“If I had known that busker would sit by us I would have demanded that we eat indoors.” Maron gestured with his wine-glass. “He has hit the right note only five times and he cannot keep the tempo.”
“Consider it part of the atmosphere of a modern city and ignore him. He’ll go away if nobody drops anything in his guitar case. And, to be fair, we use a different musical scale.”
“The way he plays blasphemes Euterpe,” Maron snapped. “You didn’t summon her, but I can take revenge on her behalf.”
“Be kind, be kind,” Samay urged. “The powers are no longer the same, and you must tread lightly. Have you tasted anything like these pastries before?”
“Not even the finest honeycakes were like these,” Maron agreed. “They are worthy of the tenth, Mageirema.”
Samay set down his fork. “A tenth?”
“There are twelve of them, not nine. And I cannot abide that clumsy crow any longer.” Maron rolled up his sleeves. “I shall set his instrument on fire and make him eat it.”
“Let us not draw attention to ourselves. There is much to learn and enjoy yet, and others would quickly send you back. Think of the beauty, please.”
Maron sat back in the sidewalk chair. “True, I want to stay a while.” He grinned. “Nevertheless..” He waved his left hand delicately in the direction of the player.
Suddenly the chord was muffled and the playing stopped. The guitar was filled with daisies.
1 comment:
I'm glad you let them live.
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