prelude to an interruption, part 2

somewhere, somebody was singing a song. the song made me weak in the knees. the waiter stared at my knees, noticing their weakness. “sometimes, “i told him, “when i wake up in the dead of night, i wonder why the grass isn’t always green, and why the sky isn’t always blue.” the waiter looked at me funny, like i was some kind of nut. j j was looking at me too, out of the corner of her nasty eye, like she was about to say something really nasty, even for her. someday there would be a definite end to her pretensions. she will wake up in the dead of night, and they will be there… the demons who were born just for her… but that is enough about j j… the waiter laughed, a deep mournful laugh that seemed to come from the depths of forgotten aeons… “you don’t want advice from me, miss… as you see, i am only a servant. only a servant .” “for now,” he added ominously. i realized there was still plenty of time to escape. but i just lay there like a slug, waiting… yes we all had plenty of time to escape… but escape to where? suddenly there was some sort of commotion out on the lawn… and about time, too… nobody ever notices such things until they happen. “don’t tell me the police are here,” betsy drawled languidly. “please don’t tell me the police are here.” and indeed, some men in dark suits and immaculate white shirts had appeared on the lawn. they made straight for florian, who was still singing his song to the supine and comatose partygoers. often when i wake up in the dead of night, i can see them striding purposefully across the green lawn… on the lazy, rainy summer afternoon… i felt weak i wished that i, too, was wearing a dark suit and an immaculate white shirt. and that i was the commander of a vast shadowy army. but nobody ever asked for my advice. i was a wicked and abandoned child. and i had plenty of time to escape. even from the commanders of vast shadowy armies. suddenly florian stopped singing his song. the silence was total, even though it was a lazy summer afternoon and not the dead of night. “i don’t know what to say.” “did you hear something?” hadrian suddenly asked. “i don’t hear anything,” j j told him. “but i see those men in dark suits and immaculate white shirts taking florian away.” “just because he was singing a song?” asked betsy. “that seems rather rude.” “it rather shows weakness on the part of the authorities.” said hadrian. “if you ask me.” we - adrian, hadrian, j j , betsy, and me - still had plenty of time to escape. it is easy to notice such things afterwards. long ago, on a lazy summer afternoon. sources: jane eyre , by charlotte bronte; wuthering heights, by emily bronte; alice’s adventures in wonderland, by lewis carroll; the three impostors, by arthur machen; swann’s way, by marcel proust; the counterfeiters, by andre gide; chivalry, by rafael sabatinni; 1984, by george orwell; vengeance is mine, by mickey spillane; one lonely night, by mickey spillane; on the road, by jack kerouac; the bell jar, by sylvia plath.