Wednesday, 29 October 2014
I'm no numerologist or Kabbala apologist, but there's surety in numbers. 90 days of campaigning - 90% reached. A man inclined to omens and portents might see something in that. However, I'm a sceptical fellow and more inclined to trust the results of casting the prunes rather than runes. Still, it has a pleasing symmetry.
Sometimes I think this aporetic nature of mine inclines me to the fantastical in almost everything I write. Maybe I'm just perverse.
Anyway thank you to everyone who has participated in the 90 days and 90 per cent. Enjoy this short piece a with touch of the impossible...
Picture at an Exhibition
Lance raised, bony horse motionless, the knight stares out from the murky canvas at an impossibly well-lit room. His squire is fully asleep, caught for eternity in mid-snore. The Don is pleased that his own mouth is closed for posterity and that onlookers are spared the shame of his teeth.
It's a strange room, all the banquettes seem to face outwards from the centre to the walls. The people come and go, sit awhile. Some have the faces of pious churchgoers, others the hand-hidden whispering mouths of gossips in the pews most distant from the priest. Still, he can look at young women and imagine rescuing them. No wonder they get into trouble given what they wear.
¡Dios! What it would be to move. Even as these watchers do. He wonders what their lives are like when they pass from view. Do they love, lie and lie with loved and unloved ones under moon- and candle light?
It is the moment when the Hidalgo would lift a buttock and scratch it, were he not forever bound by oil to Rocinante's saddle. Great questions of this kind often provoke an itch somewhere.
Ah! Familiar faces. No, not the still figures looking out of other frames. He remembers these two from yesterday or decades ago. Two people trying not to hold hands. A couple enjoying the exquisite distance that is at once too far and far too close.
He knows why they come ; why they sit side-by-side looking at captured knights, squires and damsels in their chiaroscuro prisons. They come to admire the unchanging images of the chivalrous and the brave, including the most heroic of all, himself, the Ingenious Don.