The Adder Song.

Overture

            I was born in March, to the sound of St. Paul’s bells that loudly welcomed the new day. My father was happy beyond himself about a son – but his joy that early morning was not to last. My twin sister entered the world, but still and silent. With this event my parents’ sweet dream and ideal to have a successful female artist, a pure and talented being in a working-class family that experienced no higher education and leisure, dissolved. Their hopes were buried into the earth.

I call my dead sister Josephine, but to my parents she is Nameless or just She. Josephine was my imaginary friend who I spoke to often, but who I also cursed. My, our mother wanted me to be her little girl, father again wanted to make me his future companion at work and so, until my early adolescence, I had to withstand long brown hair, tied together by a ribbon with a bow. Father was irritated by my feminine appearance, as whenever I worked at the port with him, men laughed, teasing father that I am his daughter in disguise. He was kind however, as he allowed my mother to grieve the loss of her desired daughter despite the ridiculous comments. I, on the other hand, did not mind my appearance, but what I did not enjoy were the piano lessons my mother made me attend. From my parents’ humble incomes as a manual worker at the port and a laundry woman, I had to listen to my maestro who week after week shouted: “Non, non! Male! Ancore!” in a true Italian manner. Though he assured my parents that there is “talento” in me, I cut the piano just as I did my hair when I was 14. Instead of selling out concert halls during a time when playing Chopin’s works could cover a week’s spending after just an hour’s recital, I worked at the port with father. As he got older, my physique got stronger because I had to work twice as much – all the while, I was as distant from music like coral to the clouds.

At 20, how could I have known that my life was to heavily change?

I.

            Life at the port was a hard one; everyday eventually seemed the same. Waking up at 5 to make the first ship and take out all cargo it had until the next one at 9 arrived. The day consisted of cleaning out altogether up to eight ships and when at home, I was so exhausted I often fell asleep even before my mother placed a warm belated dinner dish before me. I had one day off every week, but after my father’s health worsened, I had to work every day. Though I was young and very fit, the intense work schedule made me weary and old after two years - my muscles were used too much, lack of sleep and irregular food reception made me pale and I had weight swings. However, it was my parents who insisted that I actually cut down the hours at work.

            “Son,” my mother rested her hand kindly on my shoulder. “You are young, full life ahead of yeh. Working like this everyday, your youth is spilling away. Father and I have been thinkin’ yeh should work less.”

            “Yes”, father nodded. “We’ll cut down our spending – food, clothes, maybe have someone move in so some of the rent is covered. Blake, just do as you’re told”.

            So I did. Within a week my life has changed. I came home to soon go out again. I met people from my social class and with them, I discovered the wonders and pleasures of drinking, smoking, sex, gambling and, most of all, fighting. I found special kind of satisfaction when I watched someone else’s blood drip due to the strength of my fist or to hear the breaking of a tooth from the pressure exerted by contact with my head. It got so far I was on commission for beating up a man while drunk(in my state I believed him evil). With all the energy I had, fighting became an everyday matter after a few hours at work in the morning.

            Due to the good references I had otherwise at work, I had a promotion into the “business” part of the ship port. However, I found pleasure in fighting so much I had to prolong the hours to show that I am capable of responsibility and good service to the rich travellers and to responsibly return the luggage to its owner. The salary was significantly higher and, with my parents’ support, I did all to suppress my passion for blood flow. However, I did not forget about it – I, for certain time, was passive in this extent because of her.

II.

            It was my first shift when a certain ship from Cannes arrived. Wearing a new blue uniform with a white pocket, I felt handsome and this was highlighted by the amount of females looking my way! After the anchor was hooked and the ship stable, the travellers began to descend down the staircase I and the other young lads have arranged. It was my first time, so my mind and eyes were completely occupied with controlling the strength and immobility of the staircase. Suddenly, without warning, I felt a sharp elbow punch in my ribs. I yelped, and then looked in direction of the attack to face James, a bloke not much older than myself at that time. His eyes pointed up towards the staircase.

            “Ma’e, ge’ your eyes up there, you”

            I obeyed and I swear, my eyes were not mine anymore – and nor my heart. It jumped straight out of my chest and lay beating at the feet of that young beauty in dark green dress and matching hat with feathers. Her waist was narrow, breasts developed and a slender neck, outlined by a laced collar, supported a porcelain symmetrical face. As she approached land level, in sight came brown curls that bounced lightly from beneath the embroidered hat and her eyes were outlined by thick doll-like eyelashes. Then, out of nowhere, came a strong breeze and with a surprised cry, the lady’s hat slipped off her head! By Fate, straight towards my feet it slid. Reflexively, I reached for it and then came up this time to face her, standing straight and medium-tall. Our eyes met and her thin lips parted to expose a beautiful smile. She took the hate from me and as she passed, she still kept her eyes stuck to mine. I suppose I let my amazement be seen on my face, as she giggled while putting on the hat. Oh, what a laugh! Like the thinnest bell of St. Paul’s that began a new chapter of my life. Just like that, I became a new Blake. But I didn’t yet know that it was not Happiness and Luck who pulled the rope to create the blissful sound, but Sorrow and Death in disguise. 

III.

            From that moment on I knew it was my Fate to pursue her. James had some friend who let me borrow the key to the main office of the ship company where we worked – luckily our timing was right and we got to the admission book of customer travellers. By candlelight we searched for age and travel class that could possibly fit my lady in green – but then there came this moment when after reading a certain name, I felt her dark deep eyes winking at me, straight from the paper.

        

              There was her hotel address and even duration of her stay: three weeks. Three weeks! I was happy beyond myself, I could barely wait for the end of the following day when I went to the Royal Hotel during my lunch break. I was wearing my uniform and asked at the reception desk for her.

            “What is your obligation to see her?” the employee studied me with his eyes up and down. Back in that day, people working at the port, even in uniforms, were lowly thought of, so I expected this kind of question. I put my hand in my pocket and pulled out a long ostrich feather.

            “This”, I replied, lifting the light object to his face level. His eyebrows were lifted in amusement, but nothing could stop me from pursuing my way. “Yesterday noon she arrived from Cannes at the Central Port. She departed to the hotel quickly, she could not notice one of the main decorations of her hat was blown off by the Thames wind. Hence I believe it is of my obligation to return it to her so the hat’s price and value will be restored”. The man still did not seem keen on giving me her room number. Instead, he offered to keep the feather at the reception for her. This I was against and I expressed my disagreement. A small argument took place until a figure in dark blue came and placed a heavy gold key on the counter. I noticed the wave of feathers in peripheral vision – and turned to see her! She smiled.

            “We meet again – without the wind, yet we do”, she said flirtatiously. I raised the feather in my hand:

            “But thanks to the wind we again meet” Her eyes flickered and slowly she snatched it from my hand with her long fingers, smiling still.

            “Just when I began thinking it would be this hat’s last day! I suppose to you I now owe its prolonged existence. Thank you, sailor” I grinned.

            “In that case I believe my deed worthy of another form of thank you and appreciation that only a verbal one… But that would be out of the norms between the social classes, I’m afraid.” She turned her body away, beginning to leave.

            “Your supposition is correct but, if done gradually, I believe our behaviour could go unpunished.” She smirked. “Good day, kind sailor”. She commenced to depart, but I took the chance – and caught her by the hand. She looked at me in surprise to hear me say:

            “If you truly are to stay in London for three weeks, here is the address where I work” I handed her a piece of a newspaper advert from my pocket. “Stop by if you get sick of the churches, parks and Palaces – ask for Blake and I promise you, you won’t be disappointed”. She took the paper, kept looking at me and smiled:

            “If I remember, sailor” And with that she left.

IV.

            I wasn’t myself for days. Almost constantly I kept stopping at the ship reception to ask if anyone came looking for me. This kind of excitement and nervousness I have not yet felt – usually girls my class are very easy to catch, only for the expense of a glass of whiskey or two a lad could experience a night of pleasure. But this girl? To get her a whiskey was too little – only if served in a gold cup I could have a chance. One thing I knew all the while was that I wanted her. Badly. With the feather hat and velvet dress in mind, I fantasized about enjoying her, both in my sleep as well as at work. Arranging the staircase for the new arrivals was suddenly a long part of everyday, a long process after which I rushed to the office to ask my usual question: did someone (meaning one specific person) come looking for me? For two weeks the answer was negative and I began losing hope. Suddenly the happy dreams I had with her lying on my chest dissolved into a haze from which echoed her bell-like laugh, this time not merry and innocent but intimidating and evil. I woke up in a puddle of sweat and tears.

            The very next day I passively unloaded ships of passengers and luggage and without question went around the office desk.

            “Blake. Blake!” The receptionist called at me. “A lady, Tiphany, came by a while ago asking for you.” I immediately became alert.

            “Tiphaine! Where is she now?”

            “Oh, she just left.” She waved her hand. “A lady in purple, you might catch her still.” I ran out into the street and looked in all directions for that beautiful desired figure. As on any typical day in London, the clouds drew in and the streets were suddenly filled with erect umbrellas and wet shoes. Only one being, clearly a foreigner, was not equipped against the merciless rain. I took off my uniform coat and covered the top of that brown-haired head. The next thing I knew, we were standing in the middle of the umbrella-covered street, kissing like two young lovers. She retreated from me to ask:

            “Have you to return to work?” between deep breaths. Her eyes opened slightly, looking at my chest that was partly exposed and pale from the cold. Her mouth was wet, lips parted.

            “No,” I lied - I cared about nothing more than her at that moment. She took me by the hand and like fools we together rushed to her hotel. We entered the room, undressed each other. Hot with desire, wet from rain and passion, we funded the base of our relationship. All night long we continued our bond, with every release came new energy and want for more. This went on until sleep got the better of us both.

V.

            I woke in the morning and was so relieved and moved to find her, lying on my side in bed. I reached over to feel her warmth, mainly to assure myself of her physical presence. With the touch of her hair, neatly pressed against the pillow, I suddenly recollected afresh all from the previous night. She looked peaceful and angelic, lying there, breathing lighting from underneath white covers. The sight filled me with tenderness and pride – that it is me, me who has now this unearthly being within reach! I watched her sleep until her face began twitching and the next moment, we were exchanging good morning wishes.

            We enjoyed a long calm morning together. I asked her questions to know her better. She said she is a student of the performing arts (which explained the rather edgy and bold outfits with hats) – drama, dance and, my favourite, music. She immediately offered to play her latest repertoire on the petit pianino in the apartment. Her fingers glided through the keyboard swiftly and precisely to produce the sounds of a piece I could not identify. Her expression was concentrated, but it was clear the piece spoke to and from her Soul. I watched her without cease, barely noticing when she stopped playing.

            “Do you know the piece?” I shook my head. “Chopin’s 9^th Nocturno. Nocturno means,-“

            “A musical composition or song inspired by the night, from French nocturnal and Latin nocturnes, popular especially during the Romantic era”, I said passively, surprised by that quick flash back in time, as my words were an echo of maestro’s heart-known terminology. She smiled in bewilderment. Almost mindlessly, I told her my past, commencing with Josephine and my parents’ hopes and ending with the words, “I have succeeded to never touch the piano again since”. Her eyes glittered.

            “So you do play?” She jumped off the piano stool. “Come, please, play!” Doubtedly I obeyed, only to sit and play a few bars of some Hayden’s exercise piece. It was horridly done, but I noticed a fire within me when my fingers pressed against the elephant bone keys and took pride in the music produced. I finished with a dominant chord, it was not my high heart rate, but her applause that woke me into the silence.

            “Bravo! For a sailor you truly do not play that bad”, she kissed my cheek. “If you want, I could teach you a few pieces. I need a few teaching hours to fulfill the curriculum anyways.” I agreed.

            We met every day for the rest of her stay. During the week she taught me an easy Chopin (clearly her favourite) waltz, a Bach etude and God knows what else. She wanted first to stay professional, but my attention remained academic for an hour at most, until she gave in and allowed me to catch and carry her into bed. Hence it became a smaller tradition – piano lesson, then love, then piano lesson again and individual practice until love took place again. I could have not been happier.

VI.

            Then the day of her departure arrived, dark and slow like Death. Though I was exhausted from all the loving, I could not sleep a wink that early morning – after all, my dear was to leave for a half-year to study in Cannes again. At second thought, I did not know that much about her – half-English, half-French (French father, English mother – a rather unusual combination), beautiful, no siblings, parents living between Paris and Windsor Place (one of the finest living residences in London), studying at a girl’s special school of the arts… with the ambition to become a famous pianist once society will allow women outside the households (in this aspect her parents were especially modern and liberal, apart from her own bank account).

            She departed to Cannes – we kept in touch through letters, though eventually I thought them inadequate in comparison to a minute of her physical presence. She wanted me to continue practicing; gradually she wanted me to perform in front of an audience. It was strange, I barely understood it all myself, but I did as I was told, advised. She also wanted me to read – poetry, prose theatre works. Like a dog, I obeyed again.

It so happened that I once went to work and found a small piano right outside the reception office. Immediately I went to ask why it’s there.

“Boss just bought it. He’s looking for a pianist now.”

“What for?”

“Oh, some idea to play a welcome song when travellers arrive and get down the stairs from the ship.” Recollecting my promise to Tiphaine, I signed up for the job. Everyone was surprised, but with time I got admirers – I learnt some English sailor songs that became especially popular. Soon one traveller ship company after another wanted my service, my salary was above average, but I still stayed loyal to my company. Of course, competition increased, but I still remained the “First piano bloke”. I received tips and a good salary for playing two pieces every three hours, six times a week. I wrote Tiphaine about it, she was delighted, but wanted me to push myself further. Blinded by her vision and golden pound coins, I played and accepted the offer of an elder man to perform at his dinner party. It was a success, soon I had so many offers to perform somewhere, I had to partially quit my job at the port (I only performed in the mornings) as I had to learn new pieces in order to have a wider repertoire. At the same time I continued reading books Tiphaine advised; soon, I imagined stories behind the music I played! I viewed performing as story-telling to the listeners and all the while I had Tiphaine on my mind. It was her face I caressed when touching the keys, her voice the tones produced and her body I kept imagining standing behind me, waiting for the end of the piece to applaud cheerfully and kiss my cheek. She, in fact, became my muse, making music a joy, not an obligation to my parents and Josephine.

My wages got so high, I could afford my parents a better standard of living and, after finding out she was to arrive for two weeks in a month, I bought a silver ring for her slim finger. I performed in such fever due to the excitement of seeing my muse again. Finally the day arrived. She came and as soon as she was in my arms, I carried her to the Royal Hotel whence she had the same room booked for the duration of her stay. It was as if we saw each other just yesterday and again, I was happy.

VII.

            I woke in the morning to see her almost dressed. Her outfit was red with a specially narrow corset. Seeing her like that awakened the now re-energised desire. I got out of bed to embrace her from behind and slowly began untying her corset (brothels taught me how to do so). She yelped and drew off my hands off her bosom.

         “No! I have to go” My wish of a long-missed morning full of love-making immediately dispersed.

         “Why, where to?” I asked, not even trying to hide my disappointment. She reached for a hat – red with black lace. While looking at the reflection in the large gold mirror on the wall and arranging the hat on her head (oh, how beautiful she looked!), she replied:

          “I’m going to study at the National Gallery today”

          “Who with?” I spat. She looked at me slowly.

         “My parents.” She replied poisonously. "They are both in London at the moment and we’re going to the Salon. I must leave immediately if to be there on time.” She took a black purse (I haven’t seen it yet, must have been new), checked its content and after giving herself a last glimpse in the mirror, took the room key and went towards the door. All the while I just stood there in a long white shirt, motionless but moved.

            “Oh, I forgot!” She came towards me. “Please stay here as long as you please, even order breakfast as I had it not yet, but make sure to leave before noon – my father might drop by for something, it would be a rather complicated and dramatic ending to our wonderful evening, don’t you agree?” She kissed my forehead. “We can do it again sometime. Take care!” And with that she left.

VIII.

I was beyond myself with anger, confusion, sadness, disappointment, jealousy… I left the room (small apartment, actually) truly before noon and headed straight to work. I excused myself for yesterday evening and today morning’s absence, saying my mother was unwell. The chief shook his head:

“Your mother is healthy as a turnip, your father isn’t. You forgot your father used to be my employee – I’ll let you off today, I hope your lying was worth it”, he winked. “And take the day off – it is a Sunday, no ships will arrive until tomorrow morning. Make sure you’re fit to play.”

I went home and, ignoring my parents’ questions about my where-about’s I went straight to bed. I recollected the amazing night and the cold morning. What was the reason for this change, abrupt and unexpected? I did not know whether to be happy or miserable and fell asleep with the image of her slender body on my mind – and that that very night I went to the pub in attempt to get her off my mind and heart. As I realized, I am in love and at that time, it hurt.

IX.

            I went to the port in the morning on time as I promised and mindlessly played my pieces to leave again home. I had a performance that night, but I felt empty – I felt nothingness, the keyboards were keyboards, cold and slippery like ice, they suddenly lacked the warmth of her face. The music were just a series of sounds, no longer could I hear the echo of her voice and laughter in them. I felt lifeless. Then it came to playing Chopin’s 9^th Nocturne – and I realized, I want to be with her, I want her to be mine, I wanted an end to this silence and emptiness. After the concert I stopped home for the ring I bought a while ago, the one locked inside a black velvet-covered box and with champagne or two in my blood I headed to the Royal hotel.

            Without question I received the second key to the room – I was content that she’s checked in as well as the fact that she still had me listed as her permanent guest. I went up to her apartment, opened the door and (relieved it wasn’t locked)… But when I entered, I saw Tiphaine, wearing dark green, and a man in a passionate embrace. I knew not who it was, as he stood back to me. Surprisingly they have not noticed me, so I just stood there, watching them undress each other. He untied her corset (a deed she did not allow me the other day), she at the same unbuttoned his jacket and they changed position … and I saw his face. James! I cried in my mind and still continued to watch them undress each other until their underwear. All the while they were kissing each other, caressing and I noticed Tiphaine breathing just like with me on that day in the rain when she asked (only this time her hair was dry and tied together with a bow, not loosened up around her shoulders):

            “Have you to return to work?” James shook his head (an understandable reply for a man in such a situation) and Tiphaine jumped into his arms and he enveloped her around him, pelvis on pelvis. Her nipples were dark, visible even from a distance, underneath her white under-dress gown and he carried her into the bed that I was occupying just yesterday morning.

            Something inside me broke – all the goodness and peacefulness in me snapped, I suddenly felt the urge to punch or hit something. Someone. I watched his naked body that hid her body and that was caressed by her hand. Listening to the familiar lustful moans of pleasure, evoked from Tiphaine’s mouth, anger grew in me. Within my fist I felt the soft touch of the box with the silver engagement ring I once wanted to give her – mercilessly I crushed it so a silent crack! joined the various sounds in the room and threw it, an object as broken as my heart, in direction of the bed with all strength that was in me. The sinners were still unaware of my presence – until the box hit a framed painting of two lovers above their heads and fell with a crash! behind the bed.

            Alert, they stopped their unchristian deed and looked in direction of the attack, straight at me. Into their frightened eyes I, that Mephistopheles-like figure of evil and revenge spat with bitterness the echo of yesterday:

            “We can do this again sometime, take care!” Tiphaine weeped into her enclosed palms, James clearly did not know whether to explain himself or calm Tiphaine’s evident shock and perhaps even guilt. I gave them one last glare and left. I left that bedroom of love, lust and lies once and for all, never to return again.

X.

            Until the early morning hours the pub was my home where I drowned my anger and sorrow in drink. With the publican of an appearance I cannot recall I shared my story; he listened and then, when I finished, he nodded in empathy and said:

            “That, my boy, is a whore”

            I ordered another pint of beer; soon it joined my increasing collection of empty glasses on the table. I had to drown my surprise and shock: “whore” was a word I never thought I, or anyone I would tell about her even, would associate with her – how filthy, dirty that sounded! Oh, how low my muse fell!

            After a long sleep I cancelled all my performances and spent days at home. I was far too proud then and known by all to be seen in public in this unrespectable state. Kindly my mother (my father died a few months ago – so occupied was I with my career and her, the whore in disguise, that I barely noticed or took in his absence) took care of me and though not knowing the exact reason for my misery, she did all to keep me from doing wrong – bless her kind heart! When I was well and emotionally stable enough to get out of bed and do something, I cleared my room of books -  I threw them out into the streets to then hear children using them to make a fire in the cold (it was nearly December). I threw out Songs of Innocence and Experience, Child Harold’s Pilgrimage, Taming of the Shrew… I threw them all out! Byron, Blake, Shakespeare, they were all pigs in disguise of “artists” – all innocence and pureness is disrupted, only to be used as inspiration and theme of works and eventually, the pretty young maidens bathing by a stream yearn for adultery, picturesque landscapes consist of factory towers instead of trees and children with angelic faces and blond curls grow into drunkards and vandals… I threw them all out! Until I fell asleep, exhausted from revealing and realizing all the pretence I faced in the last year. I felt free.

            The next morning I put on my sailor uniform and got successfully appointed for full hours at the port. But, I returned to my previous lifestyle of drink, gambling and fights in the evenings. I was again the Blake Colby the prostitutes in Soho so knew and adored. Nothing could stop me from living my own life – not even Tiphaine’s pleading and apologetic letters. I was merciless, I was myself. 

Finale

            I created a new reputation for myself –one of the best lovers in London, but a single assault could directly lead to blood spill. Women caressed me, but always kept distance; I was rich, capable of buying myself out of prison for female assaults and threatening notes. I was no longer the adder that musically sang songs to please the world – I became the adder that decides the rules and composes Fates, arranging them into music bars. I became Blake Adder.

            My family, even my newly deceased mother, would have been proud of me – you too, Josephine. Here is my arrideverci song:

“Sleep peacefully, my dear sister

Others wait for me to join you in the underground eternal life.

Yours truly, your beloved

Brother Blake.”