The Pillow Fight (2012)
“It was not a tonic sound; the guitar, muted, exquisite and melancholy, was for us an instrument of bad omen. If Kate were going on another Segovia kick, it could only mean one thing; she was brooding, she was sad, she was walled up again.
After six years of marriage, I knew all her moods, and all her music too. Chopin was love, Brahms was deep feeling, Mozart was pleasure, Dixieland was the spark for rowdy fun. The classical guitar, of Frescobaldi and Fernando Sor, was music of mourning. Th...is must be the boy’s death once more, and the muddy stream of time, and me.
Since I was dawdling over dressing anyway – my lunch wasn’t till one-fifteen – it seemed appropriate to take the hint and change ties, from a sparkling Jacques Fath to abrown, subdued Dior. It would be wrong to waste a Jacques Fath on a foreboding day like this. Perhaps later that afternoon … And I still hadn’t told Kate about the poker game, either.
Knotting the tie, I glanced over the edge of the mirror at the scene outside the window.MoreLess
After six years of marriage, I knew all her moods, and all her music too. Chopin was love, Brahms was deep feeling, Mozart was pleasure, Dixieland was the spark for rowdy fun. The classical guitar, of Frescobaldi and Fernando Sor, was music of mourning. Th...is must be the boy’s death once more, and the muddy stream of time, and me.
Since I was dawdling over dressing anyway – my lunch wasn’t till one-fifteen – it seemed appropriate to take the hint and change ties, from a sparkling Jacques Fath to abrown, subdued Dior. It would be wrong to waste a Jacques Fath on a foreboding day like this. Perhaps later that afternoon … And I still hadn’t told Kate about the poker game, either.
Knotting the tie, I glanced over the edge of the mirror at the scene outside the window.MoreLess
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