Lovely Summer Smoke Deluged by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview

Chapter 19

Kale sat at the upright piano and played discordant sounds which seemed to combine “Chopsticks” with garish and doctrinaire disorder. The sound was possibly a precursor to Rap, devoid of a black “artiste” garbling literal, hackneyed vulgarities to a numbed-by-pharma, adolescent, white audience, fully convinced they are “rebelling” against Mommy and Daddy, by clapping near their seats and feeling “Ghetto,” an improvement over nothing but living in the “friendly” suburbs.

Marian stood over his shoulder and periodically tried to direct his hands to the right places. Kale complied; however when not the beneficiary of guidance reverted to his natural penchant for nihilism, resulting in a weird meeting of learned sophistication and pedestrian absurdity, sans overlap. An evaluative listener might have concluded that they were hearing a series of compositions, as in an overture, rather than one arrangement.

After some time elapsed, Marian said; “You’re not taking this seriously,” with an air of displeasure.

Kale stopped playing and answered; “Why should I?”

“Because I’d like you to.”

“It’s supposed to be fun, isn’t it?”

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“Not necessarily. Professionals and would-be-professionals work to attain excellence.” She walked to a plushy, pink, Pillar-and-Scroll wing chair and took a sitting position.

“I have no intention of doing this professionally. It takes the fun out of it.”

“Can’t you imagine doing something professionally which you also enjoy?”

“Not this.”

Marian caressed his cheek and said; “So young.”

The short phrase made Kale feel as if she called him naïve and no young man wishes to be seen that way. He had not yet acquired the sophistication to know that this was precisely what many women found attractive.

Broodingly, he gazed at the window and saw Posie holding a rake, with Mellow Yellow draped over her shoulder, apparently instructing her in its usage. Kale decided to curtail piano lessons and went outside to investigate.

Marian considered his silent departure unfulfilling and rude. She angrily put her fingers to the keyboard and played her own style of “Chopsticks.” The abbreviated version afforded her the leisure to view what was going on outside. She smiled and thought; “So young.”

Kale briskly walked toward the snugly entangled couple, who were vigorously engaged and took no detectable notice of him. He

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thought of a number of possible entrees, but dismissed each as being just plain stupid. He stopped and watched the couple sweat as they used all their energy to plunge the rake into the flower bed, preparing it for pending planting.

Kale was aroused at the sight of Posie in joyous delirium stroking the hard dirt with the rake in her small hands; her hands guided by Mellows’ on hers. Their bodies were intertwined and together appeared like a moon in its first quarter, however, nominally and softly rocking to and fro, suggestive of a minimalist painting with no hard edge and most significantly; movement.

His convoluted attempt at description and characterization made him wonder what Arthur would say. Thought made the answer simple. This was a dance and attempts to use material objects as a metaphor were doomed to second rate at best. This was the beginning of a tango. ...... Holding a rake? ...... Best, ask Arthur someday. Now, just enjoy the sway.

He delighted in the performance until the unheard tango music was replaced with a boogie. He made his presence known saying; “May I cut in?”

Mellow eyed him coldly like the lion king viewing an upstart, sneered and continued his boogie. Posie assessed the situation, broke away and went to Kale. They embraced and then the boogie music resumed with one different dancer.

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Mellow betrayed his name and said; “Careful, little man.

You don’t know what you’re dealing with.” He threateningly brandished his garden clippers.

Kale experienced an adrenaline rush, a sense of fear and a sense of obligation. He continued to dance as he eyed Mellow, waiting for the next move.

Posie sensed Kale’s focus shifting away from her, didn’t like it, but also didn’t consider it Kale’s fault. She stopped dancing, turned to Mellow and said; “Don’t make him take out his knife. It will put yours to shame.”

Mellow glowered, but then walked slowly away.

Posie called out; “And don’t you dare bother those orchids.”

Kale and Posie resumed their dance with new intensity. She said; “He really knows how to handle a rake.”

Kale forcefully responded; “You accuse me of vulgarity? At least Marian is clean. You’re with a dirty gardener. Tasteless and common vulgarity.

“And you love it.”

They kept dancing-raking until the bed was swollen and soft, then planted the varying seeds.

Kale said; “That slob is always drunk.”

“Isn’t that the definition of artist?”

“How about stoned?”

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“Better artist.”

“How about fucked on acid?”

“Best artist.”

Kale took Posie’s left hand in his.

She said; “I want to die on the saddle of experience with a brush and eyes drenched in radiance.”

“Atomic.”

Meaningless words ceased and their brush painted swirling suns as imperfectly as Vincent Van. “Songs of Innocence” was left for the analysts.

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