from the inane bantering tides of the herd, impressed by the evocative charm of the delicately, inviting warmth of his Gaze.
But he knew what he was up against; knew with what vigorous determination the disease held these people in its grip. For the most part he could content himself only with eavesdropping on their conversations, amusing himself with contemplations of the subtle variations of the unchanging anthem of despair.
It was 7:30, in three and a half hours he would have to leave and return to his room at the Savoy to make his report. If events continued in this vein, he thought, he shouldnt he long; after perhaps 30 minutes he would be free again to venture out to roam the streets of London by night. But until then he must work. He had not come all this way to do a poor job and had no intention of displeasing the Council.

Quite suddenly a young, blond haired man stepped out from the throng and bent down towards him

" Excuse me, do you have a Light by any chance?"
The Man turned his head towards him and without hesitating gently replied,
"I'm afraid not, but I wouldn't worry, in such a place you will find one easily."

Visibly startled the young executive recoiled from the bewitching eyes holding him in a caress reminding him of an experience he'd known many years ago but could not fathom. The Man's eyes remained on his as he straightened; for a moment the business man was transfixed, sensing the vision of this stranger piercing his inner feeligs, rousing thoughts and sensations he'd forgotten could be his, that had last been accessed he knew not when, loves and longings of a delicacy too amorphous and generous for comprehension.

As he stepped back the cry of a young secretary awoke him from his trance. Recognising the pain he’d inflicted he broke into a profusion of apologies. Allowing himself one more look at his conjuror, he returned still shaken to his circle of friends, too overtaken by emotion to command but instead compelled to hide in the enforced cheerfulness of the gathering. Patiently, still distracted, he waited, embarrassed, for the restoration of his balance.


Stephen congratulated himself with a wry smile as he successfully mastered his fifteenth perfect shamrock. At this rate, he mused, his daily record is sure to be broken. As he placed the Guinness on the Bar towel next to his most loyal regular, who was still beaming in tedious self-satisfaction about his recently purchased Mondeo, he heard, from the entrance, to his great relief and delight, a familiar female voice soar above the engulfing cacophony.

"Stephen", the voice cried in the wildly energetic, fabulously enthusiastic manner only drunk young Englishwomen can perfect,

"Helllooo, my darling, and how are you today my little sweetie- love the shirt?"

With that judgement, waiting for neither answer nor gratitude, she commandeered the vacant bar stool opposite her friend.


Richard: Ah, Daniel, good to see you, please join us, grace us with your wit.

No comments: