out of the ashes

Sunday, April 13, 2014

Netanya Danrath and Inspiration

I happened back upon Netanya Davrath singing "Bailero" from Joseph Cantaloube's marvelous folk composition, Chants de' Auvergne, and brought it up at Youtube. That reminded me of a scene in Marvin (The Redemption of Marvin Fuster/The Dance of the Spiral Virgins-Amazonbooks) that I wrote a few years ago in the revision, drawing inspiration from Netanya's beautiful rendition of this great piece.
Marvin passed Bunsmeier’s Fine Apparel as he went along in a daze. He walked by the front display windows of the upscale Men’s store, then stopped suddenly and backtracked. More mannequins dressed in fine suits, eyes of empty contentment looking outward, oblivious. He mimicked the pose of one of them as he feasted on the elegant attire it wore. There he was, or could be, outfitted like a banker or a thousand dollar an hour attorney.
I could steal that goddam’ suit if I put my mind to it. He turned his head and checked the street behind him. No cops. No hecklers.
Maybe I just will.
And maybe you should just get your ass to that mansion. Maybe that’s what you should do.
Well, he didn’t say when…and why the hell am I goin’ there without shoes or socks, lookin’ like a basket of assholes, anyway? This won’t take long, then I’ll show up an’ knock on the door like I was King Farouk. Maybe that’s what that thing meant.
That is precisely not what that thing meant.
As Marvin surveyed the movements of the customers inside, two salesmen swooning over them, he began to ease his way to the door. Anselm was there waiting. When a voice from the far corner of the showroom distracted the customers and the sales staff, Marvin reached for the handle. He grabbed hold of the glistening chrome, but then stopped when a blinding flash burst in front of his eyes. He froze.
The thread inside him had awakened, slipping across a different, deeper region of his brain, burrowing now, touching a forgotten memory, or a dissipated dream—a life lived, perhaps, in a different eternity. Musical notes, at first. Only notes—rising from a soft and steadily growing field; spreading and pushing at the horizon in its birth. Flowers, then, with sun-swept faces of amber, pink, azure and crimson, raising their thousand leafy arms, waving at something overhead, or simply reaching skyward as their numbers grew, like a wave traversing a hidden reef. Endless fields growing and stretching in every direction as far as his eye could see. And then a high, clear voice beckoning him from everywhere at once.
Ne pas errer, mon Coeur, ne pas errer…
He recognized the lilting music, the soprano’s singing like a crystal knife opening his heart, moving the same note from word to word to word with clarity and an otherworldly beauty. His heart leapt, and he released his grip on the handle. Against all reason he had understood the command, and he knew whose voice had sung it.
Marvin stood immobile, blinded in the third dimension, immersed in the fourth with perfect vision. Anselm lifted a finger and his charge began the return. As the fields softened into blurs, the voice sang from far, far away in the fading mists.
My shepherd, the water divides us.
I cannot cross.
Sing to me, then, my love.
Come to me with your music
And your youth…your youth.
Yes, yes, I will. I swear it.
He turned and left the entryway, continuing south along the street, unmindful of his surroundings, thinking of nothing but the piercing beauty of the voice. Amy had sung to him, and oh, how sweet the melody had been. He knew she was at his destination, waiting for him, and he quickened his pace.
Some sense of embarrassment prevented Marvin from approaching the mansion with confidence at first...
What transpires at The Governor's Mansion is PRICELESS:) Marvin's metamorphosis begins:)


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