Spring
2003 — Midsummer
Volume 2 • Issue 3 Write Between the Linesis an exploration and articulation of the obvious and the obscure.
A cavalcade of creation and commentary designed to amuse and bemuse.
Candide.
Leonard Bernstein. The flute part is fast. My fingers are
slow. Too much vodka last night. My fingers are usually fast.
This morning they are dull. The piccolo player shrieks in
my ear. My head hurts. I count the rest bars, and catch the
solo entry. I play the rapid quavers. Correct, but loudly.
A shadow passes over the music stand. The baton drops.
"Don't
you see the piano there?"
Captain
Janse is screaming. At me. What's the piano got to do with
this? I look at the piano, unopened. Then I translate. He
means piano. Italian musical term - soft. My head clears.
Fast.
"From
the double bar."
A shadow
passes over the music stand once more. Distracting. I turn
to the window. The curtains have been stolen. Inspector Malan
is the size of a piano. He waves his wallet. At me. I owe
him R50. Last night's binge. I count the bars until my entry.
Eight-and, seven-and, six-and . . .
"Concentrate!"
Captain
Janse looks at me looking out the window. He can't see Inspector
Malan. The bar manager from the Police Canteen runs his finger
slowly across his throat. Universal sign language every debtor
understands. Sweat beads on my upper lip. Two-and breathe-in
. . .
