July 27, 2004

Rialdabon Hill

One last show in Austin (The Whiskey Bar on Wednesday) and then I'm headed out West. I'll say hello to Salt Lake City for you. Here's a story to keep you company -- it reads best at night.

Habit was a student. He watched the sun go down on Rialdabon hill. He watched the sun also rise. Day from day. Week from week. Year after year. Habit was in love with a girl on Rialdabon hill. And he imagined he could see her. Breasts, neck, throat and shoulders, her waistline and the decline just below her ass. All this he saw in the shape of her house. And one day he would get her out.

Every spring there was a grand event, a great design on Rialdabon hill. In this season there was music any beating heart could not resist. Habit was a student of music and he wished to go to the ball and so he set a planning. But his mind ran dry though his eyes were wet as ever. So he went to see Rotandapot, a man who kept a shop just below the pepper grove out on elegant way.

Rotandapot was an elegant man and his shop had, as long as anyone could remember, been the only one on elegant way. Business was good. Though no one had seen more than a single patron in his shop at any given time, apparently they spent when they visited because they all came out looking relieved - a relief that Habit knew came only after giving something precious away. Because his mind had gone dry, and because it was late in the winter, and because he was still very much in love, Habit went to see Rotandapot. He went to see him at his shop, just below the pepper grove.

Rotandapot welcomed Habit with a fabulous grin and served him a cup of tea. "Tell me what you're hot about Habit. You’ve got certain sparks all in your hair." "It's the girl on Rialdabon hill. I'm mad about the girl on Rialdabon hill. I see her love-joy-longing in the sky." "Yes, Habit, so do I." Replied Rotandapot. "What I need is to get into the party in the spring. If you had an invitation I could buy . . . well, that would be the thing." "No I don't think that's the best idea, it's far too obvious. You need to be a phantom if you want to get the girl. You need to be a phantom in the world." "I need some clothes?" "You understand me perfectly." And then the two went hand in hand around the shop, Habit and Rotandapot, picking things out.

When they had finished, hours later, they stood before a mirror. Rotandapot calculating the cost, and Habit like a ghost. Both silent. An hour past and then another but it was no bother. The beauty in that room held them together. The beauty in that room was light. Then Habit started, softly, to cry. And both of them knew why. And they held each other one hour more. "You know that I am poor" said Habit, "and that my family is poor and that I have no way to pay. You know that," Habit said again and looked him in the eye. "And yet you let me in your shop today. You let me fall in love with what I cannot buy." "Have you come to tempt me boy?” said Rotandapot. And then they both began to laugh. Nervously at first and then a lot. "Look here!" the elegant one proposed, and stared into the mirror. "I made these clothes for you. That's what brought you here. They are yours today. They were yours the day I made them. Yet there is one thing that I desire and it’s quite a lot to ask." "Anything." Habit rasped. "I'd like to conquer your reflection. I’d savor it and keep it near. This day I’d honor where you stand, in these new clothes made by my hand. Please consider. Would you grant me that?" “It’s not much to live without.” Habit shook. “Not when I have her to look at." Rotandapot was still. The girl in the house on Rialdabon Hill sat bolt upright in bed and was ill.

One last look at himself in the clothes, at the mirror, at the shop, and then he let go. And he hurried home to watch the sun set in the west. His mind gone wet at last. Spring was coming fast.

On the day of the dance he sat alone at his desk, and hauled the figure on Rialdabon hill deep into his chest. Hard, he swallowed tears, for once held them back. And drew the image madly, on a single sheet of paper, lit like skin across his back. He watched the sun fall red and orange and burn into the ocean sill. He started up the steps to the house of the girl on Rialdabon hill. Fast into his arms she fell in a ballroom full of mirrors. And then a cry of horror, hoarse, as he sadly disappeared.