"How much further are you going tuck yourself into the shawl, Sammy?"
A pause. The whoosh and wailing of the winds that roamed so often in the dusk. Then a muted reply,
"As far as I can go for the shawl to take my original place." The voice was soft, trembling in the tormenting gales of winter, but firm. Oh, steely firm.
And I knew that smile. That mischievous smile that had been blanketed by the chap's own strong will. I couldn't see it then, but I knew it was dancing away at its own will without an audience.
"So what's the plan? Going to shirk all week long? Going to hide like a frightened mouse till the coast is clear?"
"That is the plan." I heard a faint tremor of excitement in his voice. The fireflies chirped and I started.
Normally, I would simply have said, "Well, I leave you to your own gloom', but there was something in his tone of voice that made me sit up bold upright, and inquire,
"Tell me all about it then."
He cleared his throat, but his voice was still muffled under the shawl. Darn the darn! This was the beginning of something frightfully exciting, and I wanted the perfect ambiance, the plainly written emotions that transitioned like film slides on his face along with the various shades of intonation in his expressive voice. I was not going to have it.
"Okay, Jim. I want you to listen carefully."
"Sure, ears wide open", I replied.
"Good", he carried on, "and take note of each and every word. I'll test."
I hated that. Especially when told to latch onto and make sense of each and every word, because the more I tried, the more the wicked mind meandered.
"Well, we're going adventuring."
I choked. "We're going... WHAT?"
"Adventuring, you know, tramping about in the night, that sort of stuff. Did it click?" he said both calmly and impatiently.
The irony began to sink in, and I couldn't help myself. Why! The old chap who didn't wish to make his speech outside his shawl wanted to step right out of the tent for an adventure? That indoor guy actually wanted to experiment outdoors?
"Ha!" I guffawed, and the sound was particularly chilling even to me because the invisible walls of the open bounced it around like a ball.
Sammy broke the uncomfortable silence before I could give room to more amusing thoughts, with the words,
"Why, I seem to be onto something. A trail... a treasure, perhaps!!"
I couldn't find the right words, so I simply gasped, "You want to hunt for a treasure? Now? I don't understand..."
"You want me to explain? Quite natural. Have you heard of the Filadelle?"
"Filadelle", I toyed with the name, "Hmm.. that band that's the rage in these hills?"
"Quite right, the local band. Have you attended any of their performances?"
"You bet! The more you mull over some nonsense in this shelter of a tent, the more chances I get to enjoy myself.. alone, in solitude", I teased.
"One guy's got to think and the other's got to act, buddy," was his blunt reply.
"So tell me, what about the Filadelle?"
"I want you to recall one performance of theirs, 'The Oceans Have Voices'. Did you watch that one?"
"That one. Quite melancholy, that", and I pretended to stifle a sniff.
"Do you remember that stanza,
'Winds blew crisp, shattered dreams,
Ruffled the oceans' inner peace,
I've got my thoughts, but the oceans have whims,
They play you like a banjo piece.
They give you treasures, which they hold back,
Until you're ready, until the time comes,
When the cuckoo says midnight, they fling the treasures,
Straight, straight, onto your mantelpiece'
Does it ring a bell?"
"More than rings a bell, Sam", I replied coolly, "For I wrote it."
And nothing could beat that impish delight for a moment, until he said, as coolly,
"Then we shall not pursue the conversation further as it is you who hid the treasure."
I hastened to explain,
"Oh no, old chap, that was a joke. They make their lyrics up on the fly and I saw them do it. That's the most credit I deserve and it's more than what I'm going to get. "
"No, it's less than what you deserve, because you have just helped me figure out where that treasure-chest is, without even moving a finger!"
And he dove his head out of the blanked and guffawed, smiling eerily,
"How rich am I going to be tonight?"
A pause. The whoosh and wailing of the winds that roamed so often in the dusk. Then a muted reply,
"As far as I can go for the shawl to take my original place." The voice was soft, trembling in the tormenting gales of winter, but firm. Oh, steely firm.
And I knew that smile. That mischievous smile that had been blanketed by the chap's own strong will. I couldn't see it then, but I knew it was dancing away at its own will without an audience.
"So what's the plan? Going to shirk all week long? Going to hide like a frightened mouse till the coast is clear?"
"That is the plan." I heard a faint tremor of excitement in his voice. The fireflies chirped and I started.
Normally, I would simply have said, "Well, I leave you to your own gloom', but there was something in his tone of voice that made me sit up bold upright, and inquire,
"Tell me all about it then."
He cleared his throat, but his voice was still muffled under the shawl. Darn the darn! This was the beginning of something frightfully exciting, and I wanted the perfect ambiance, the plainly written emotions that transitioned like film slides on his face along with the various shades of intonation in his expressive voice. I was not going to have it.
"Okay, Jim. I want you to listen carefully."
"Sure, ears wide open", I replied.
"Good", he carried on, "and take note of each and every word. I'll test."
I hated that. Especially when told to latch onto and make sense of each and every word, because the more I tried, the more the wicked mind meandered.
"Well, we're going adventuring."
I choked. "We're going... WHAT?"
"Adventuring, you know, tramping about in the night, that sort of stuff. Did it click?" he said both calmly and impatiently.
The irony began to sink in, and I couldn't help myself. Why! The old chap who didn't wish to make his speech outside his shawl wanted to step right out of the tent for an adventure? That indoor guy actually wanted to experiment outdoors?
"Ha!" I guffawed, and the sound was particularly chilling even to me because the invisible walls of the open bounced it around like a ball.
Sammy broke the uncomfortable silence before I could give room to more amusing thoughts, with the words,
"Why, I seem to be onto something. A trail... a treasure, perhaps!!"
I couldn't find the right words, so I simply gasped, "You want to hunt for a treasure? Now? I don't understand..."
"You want me to explain? Quite natural. Have you heard of the Filadelle?"
"Filadelle", I toyed with the name, "Hmm.. that band that's the rage in these hills?"
"Quite right, the local band. Have you attended any of their performances?"
"You bet! The more you mull over some nonsense in this shelter of a tent, the more chances I get to enjoy myself.. alone, in solitude", I teased.
"One guy's got to think and the other's got to act, buddy," was his blunt reply.
"So tell me, what about the Filadelle?"
"I want you to recall one performance of theirs, 'The Oceans Have Voices'. Did you watch that one?"
"That one. Quite melancholy, that", and I pretended to stifle a sniff.
"Do you remember that stanza,
'Winds blew crisp, shattered dreams,
Ruffled the oceans' inner peace,
I've got my thoughts, but the oceans have whims,
They play you like a banjo piece.
They give you treasures, which they hold back,
Until you're ready, until the time comes,
When the cuckoo says midnight, they fling the treasures,
Straight, straight, onto your mantelpiece'
Does it ring a bell?"
"More than rings a bell, Sam", I replied coolly, "For I wrote it."
And nothing could beat that impish delight for a moment, until he said, as coolly,
"Then we shall not pursue the conversation further as it is you who hid the treasure."
I hastened to explain,
"Oh no, old chap, that was a joke. They make their lyrics up on the fly and I saw them do it. That's the most credit I deserve and it's more than what I'm going to get. "
"No, it's less than what you deserve, because you have just helped me figure out where that treasure-chest is, without even moving a finger!"
And he dove his head out of the blanked and guffawed, smiling eerily,
"How rich am I going to be tonight?"
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