incendiarystory (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} incendiarystory) wrote,@ 2004-11-28 19:52:00 |
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Why Sleep When I'll Only Dream - CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY
The Power Of The Light Of Music On The Charles Bridge
He pounded a hand that felt heavy due to alcohol on the heavy old oaken door of the hostel again. He looked down at the blurry numbers on his new watch waiting a second for his eyes to clear up. It was 1:18 a.m. He had missed the curfew by 18 minutes, only 18 minutes. He hoped there was someone else who had also decided to stay at a club just a little too long and have one too many drinks as he had done. But, somehow he doubted it. He figured if he left by 12:20 a.m., he would have plenty of time to get back to the hostel on time. No one had told him that the trains stopped running at midnight.
This didn't seem like much of a problem. From the New Town to the Old Town, it didn't look like it was that far on the map. But he hadn't taken into consideration the amount of alcohol he had drunk and that it would cause him to get lost. At one point he saw someone point to him and say in a British accent which probably sounded as drunk as his own voice would sound had Scott been willing to talk, "I hear you mate. Ah, the many nights in Brno and Prague when I stumbled home over cobbles in the middle of the night." Scott waved a drunken hand to dismiss him and kept on walking in a direction that seemed to be correct.
He was making progress but felt but with the comment, he realized just how much he was stumbling. He was walking barely coherent through streets that he didn't know just hoping one was the right one.
Scott thought to himself that he should have just taken the Metro, he had written it down on the piece of paper in front of him, but someone had told him that it stopped running early. He just couldn't bring himself to leave the show early. He had found another group of Americans who were in Prague on business and they had been slamming shots all night talking about home. He now recalled why he wanted to be alone on this trip if it were not Emily who was accompanying him. The nights seemed to all end up like this when he had company.
He pounded again and sat down on the step of the hostel. He debated just sleeping on this very stone step until someone who worked at the hostel found him in the morning. There was nothing worth stealing on him with the possible exception of his wallet. The worst case scenario was that the police would come and fine him for sleeping outside. But what if that wasn't the worst case scenario? They could throw him in jail overnight and he wanted, no he needed to be on that train in the morning.
The best option occurring to him was to go where the people were. He would walk back down to the New Town and see what places still had people - places that were not bars, that was. It took an effort to get himself up off the step. He stumbled back down the street in the direction he had come from.
Prague did not seem to be living up to its reputation of being some kind of late night city. All of the bars and restaurants seemed to be closed. He would walk up to the door and see that they all closed at midnight. But to his right he saw a glow that stuck out through the darkness. As he got closer he could tell what it was, the Charles Bridge.
People were streaming across the structure to both sides of the Vltava River. The lights on top of the bridge were dwarfed in intensity by the individual spotlights that shown down on each of the large busts standing in a straight line along the side. But what surprised Scott the most as the majority of the city seemed to be sleeping was the sounds that were coming off the bridge.
The noise of the crowd by itself made it in the form of a muffled roar to his ears as he stood 300 yards away. But, what was most unusual to his ears was the fact that he could hear music. The songs that were being sung on the bridge blended together into a symphony of textures. He began to walk toward the bridge to see what all the sound was and since it seemed to be the only way to stay awake.
From a distance the people seemed to make a slow moving stream standing paused as they were on the thin sidewalks that ran along either side, stopped at the tables of the late night merchants but when he was actually in the crowd, the movement seemed to be at a standstill. He stood still and let the groups of people push him along at their leisure. The smells of the food had him stopping to eat alone.
A small cart handing him a fried cheese sandwich covered in pickles, mayonnaise, and mustard. Seeing it originally repulsed him but he was amazed at the flavors that it produced and the grease calmed his stomach. But it also made his fingers a blur of red and white smears. They matched the wall of the concert venue earlier tonight he thought, wiping his greasy fingers on the napkin provided.
He thrust himself forward on the bridge wanting to take it all in until he got to a point where a street musician stood singing in a broken English a song by Sting. In this land of foreign languages from all over, this musician seemed to have attracted a crowd of homesick ex-pats and English speakers.
A group of Anglophones seemed to be clustered around him dropping coins into an empty oatmeal cannister. He paused and spoke into his microphone plugged into a battery powered generator that produced a lot of sound. "Does anyone have any requests?" he asked in English.
A female voice next to Scott said in an Irish accent, "duya know 'alllelujah?"
"Yeah," he said, imitating her lilt, "I cayn do 'allalujah. Do the Mr. Buckley do it?"
The girl nodded ecstatically.
Scott couldn't believe his ears as the busker began to play the Jeff Buckley tune he had sung so many times to Emily in situations similar to this - albeit the Leonard Cohen version. Scott looked over and say the woman in her early 20s grabbing ahold of the arm of the man about the same age in a ratty baseball cap with a Manchester United logo on it. "'e be playing out song there!" The man grinned a toothy smile down at her and kissed her on her forehead. She gripped his arm tighter.
Scott smiled and hoped that his reunion with Emily would be something similar as he tipped backward for a second, righting himself before he fell over.
The short, black haired Irish woman with large blue eyes, began to sing along with the musician. Her boyfriend joined in and they looked at each other in a way that said they had an incredible connection. Suddenly seeing them, others in the crowd began to sing along also in a combination of British and Australian and American and Canadian and even non-English speaking accents. The busker grinned as he continued seeming to know that he had the audience. Scott came in on the verse where the song diverged from the Cohen lyrics.
"Baby i've been here before...I've seen this room and i've walked this floor
I used to live alone before i knew you...I've seen your flag on the marble arch...but love is not a victory march...It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah."
The woman next to Scott began to break into tears at these lyrics and rubbed her eyes on the sleeve on her companion using her hand. This was obviously a couple who had been through some problems but had made it through them, like he and Emily would be able to. There was no doubt in his mind that they would be able to. He realized that all couples go through the same kind of things and that was what Jeff Buckley was probably going through when he wrote the lyrics differently from Leonard Cohen. He seemed to know that nothing was smooth and organized like a march, but that somehow it was still a beautiful tribute to what the human spirit could be.
"Well there was a time when you let me know...what's really going on below...but now you never show that to me do you...but remember when i moved in you...and the holy dove was moving too...and every breath we drew was hallelujah."
If he got the chance to sing this song to Emily again, he would make sure to sing this version. This was the cry of someone who knew the pain of losing someone who was so perfect for some stupid reason like worrying they would end up with someone else. This was his cry and Emily would understand. She probably felt the same thing. She would be here singing this version of the song right along with him.
"Well, maybe there's a god above...but all i've ever learned from love...was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you...it's not a cry that you hear at night...it's not somebody who's seen the light...it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah."
He couldn't bring himself to sing the final verse since there wasn't as much hope in it and hope was what he needed right now. He had seen the light and he didn't need any broken hallelujah to see what he needed to do. He needed to stay awake through the night and catch that first train to Berlin.
On that spot on the bridge, he realized that he had made a huge mistake more recently than when he had broken up with Emily. He had made it in going to see the concert that afternoon. He should have been on that morning train or at least one of the evening ones to Berlin. He needed to be there for Emily as soon as possible. Eastern Sodomite might come to the United States at some time in the future - he could get that second chance to see them. Or, if not, he could see them the next time he was in Europe. And he swore that there would be a next time and it would be with Emily.
He realized that it was all he wanted this time to show her all that he experienced as he had experienced it and to hear how she experienced the same things. He wanted to see the look on her face as she gazed in wonder at something that she enjoyed for its beauty or for its form or for anything that put that little smile on her face.
He looked over as the girl had her arms wrapped around the waist of her boyfriend facing him and he was swaying her back and forth to the music to the musician's voice in the last verse. His head rested on top of hers.
That should be him and that should be Emily, he thought. That could have been them that very evening to the sound of some other busker somewhere else in the world. But, he had made a mistake and he wasn't about to make another one.
He dropped all the Crowns that he had in his pocket into the tin. He practically ran off the bridge, forcing his way through the crowd and back to the hostel.
He stayed awake by singing "Hallelujah" to himself, every version that he knew. At first it was in his head, but in his drunken state, the words began to creep from his mouth and then got louder. That would scare away anyone who wanted to rob him, he thought. They would all think he was crazy.
Singing and chain smoking to keep his eyes open he sat on the step and swayed for the over four hours that it took for the morning receptionist to show up. By the time the young woman showed up, he was relatively coherent again. It's a good thing, he thought, she definitely would have called the police.
As the receptionist opened the lock, Scott apologized to her for missing the curfew. She said that it was not a problem so long as he didn't want his money back since he paid for baggage storage for his backpack if nothing else. He didn't even care about the money, he told her, there was something more important waiting for him somewhere else in Europe.
He grabbed his backpack and walked in a hurry to the other train station before the sun even rose. He bought his ticket into Germany. He grabbed another cheese sandwich for breakfast and was at the platform sitting and waiting for the train before a preceding train had even showed up and left the same platform. He looked at the joyous faces of those who seemed to be going home and for the first time in a long time, he felt the same joy.
Again he was asleep before the ticket taker had come around for the first time to check the ticket in his berth. He wrapped his arms inside the straps of his backpack again and put the ticket face up in his pocket hoping that the ticket taker would see him and let him sleep in. His drunken state had disintegrated into a horrible hangover.
He was only woken up by the customs agent as he entered Germany who seemed to see the pained hung over look on his face and took sympathy by not asking any questions and just stamping the passport.
The thunk snapped him awake more than any agent ever could, it meant he was officially in the same country as Emily. He felt like he was getting so close that he could almost sense her presence. He would be singing "Hallelujah" to her soon after the sun rose the next morning. But, as soon as the excitement of this thought passed through his head, he fell back asleep and began to dream.
Chapter Word Count: 2370
Daily Word Count: 5583
Total Word Count: 63190
He pounded a hand that felt heavy due to alcohol on the heavy old oaken door of the hostel again. He looked down at the blurry numbers on his new watch waiting a second for his eyes to clear up. It was 1:18 a.m. He had missed the curfew by 18 minutes, only 18 minutes. He hoped there was someone else who had also decided to stay at a club just a little too long and have one too many drinks as he had done. But, somehow he doubted it. He figured if he left by 12:20 a.m., he would have plenty of time to get back to the hostel on time. No one had told him that the trains stopped running at midnight.
This didn't seem like much of a problem. From the New Town to the Old Town, it didn't look like it was that far on the map. But he hadn't taken into consideration the amount of alcohol he had drunk and that it would cause him to get lost. At one point he saw someone point to him and say in a British accent which probably sounded as drunk as his own voice would sound had Scott been willing to talk, "I hear you mate. Ah, the many nights in Brno and Prague when I stumbled home over cobbles in the middle of the night." Scott waved a drunken hand to dismiss him and kept on walking in a direction that seemed to be correct.
He was making progress but felt but with the comment, he realized just how much he was stumbling. He was walking barely coherent through streets that he didn't know just hoping one was the right one.
Scott thought to himself that he should have just taken the Metro, he had written it down on the piece of paper in front of him, but someone had told him that it stopped running early. He just couldn't bring himself to leave the show early. He had found another group of Americans who were in Prague on business and they had been slamming shots all night talking about home. He now recalled why he wanted to be alone on this trip if it were not Emily who was accompanying him. The nights seemed to all end up like this when he had company.
He pounded again and sat down on the step of the hostel. He debated just sleeping on this very stone step until someone who worked at the hostel found him in the morning. There was nothing worth stealing on him with the possible exception of his wallet. The worst case scenario was that the police would come and fine him for sleeping outside. But what if that wasn't the worst case scenario? They could throw him in jail overnight and he wanted, no he needed to be on that train in the morning.
The best option occurring to him was to go where the people were. He would walk back down to the New Town and see what places still had people - places that were not bars, that was. It took an effort to get himself up off the step. He stumbled back down the street in the direction he had come from.
Prague did not seem to be living up to its reputation of being some kind of late night city. All of the bars and restaurants seemed to be closed. He would walk up to the door and see that they all closed at midnight. But to his right he saw a glow that stuck out through the darkness. As he got closer he could tell what it was, the Charles Bridge.
People were streaming across the structure to both sides of the Vltava River. The lights on top of the bridge were dwarfed in intensity by the individual spotlights that shown down on each of the large busts standing in a straight line along the side. But what surprised Scott the most as the majority of the city seemed to be sleeping was the sounds that were coming off the bridge.
The noise of the crowd by itself made it in the form of a muffled roar to his ears as he stood 300 yards away. But, what was most unusual to his ears was the fact that he could hear music. The songs that were being sung on the bridge blended together into a symphony of textures. He began to walk toward the bridge to see what all the sound was and since it seemed to be the only way to stay awake.
From a distance the people seemed to make a slow moving stream standing paused as they were on the thin sidewalks that ran along either side, stopped at the tables of the late night merchants but when he was actually in the crowd, the movement seemed to be at a standstill. He stood still and let the groups of people push him along at their leisure. The smells of the food had him stopping to eat alone.
A small cart handing him a fried cheese sandwich covered in pickles, mayonnaise, and mustard. Seeing it originally repulsed him but he was amazed at the flavors that it produced and the grease calmed his stomach. But it also made his fingers a blur of red and white smears. They matched the wall of the concert venue earlier tonight he thought, wiping his greasy fingers on the napkin provided.
He thrust himself forward on the bridge wanting to take it all in until he got to a point where a street musician stood singing in a broken English a song by Sting. In this land of foreign languages from all over, this musician seemed to have attracted a crowd of homesick ex-pats and English speakers.
A group of Anglophones seemed to be clustered around him dropping coins into an empty oatmeal cannister. He paused and spoke into his microphone plugged into a battery powered generator that produced a lot of sound. "Does anyone have any requests?" he asked in English.
A female voice next to Scott said in an Irish accent, "duya know 'alllelujah?"
"Yeah," he said, imitating her lilt, "I cayn do 'allalujah. Do the Mr. Buckley do it?"
The girl nodded ecstatically.
Scott couldn't believe his ears as the busker began to play the Jeff Buckley tune he had sung so many times to Emily in situations similar to this - albeit the Leonard Cohen version. Scott looked over and say the woman in her early 20s grabbing ahold of the arm of the man about the same age in a ratty baseball cap with a Manchester United logo on it. "'e be playing out song there!" The man grinned a toothy smile down at her and kissed her on her forehead. She gripped his arm tighter.
Scott smiled and hoped that his reunion with Emily would be something similar as he tipped backward for a second, righting himself before he fell over.
The short, black haired Irish woman with large blue eyes, began to sing along with the musician. Her boyfriend joined in and they looked at each other in a way that said they had an incredible connection. Suddenly seeing them, others in the crowd began to sing along also in a combination of British and Australian and American and Canadian and even non-English speaking accents. The busker grinned as he continued seeming to know that he had the audience. Scott came in on the verse where the song diverged from the Cohen lyrics.
"Baby i've been here before...I've seen this room and i've walked this floor
I used to live alone before i knew you...I've seen your flag on the marble arch...but love is not a victory march...It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah."
The woman next to Scott began to break into tears at these lyrics and rubbed her eyes on the sleeve on her companion using her hand. This was obviously a couple who had been through some problems but had made it through them, like he and Emily would be able to. There was no doubt in his mind that they would be able to. He realized that all couples go through the same kind of things and that was what Jeff Buckley was probably going through when he wrote the lyrics differently from Leonard Cohen. He seemed to know that nothing was smooth and organized like a march, but that somehow it was still a beautiful tribute to what the human spirit could be.
"Well there was a time when you let me know...what's really going on below...but now you never show that to me do you...but remember when i moved in you...and the holy dove was moving too...and every breath we drew was hallelujah."
If he got the chance to sing this song to Emily again, he would make sure to sing this version. This was the cry of someone who knew the pain of losing someone who was so perfect for some stupid reason like worrying they would end up with someone else. This was his cry and Emily would understand. She probably felt the same thing. She would be here singing this version of the song right along with him.
"Well, maybe there's a god above...but all i've ever learned from love...was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you...it's not a cry that you hear at night...it's not somebody who's seen the light...it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah."
He couldn't bring himself to sing the final verse since there wasn't as much hope in it and hope was what he needed right now. He had seen the light and he didn't need any broken hallelujah to see what he needed to do. He needed to stay awake through the night and catch that first train to Berlin.
On that spot on the bridge, he realized that he had made a huge mistake more recently than when he had broken up with Emily. He had made it in going to see the concert that afternoon. He should have been on that morning train or at least one of the evening ones to Berlin. He needed to be there for Emily as soon as possible. Eastern Sodomite might come to the United States at some time in the future - he could get that second chance to see them. Or, if not, he could see them the next time he was in Europe. And he swore that there would be a next time and it would be with Emily.
He realized that it was all he wanted this time to show her all that he experienced as he had experienced it and to hear how she experienced the same things. He wanted to see the look on her face as she gazed in wonder at something that she enjoyed for its beauty or for its form or for anything that put that little smile on her face.
He looked over as the girl had her arms wrapped around the waist of her boyfriend facing him and he was swaying her back and forth to the music to the musician's voice in the last verse. His head rested on top of hers.
That should be him and that should be Emily, he thought. That could have been them that very evening to the sound of some other busker somewhere else in the world. But, he had made a mistake and he wasn't about to make another one.
He dropped all the Crowns that he had in his pocket into the tin. He practically ran off the bridge, forcing his way through the crowd and back to the hostel.
He stayed awake by singing "Hallelujah" to himself, every version that he knew. At first it was in his head, but in his drunken state, the words began to creep from his mouth and then got louder. That would scare away anyone who wanted to rob him, he thought. They would all think he was crazy.
Singing and chain smoking to keep his eyes open he sat on the step and swayed for the over four hours that it took for the morning receptionist to show up. By the time the young woman showed up, he was relatively coherent again. It's a good thing, he thought, she definitely would have called the police.
As the receptionist opened the lock, Scott apologized to her for missing the curfew. She said that it was not a problem so long as he didn't want his money back since he paid for baggage storage for his backpack if nothing else. He didn't even care about the money, he told her, there was something more important waiting for him somewhere else in Europe.
He grabbed his backpack and walked in a hurry to the other train station before the sun even rose. He bought his ticket into Germany. He grabbed another cheese sandwich for breakfast and was at the platform sitting and waiting for the train before a preceding train had even showed up and left the same platform. He looked at the joyous faces of those who seemed to be going home and for the first time in a long time, he felt the same joy.
Again he was asleep before the ticket taker had come around for the first time to check the ticket in his berth. He wrapped his arms inside the straps of his backpack again and put the ticket face up in his pocket hoping that the ticket taker would see him and let him sleep in. His drunken state had disintegrated into a horrible hangover.
He was only woken up by the customs agent as he entered Germany who seemed to see the pained hung over look on his face and took sympathy by not asking any questions and just stamping the passport.
The thunk snapped him awake more than any agent ever could, it meant he was officially in the same country as Emily. He felt like he was getting so close that he could almost sense her presence. He would be singing "Hallelujah" to her soon after the sun rose the next morning. But, as soon as the excitement of this thought passed through his head, he fell back asleep and began to dream.
Chapter Word Count: 2370
Daily Word Count: 5583
Total Word Count: 63190
