Lesson 3/10 – conversations
It is called the Riverside cafe even though it is not really a cafe and it is not next to the river. It is in the center of town, in an old brick building, very spacious, with big windows looking over the street. I love the table next to the corner window where I sit right now. It is not too big so there is only one chair on each side. I am sitting on one, and my purse is on the next one, covered by my gray wool sweater. It seemed chilly when I left the house, an hour ago, but it is warm and toasty inside the cafe.
I have a big mug of steaming coffee in front of me and I am looking outside watching the people walking up and down the street, while my ears are open to catch the conversations around me, trying to piece them together from the bits and pieces I hear.
Behind me around a big square table four elderly women are having a late lunch. I can't see the one just behind me but I can hear her very clearly. I am guessing from listening to her that she is in her late sixties. Helen, for that is how the others refer to her, is busy describing a movie she saw the other day. I can't stand it when people insist of telling the content of a movie, almost word by word. It will ruin the movie, if I’ll ever decide to go see it, and if not, why do I need to suffer and listen to every detail.
I think the other women feel like me because all through the long tedious relay, delivered by Helen, I hear them whispering and giggling softly. I am trying to picture each one of them without actually looking. I know the “Helen type”; she is slightly overweight with grayish curls and rosy cheeks. She is probably wearing pants held by a rubber band and a printed shirt with big flowers. I try to concentrate on Rose who has a young voice and a pleasant laugh. She does not say much and seems so willing to agree with everyone. “Rose, rose,” I am sending her a quiet message, “Say something original, you go girl.”
Suddenly as if she heard me, Rose interferes in the one sided conversation “Helen,” she says:
“Did you finish the book I gave you over a month ago?”
There is a short pause; I can picture the slight confusion on Helen's face. Being interrupted makes her stop in the middle of a sentence.
“A book, you gave me a book?”
I can sense the growing tension and fight an impulse to turn and look at the women.
Like Rose I hate when people borrow my books and forget to give them back. I like my books but find it hard to say no, when a friend asks to borrow one.
“Come now, Helen,” It is Rose again. I knew it, she is strong, she will not give up.
“I gave you the book last time we all met here.”
The other women nod in agreement. I can feel the air move without turning my head.
The waitress is chooses this awkward moment to approach the table and ask the four ladies if they are ready to order. While the conversation revolves around the daily specials I turn my head slightly and catch a glimpse of Helen, bingo. From the back she looks exactly like I imagined her. I feel a sudden wave of contempt going through me. No way will she ever get to borrow any of my books.
I settle back in my chair and take a sip from my coffee. The café is almost full now, and I cannot continue to listen to their conversation through the hum of all the other conversations. From somewhere, way back I hear a baby crying and his mother trying to calm him down. Someone is laughing in a very loud voice. I hear a glass falling and the noises of knives striking plates. I close my eyes for a minute and all the different noises mingle together and create music of their own. Café music, I think to myself and smile.
Still thinking about your Ed--tell him that your punctuation and grammar are somewhere in the 95th percentile of English writers. Admit to him that while your English prose is strong and serviceable, you are writing in a second tongue and are not Nabokov or Conrad (whose native tongue was Polish.)
ReplyDeleteBut is serves, it does the job--certainly it does in this piece: creating strong visuals, offering the conversation, offering the eavesdropper too with her mordant humor ("I knew it, she is strong, she will not give up." "No way will she ever get to borrow any of my books.")
This is a classic writer's exercise and you nail it, but, of course, it's a classic beginner's writer's exercise, and I would expect nothing else from you, no beginner at all.