Adagio
By
Aaron J Clarke
SMASHWORDS EDITION
* * * * *
PUBLISHED BY:
Aaron J Clarke on Smashwords
Adagio
Copyright © 2010 by Aaron J Clarke
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Smashwords Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.
Adagio
By
Aaron J Clarke
On the left-hand side of the large, decaying boarding house, a light afternoon breeze lifted the partly opened curtains of the corner, upstairs bedroom windows. In this particular room a tragedy was about to be performed. The two principle characters, John and Sarah, sat in silence thinking what to do and what to say to one another. …John then got up from his rather uncomfortable chair next to Sarah’s, and proceeded to prise open the curtains; as he did so the orange light, which was reflected from the adjacent apartment block, now flooded the room with its aureole glow; exposing the shabbiness of the room, and the poverty of its inhabitant. Slumping back into his chair, John picked up a piece of paper and began to write. The simple act of writing brought him untold joy, for he was unable to articulate what he truly felt, especially towards the woman that he loved – Sarah. After completing his exercise, he rose from his chair and walked towards the table and placed the scrap of paper on the table’s small, dusty surface. Then he retraced his steps back to Sarah and laid his head on her lap, but he was awoken from his phantasmagoria by Sarah’s question:
“Do you mind being poor?” With added emphasis Sarah repeated, “Do you?”
John counter inquired, “Do you mind being rich?”
“Without money I have nothing: no friends worth knowing, no house by the sea…I cannot comprehend life without it.”
He resumed his seat. “I pity you.”
“You ‘pity’ me?” Startled by his audacity, she asked: “Why?”
“I can see you’re as unhappy as me.”
Wounded by his remark she replied, “No – no, you’re completely mistaken.” Sarah knew if he were to continue to analyse her, he would invariably ascertain what she truly thought of him and so she deflected attention by asking, “Have you written another poem?”
“Yes. It’s on the table beside the CD player. To add extra impact, while you read my poem put on the Marcello CD and skip to the Adagio. That isn’t it. The Adagio in the Oboe Concerto in D minor; yes, that’s it.”
“Ah your poem is in French. O John you never cease to amaze me. ‘Ne pas pouvoir écrire – seulement quand l’esprit de l’imagination chuchote dans mon oreille – brûle mon cerveau avec le souvenir d’une ère passée. La mer plissée du temps monte et descend – expose la perle de l’amour qui grandit – se solidifiant dans la réalité. Encore le tourbillon du dédain obscure les eaux…’ Why does it end so suddenly?”
“It is a work in progress…people in this country seem to me to dislike anything artistic. Don’t they Sarah? If it weren’t for the pension I would be completely destitute. I am wed to poverty as you are wed to a millionaire; we cannot stand our marriages. But Sarah, I have hope that my suffering hasn’t been in vain, because faith in God has helped me when others have abandoned me like – ”
“Are you inferring that I have abandoned you?”
“Yes. Don’t look so innocent – free from blame you are not, it rests solely with you and you alone.”
“Pray enlighten me, John.”
“Remember when I was unwell?”
“That’s ancient history – leave it buried.”
“Not to me it is…I begged you not to go ahead with your marriage to Davidson. I knew then as I do now that such a marriage would result in great despair for both of us.”
“I could not allow myself to be brought down to your level, John.”
He reached out to touch her hand. “Hush my darling…kiss me and all shall be forgiven.”
“I can’t John, I simply can’t – you will always mean more to me than life itself.”
“Don’t cry my darling. Don’t cry. Your tears have filled my soul with hope that you’ll come back to me.”
“John, I must go.”
“It shall be a long time before I see you next.”
“I don’t follow?”
“Remember this: ‘I love you, Sarah and when we next meet I shall embrace you as your husband.’”
Removing her hand from his, she echoed “Goodbye.”
Without thinking Sarah left her house keys on the table in John’s room; after realizing this fact, on her drive back home, she turned the car round and headed back to the boarding house. …She knocked on his door, but there was no answer, although she could distinctly hear the adagio playing softly behind the wooden barrier. Again she knocked, but this time with more force, which caused the door to open. The room was dark, so Sarah drew the curtains apart and saw John lying on the bed asleep. Resting beside him was a novel, Edith Wharton’s The House of Mirth. In his hand was a small flask and, as she drew closer she realized that he wasn’t asleep, but was in fact dead. As she knelt beside him, the book slid off the bed and fell onto the floor. A piece of paper with the words ‘I have become a character in a story’ fluttered from the book.
Finis
###