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Thursday, July 17, 2014

The Roads around #Ravello 7. (Serialized Story in 12 Parts) by John von Daler

                       Inside the low-ceilinged room which was empty except for one chair, one table and a glass, I sat down at the table, turned to look out the window at Scala and upon returning my gaze to the table I found that my glass had been filled with the dark, Ravello wine. I drank of it and to my surprise heard a woman’s voice, cackling like a hag out of Macbeth, ”Welcome to Ravello, my pretty! What makes you haste this way my little violinist on the wings of song?”
                       I had learned in my life that when faced with the naked visage of destiny you do not meander, you do not hide, you do not lie. ”I have come to seduce Helen Hunt,” I said.
                     ”Seduce, produce, your own excuse! What do you mean by... seduce, my lovely?”
          Again, I told the truth. ”I am an artist. For us seduction is not the clapping of skins in the winds of passion. We are only satisfied by the surrender of the essence of our target. I have come to stand beneath the window of my beloved and to play my violin as she does her morning toilet. If I play as beautifully as I know I can, she will part the curtains of her room and reveal almost nonchalantly to me what all the other men in all the world have been longing to see, her pure and virginal alabaster flesh.”
            The old woman looked at me, cackled her cackle and turned into a raven. She perched on the window sill and then cackling once again said, ”We’ll see, my lovely, we’ll see. If you keep your eye on the true path you will succeed. Keep your eye on the one, true path...” and she let loose an admirably large bird shit and flew from the window into the Amalfi valley.
                      Looking at my watch I could see that the time was 9:30 and I hurried out of the wine shop and made haste to the square where I knew Helen would be staying behind the dark blue curtains in the tower of the most exquisite hotel in Ravello. I found a shop window and brushed my wildly dishevelled hair into place, combed down my eyebrows with my fingers and checked my teeth for tell-tale signs of parsley or basel from our meal the night before. (to be continued...)

Order my book: "Pieces: A Life in Eight Movements and a Prelude" (WiDo Publishing) from your favorite bookseller.

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