The End of the Road (2015)
The End of the Road
“It began with Laocoön on the mantelpiece, his voiceless groan. The set of that mouth was often my barometer, told me the weight of day; on Wednesday after my interview, when I woke and consulted him with a happening glance, his pain was simply Bacchic! That was something, now! Out of bed I sprang, unclothed, to put a dance on the phonograph while the spell should last. Against all of Mozart I owned a single Russian dance, a piece of Ilya Mourometz, measured and sprightly, lively and tight—there..., now, Laocoön!
The dusty maple incandesced; sunshine fired the speckled windows and filled my room with a sparkle of light, and I danced like an unfurred Cossack, spinning and jumping. Once in a blue moon I felt that light—sweet manic!—and it lasted a scant three minutes, till a ring from the phone dispersed it.
I shut off the music, furious. A man with so short time to prance deserved a history of unanswered phones. “Hello?”
“Hello, Jacob Horner?”MoreLess
The dusty maple incandesced; sunshine fired the speckled windows and filled my room with a sparkle of light, and I danced like an unfurred Cossack, spinning and jumping. Once in a blue moon I felt that light—sweet manic!—and it lasted a scant three minutes, till a ring from the phone dispersed it.
I shut off the music, furious. A man with so short time to prance deserved a history of unanswered phones. “Hello?”
“Hello, Jacob Horner?”MoreLess
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