I'll search here, I thought. This must be where she has seen them.
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Thursday, July 31, 2014
Tuesday, July 29, 2014
The Roads around #Ravello 12. (Final Chapter) by John von Daler
After many hours of this melodious dalliance I realized that
I had promised
the prioress to return for dinner. Standing up from our playground I
could hardly see the hag, the sun having disappeared in the direction of Bari. But I
was able to ascertain that her make-up wasn’t what it had been. Now any connoisseur
knows that you do not fault the artist that his colors run, especially
if you have had your fingers on his work, so I kept quiet. But suddenly
the hag looked me directly in the eye.
Saturday, July 26, 2014
The Roads around #Ravello 11. (Serialized Story in 12 Parts) by John von Daler
I turned in surprise and delight to see the room itself.
There was not
much to see. Ah, but quantity has never been my bedfellow. Directly across
from the window was a huge fourposter with four or five plump, satin pillows.
Sitting on the bed clad only in a gown was the hag, her face as
hideous as I remembered from the square, but her body like the body of a mermaid
without the tail. Her breasts under the silk were like small pears from the San Cataldo
gardens, her arms beckoned delicately, ”Take me, take me, take me!”
Thursday, July 24, 2014
The Roads around #Ravello 10. (Serialized Story in 12 Parts) by John von Daler
I looked incredulously at her as she stood up painfully and
halted towards
an alley at the side of the square. Not knowing consciously what to do, I
allowed my unconscious mind to guide me. I followed her into the alley. Without
looking back she turned the corner in the shadows and went down a slightly
narrower alley. I followed. She rounded yet another corner into a still smaller
way. I followed still. She entered a causeway only as wide as my shoulders. I
continued behind her.
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
The Roads around #Ravello 9. (Serialized Story in 12 Parts) by John von Daler
In the window I saw the contours, in the discreet pink hues
of the morning
light, the uniform... of ... a cleaning woman. As she leaned out the window
waving her cleaning cloth to rid it of the dust from the window sill she looked
questioningly towards me and nudged a flower pot from the sill out of the
window and it fell thirty meters to the courtyard below. Her face told many
tales of childbirth, poverty and death and as I lowered my violin to the continuing
strains of the sonata I saluted her, saying the only words I know in Italian, ”Mamma,
Mia!”
Saturday, July 19, 2014
The Roads around #Ravello 8. (Serialized Story in 12 Parts) by John von Daler
I unpacked my violin, rosining the bow with extra care, and
found a
position directly in front of the tower window but in a blessed shadow out of the
incredibly hot sun.
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?”
Tuesday, July 15, 2014
The Roads around #Ravello 6. (Serialized Story in 12 Parts) by John von Daler
Springing
down past vineyards and pastures we followed one steep stairway
after another. Always, just as I was to gain in on her, I would reach a road
crossing and would have to wait for the careening local bus, or a small
truck
filled with olives, or a donkey carrying garbage. When I could resume the
chase she would have regained her lead and I would have to strain myself to
stay within reach.
Saturday, July 12, 2014
The Roads around #Ravello 5. (Serialized Story in 12 Parts) by John von Daler
Having arranged these matters I then took my leave of
Francesca, promising
to return in time for our dinner. Taking my violin under my arm, I sped
through the garden to the secret door at the end of a narrow path and finding
the bottle of Ravello Wine of Darkness which I had for a rather large payment
gotten Mario to conceal for me in the high grass outside the door, I strode
down the road towards Scala and towards my goal in Ravello.
Thursday, July 10, 2014
The Roads around #Ravello 4. (Serialized Story in 12 Parts) by John von Daler
The following morning I made haste to put my
well-formulated plan
in action.
Tuesday, July 8, 2014
The Roads around #Ravello 3. (Serialized Story in 12 Parts) by John von Daler
I must confess to being a not unknowledgeable follower of
the aristocracy
of love, Messeurs Don Juan, Casanova and de Sade. In the spirit of
their philosophies I have frolicked my way through many a rainbow-colored affair,
and I have numerous flesh wounds not only from dueling with
disgruntled lovers but also from the nails and teeth of amorous women in the
throes of deciding whether no means yes or yes means no. The prospect of yet
another conquest which I would and could initiate without the least possibility
of disappointing my father’s former mistress seemed like a splendid way to end
what until now had been an extremely boring season.
Saturday, July 5, 2014
The Roads around #Ravello 2. (Serialized Story in 12 Parts) by John von Daler
On the edge of the mountain in Scala, just there where the
sun disappears
in the afternoon, an old cloister can be found. It is called San Cataldo.
An ancient order of secular nuns has for centuries carried on a secret life
in these massive halls. The aristocratic families of Napoli, when scandals have
threatened and the mores of their daughters have been questioned, has often
sent these proud women to Scala to weather the storms of society and to
regain the poise of their natural status.
Thursday, July 3, 2014
The Roads around #Ravello 1. (Serialized Story in 12 Parts) by John von Daler
If you have traveled extensively, you may have heard of
the Bay of Amalfi
in Southern Italy. Here, nestled at the base of the thousand year old cliffs, the little village of Amalfi has plied its two trades, fishing and papermaking, since our lord came to earth.
Tuesday, July 1, 2014
Lingering on. By John von Daler
Tonight the Danish summer, like some naughty teenager, had decided to behave itself just this once. Through the green trees and shrubbery, its light blue hues shining playfully, the twilight brought out the yellows, reds, purples, and pinks of thousands of tulips. Their buds, mirrored in the many lighted pools, gleamed back at the evening sky in spectacular innocence. Guests in Tivoli strolled through the lushness occasionally uttering soft words, but mostly walking in silence, their arms around each other, their real lives suspended, their minds at ease.
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