Paris 1968

The Balcony Scene

She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that?
Her eye discourses; I will answer it.
I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks:
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head?

William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, Act 2 Scene 2, The Balcony Scene

Song: Symphony No. 5 in C Minor Op 67 1st Movement

Among all the useless objects filling up Harry's room, three of them could have somehow been considered valuable: a Cuban cigar stuffed inside a drawer, the shining Greek cross hanging around his neck and an old record player.

On that specific Monday morning Harry was in fact fumbling with a pile of LPs next to his bed, looking for an album that matched his grey mood. The task became harder when he decided to light a cigarette. Eventually, he gave up on his search and casually picked up a vinyl from the stack. It was a Beethoven's 5th symphony record.

Beethoven was not his favourite composer, actually it was not even part of his top-ten ranking, but Harry was a lazy man and therefore placed the vinyl on the turntable without hesitation. Accompanied by a scratchy sound, the music began to play, spreading out of the balcony door. Harry had left it accidentally open the previous night and now the room was filled with scented air.

He stub out the cigarette drifting his attention to the melody. Its restless rhythm somehow reminded him of one of those loud dreams he used to have when he was high, about hundreds of characters chanting their own language and melting into a extraordinarily harmonic roar exactly in the middle of his body. 'Surrealistic experience' Liam had incorrectly called it once. Harry rarely corrected him.

The melody tones exploded in a crescendo of violins' strings when Harry bent to casually grab a book. Julian and Maddalo by Shelley.
'Not a bad choice' he thought to himself. Actually, he had already read the poem, but because of lack of money he really could not afford to buy new books. Occasionally he would borrow some from Liam who borrowed them from the University's library. They would duly disappear and Liam would always bawl at Harry.
"T-t-they were c-crap anyway" he would answer lighting a cigarette and Liam would stop talking to him for a week.

Harry walked toward the fresh air outside the balcony, tired gaze already fixed on the still water in front of him. It shone under the pale morning sun.

'Shelley dreaded the water as well but still he longed for it'
He shivered while the music played loudly, following his thoughts.

Then his naked feet stumbled upon the ashtray with an absurd noise.
"F-f-fuck" Harry hissed, massaging quickly his foot while hopping on
the cold balcony pavement. Curly hair fell in front of his squinted eyes and the man blew it away in pain.

"Est-ce que tout va bien?" 

Harry froze immediately, his leg still bent and foot raised. When he had been younger he had never been a great fan of social games, he would never remember the other kids' names and be hit for that. He absolutely loathed blind man's bluff for having his sight restrained made him feel like a tortured fly. Or a blind painter.

Droplets of this ancient fear slipped subtly along his insides at the sound of that limpid French voice. Obviously it was a different sensation, but still a new and unknown anxiety filled Harry's body. It almost felt as if he had lost his dearest possession somewhere in an unattainable place.