We are sitting eating lobster in a Portuguese square. It's some time in the early nineties.
It's a big table; there are a lot of us. We sit apart from the tourists; we are laughing noisily and chattering in Portuguese. It's getting dark but the heat of the day still burns in my skin. Ana is there, and me, and Julie and Cherry and Nigel and Carla and João. I don't see Jorge, perhaps he's back in Lisbon. Carla's little girl Raquel plays under the table, surfacing only for her tumbler of red wine or to grab something off someone's plate.
Blue ceramic pots of açorda; their hot steam twisting up into the darkening sky. Lobster detritus scattered like shrapnel. Clams. Tomatoes. Laughter. Wine … lots of wine.
The table has a paper cloth. Raquel has some felt pens. I start to draw.
As the evening grows around us the picture of the square spreads across the table, oozing outward in all directions. I swap chairs to chase it. Plates and bottles fill any empty spaces. More food. More wine. João makes the corno and laughs at his likeness. Ana pouts at hers. The waiter wants to be in there, too.
Later, the tourists are gone, replaced by cicadas. Alone now in our little pool of light, we drink and laugh. In the dark distance, fireworks sparkle across the bay …
By the early hours, the whole square is there on the table, with the swirling sky above. It covers the entire thing, dotted with small islands of bottles and glasses and bowls of olives. We are all very drunk and very happy. I sign the tablecloth and they pin it up in the restaurant. It's still there the next night, covered in wine stains and bits of lobster. It's good. I didn't go to art college just to screw and smoke dope.
À la recherche du …
A few years later, the usual things happen and that which we love is lost …
Everything comes and goes
Marked by lovers and styles of clothes
(Joni - Down To You, from Court And Spark)
And because I like the picture …
And because I want to …
No comments:
Post a Comment