He was everything a tortured artist should be, from his neglected black hair and beard to the sleep deprived eyes, pale skin from being inside and strong calluses on his hands which comes from hours of practice on the piano. Christopher Gadsby was trying to write a symphony he had been working on it his whole life, it was called ‘Le Soleil Enfant’ (which in English simply means, ‘The Sun Child’). It was his life’s work.
There comes a time in every artist life were they write their life’s work, everything leading up to it is just a prequel and everything after is just a epilogue. And it doesn’t matter who likes it or not, because you know inside that it is the epitome of your life, the reason you were born. It is the most daunting task and yet life would be incomplete without it; because it sums up who you are and what you’re wroth and this is where we find Christopher today.
Now before we go on let me evoke a menial image of our dear artist. Christopher is a medium height with a medium build. And besides playing the piano, Christopher can play violin, and cello expertly; the trombone, clarinet and harp reasonable well, and the tuba and oboe poorly. Of course if he practiced more he could pick it up easily. There are of course, instruments he refuses to even touch, the guitar and other such ‘rock’ instruments were beneath him (as he would consider). Now please let us join Christopher as he tries to write his masterpiece.
“I hate you, I hate you!” Screamed Christopher as he swiped the sheets off his piano stand; his room was filled with papers and ink was thrown all about, the piano was covered in old coffee mugs and wine glasses; and bowls of half eaten cereal littered the ground. Christopher had not left his apartment for weeks, and had stayed up night and day writing his symphony. He had not noticed the days that passed only of the moments he had waste with worthless notes that did not add-up to the climax he was looking for.
The artist step on to the patio, (if you had told him that he was an ‘artist’ he would have spit in your face and laughed. But for the sake of all things creative we shall call him ‘artist’). He pulled out his lighter and looked for a cigarette, he cursed at the empty box. He walked back inside his bachelor suite and looked for his wallet. Christopher moved the magazines off his coffee table but did not find it. Then as if seeing the mess of his apartment for that first time he gave a yelp of frustration. The small kitchen was trashed, with dirty dishes everywhere; his bed had not been used in weeks and was covered in magazines and newspapers. And the floor was where he kept all his rejected papers of crumpled music sheets.
Christopher kept looked and eventually found his jacket which had been under a pile of candy bar rappers and in the pocket he found his wallet. He stepped outside his apartment and closed the door and looked down the hall in both directions and for a moment could not remember in what direction lead him out. He picked the way going to the right and soon found stairs the brought him outside.
Christopher walked a small distance to the corner store and told the clerk ‘a tin of cigarettes’ then handed him his interact card. He was about to walk away with the cigarette when the clerk called after him,
“Sir your debit was declined,”
“I’m sorry?”
“It didn’t go through,” said the clerk a little frustrated.
“Here,” he handed him his credit card.
After a moment the clerk said “Nope, it didn’t go through.” Christopher face was beginning to pinken at the thought of not having a smoke. See it did not occur to him that there was a line out the door and people where angrily waiting for him to hurry-up. Nor did the thought enter his head that the clerk wanted to get thought the line-up so he could go on a brake. No, all Christopher though of was his smokes, and perhaps being denied them.
He looked through his wallet and found a twenty which to everyone’s relief he left the store. He lid-up his smoke as soon as he was outside and breathed in deeply. He hurried back to his apartment and remembered he had not brought his keys outside with him. To say that lest someone did finally led him in and without so much as a ‘thanks’ he was running up the stairs and back to his small place that he called home.
It was now half past six and the only reason I mention the time is because at this very moment his nephew James was getting on stage to play his violin and was anxiously searching the crowed for his role model, Christopher, who had with all good intentions promised to be there. James found his mother in the front row and happily looked to the male sitting beside her, surly it was...no, not him. It was time to start and poor James, with a sad heart, began.
All the while Christopher sat at home thinking about his ‘Sun-Child’ her perfect hair, and sky blue eyes as she dance around and around laughing. How was he to end it? He had everything but the ending. Act one, had come as a rush of a river but it was act two he was ever so stuck on; and had these past weeks been working on.
His concentration was broken by that loud noise of his neighbour who was playing one of the popular tunes on her radio, “Ferme-la!” (which in English is ‘shut your mouth’) Christopher yelled to the next apartment over as he sat on the balcony of his. The over sixed woman came outside and began defending her chose in music and attacking him for his.
“Moi? Moi, shut-up! How about you? You’re always playing your stupid piano at all hours of the night! And you cannot even play a note! You’re terrible!” secretly though she loved his music.
“Your stupid ungrateful woman, I am writing a masterpiece and you, you’re listening to complete garbage! You wouldn’t know real music from that stuff you call music, it’s nothing more than a bunch of random noise with people who can’t sing!” by now they were both red in the face and about ready to chock one another when Christopher own sister come walks into the mess of it all. She pulls him inside, where a very devastated James sat on a small space in the couch which he had cleared. “What are you doing here?” Christopher yell infuriate at his sister, who’s name by the way is Bernadette.
“Christopher what's a matter with you? I come here to find out why you didn’t come tonight, only to find you yelling at some woman! You promised that you would be there!”
“Promised what? What on earth are you talking about? Speck clearly woman!” He nearly yelled at her, by now his face was dark red and he was pacing the room, he had not even notice his poor nephew James sitting on the couch furlong.
“You promised you would come to James’s violin recital.” She continued on with her case.
“Yes, I umm,” he looked at the calendar with was open to February, “You said that would be in umm, well May, did you say May?” he smiled at his apparent remedy to the situation, “And it only February, so I will indeed be there!” he looked to James who was nearly in tears, “Keep practicing my boy! I will be there,” both James and his mother gave a yelp of frustration which Christopher miss interpreted as them not believing him. “I will be there!”
“Christopher! Stop please,” she walked over to the calendar and flipped the pages until she came to May, and there circled on the calendar was May 26th, “Christopher its May 26th today! How long have you been in this apartment? When was the last time you left it? Or had a decent meal or slept in your bed? You have gone so crazy with that symphony you are writing that you have neglected everything else! Even your family! We are your family Christopher and you have forgotten about us.”
“May? I thought it was, I mean I was quite sure it was February,” he ran his hand through his hair again and pulled out a smoke and was about to light it when Bernadette snacked it from his hand.
“That’s it! You need to get out of this apartment. You’re coming with me! and you’re going to eat a homemade meal!” she grab his hand and pulled him along, taking his keys which are hung by the door, “Les distraction sont nécessaires pour détendre l’esprit,” which is to say, ‘All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy’.
Now please let me make something clear before we go on. Bernadette is the kindest person you will ever come across, she is always sweet and polite; but is the deep love for her brother that is the reason for the way she is acting. (Some may consider it rude). I will also take this small moment to describe to you how James and her look, let me start first with Bernadette, she had the same black her as Christopher and it is cut quite short, but just long enough to keep in a pony-tail which it always is. Although she does sleep it is never a full peaceful sleep and so she as the same dark rings around her eyes as Christopher. She is a short woman and very petit her skin in dark from spending hours and hours out in her garden and but though it doesn’t look it she is as strong as an ox.
James is quite the same as his uncle and mother in sprite but he was by alright much more like his father in looks. James has sandy brown hair and fine light blue eyes; he was a pale child from being mostly inside practicing his violin and was at the point in his life where he was growing tall and not quite fit in his skin yet with weight. And because of height he stooped over to try to hide it. But now I am quite finished and we may continue,
Christopher was most unwillingly (unwillingly on his part) taken to the small place Bernadette calls home. She and James live on the outskirts of Pairs; down a little lane that can only be walked to. The taxi let then off as close as it could and speed off; by now the alleyway was dark and strange noises filled the air. The noise of a woman singing, dog barking, baby crying and loud romantic music could be heard from one of the apartments that lined the wall above the small house. If you did not look carefully you could pass by the house and never have know it was there, it was simply a bared door and window in a wall, that was squished between the apartment buildings around.
The lady who was singing loudly (and badly, may I mention) was now on the porch airing out some clothes. Christopher was about to say something when Bernadette gave a stern look, “Don’t even!” she said quietly as they stepped up to the door and unlocked it.
You may found it surprising how spacious it was inside the small house, but every available space was filled with clutter. There was the small entrance and a small sitting room or ‘tea room’ just off to the left of the front door. A closet to the right, filled with things. And then a little rise and you would step into the kitchen, with a small stove and tiny fringe, and if you so pleased to stay in the kitchen there was a small table with two chairs to sit at. But on second though you may not want to sit there since the table was covered in half done tasks, old papers, a half-made dress, knitting, balls of yarn and other things of the like which is not worth the mentioning.
But if you walked past the small kitchen with its one sink and three over head cupboards in an ‘L’ shape and the three cupboards beneath with two little drawers; you would come to a little hallway with two doors. One you would find on the left as soon as you stepped into the hall and on one the right but a little way down. The latter is Bernadette’s room, she has a small bed cover in half read books and magazines and clothes cover most the floor. Besides the bed there is a night-stand which barely has room for the small lamp and clock it was meant to keep. (Bernadette had long since give-up on trying to close the night-stand drawer). And instead of a vanity table or dresser, she has a small wardrobe which stands in the middle of the wall, behind the door and beside the small window.
You may be surprised to find that Bernadette’s and Christopher’s mother was quite a wonderful house-keeper, a better one you could never find. In her house there wasn’t a speck of dust to be found nor an item out of its place. And perhaps this is the reason why both her children are such poor house-keepers. Now if you move on to James’ room you will find a nicely made bed, books in a shelf, alphabetically arranged, a dresser with all his clothes neatly folded and his violin sitting proudly on a shelf made just for that propose. And perhaps James inherited the ‘clean’ gean from his grandmother, whom he has never made by the by.
If you should leave James’s room and walk but three steps you will come to a back door and through that door a most beautiful site will meet your eyes. Although Bernadette could not be bothered to clean her house she most definitely kept her flowers beds and garden in tip top shape. In her flower bed she kept white lilies, red and yellow roses, carnations, baby’s breath, lavender, poppies of all colors, and iris. A weed you could not find growing in one of those beds, so well did Bernadette and James keep them. The garden held all sorts of vegetables and furits. The yard was a little longer than one might think and this is where Christopher and James sat as they waited for Bernadette to whip something together for a late supper.
“Christopher there’s wine here if you want some!” she called to him from the kitchen, he walked down to receive the promised wine, “Help yourself, I think I have a clean glass in the cupboard,” he stepped to the small kitchen which was crowded with one person in it already. He opened the three cupboard but found no wine glasses, he grabbed a dirty one off the counter and was about to pour the wine when she stopped him, “Christopher finie la chasse aux souris!” meaning stop playing around!
“But-” he began to protest.
“No buts, give it to me!” she swiped the glass from him cleaned it and handed it back. “Now out of my kitchen,” he grabbed the wine and walked out to the small patio in the back and sat down. He was hungry just think of the food he was soon going to eat.
He contently poured himself a glass and was smelling it and was about to take a sip when James gave out a groan even louder then I think he excepted. “Is something wrong James?”
“You said you would be there Uncle Chris,” may I stop here for just one moment in order to relieve more about our ever unobservant artist? No one calls him ‘Chris’ and gets away with it, not even his own mother, no one that is except for James. Now back to our story, “Why weren’t you there?” he pleaded.
“James, I’m so...umm I didn’t realize that time that passed...so much since I had last seen you. You see I’m very busy writing a sym-” he stopped as the look on James’s faces had told him he had said the wrong thing. James was getting up to leave “James wait,” Christopher pleaded, “I’m sorry,” but James was already in his room with the door closed. Christopher stood, unsure of what to do.
“Well go in there!” Bernadette said from the kitchen.
“James?” Christopher said as he knocked softly,
“Go away!” James yelled. And Christopher who was not used to rejection, of any sort was aghast.
“But...I’m sorry.” He said to the door. “I’m said sorry, James, please open the door,” there was silence and Christopher was about to walk away when the door opened and James burst through it and threw his arms around him and hugged him tightly.
“Mean it?” he said pleadingly.
“Of course!” Christopher hugged him back after a moment of shock. “I promise I will come around more and I’ll be there next time,” he padded his head, “Now, why don’t you give me a private concert?” James looked to his mom with earnest eyes.
“I don’t know sweetie it’s getting late,”
“Please,” said James and Christopher at the same time.
“Well I guess I can’t say no to the both of you, how about after the foods ready we go on the patio and you give us a private concert.”
And here we shall leave then to their poutine, wine, and fun. Oh but if you think the story’s over, your wrong. Come back again and I will tell you the rest.
Picture found at:
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/38/Piano.gif
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