La Flaca and The Musician
Sep. 25th, 2025 09:22 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
smokingbootLa Flaca came to fetch the musician. She stepped over the threshold and he knew her straight away for her cheeks were hollow and her eye sockets were empty.
'Come in, skinny girl,' he said. 'Make yourself at home, for I am not leaving til I finish my work. Help yourself to food if you like.'
La Flaca looked around her in wonder. The whole shack was full of music manuscripts in rolled and crumpled sheaves piled from floor to ceiling or crammed against the windows.
'If you had food,' she observed, 'I would not be here.' He shrugged and La Flaca sat down. 'Your family will be waiting,' she said.
At that, he paused playing and flexed his hands.
'I never had a family,' he said, 'no father, no mother, no sweetheart, no children. All that I ever had was this,' he began playing again, 'and no-one really wanted it.'
With that the keys took his melody into the air and La Flaca sat back prepared to be patient. But the musician, who had never known another audience in all his life, did not stop. She wondered if perhaps he could not.
So she called up all who had loved him and the notes themselves came. Among them flowed the elegant, the witty, the whimsical, the loving, the tragic, each of them singular, dancing to its own creation. There was such a throng that the musician could not ignore them. His fingers stilled aghast at their beauty, and in that moment, like the rustle of rain turning into thunder, came their applause. Maestro! They cried, cheering, bravissimo! Maestro!
Among them stood one older and sweeter than even his music, gazing at him like no other.
Well done, came the words, I am so proud of you.
With that, the musician stood up, bowed to them all and walked into the sunlight. The crowd followed him.
A long time later he saw La Flaca again, though this time she was far from skinny. Her cheeks were full, her eyes sparkled, and her body was round with a promise he could barely believe.
'Who would have thought it?' He laughed, gesturing at her happy belly.
'It is time,' she agreed, 'but not if you are still tired. Are you ready to try again?'
It took him a moment but he nodded, flexing his hands once more.
'Yes,' he said, 'this time I am going to learn to paint.'
'Come in, skinny girl,' he said. 'Make yourself at home, for I am not leaving til I finish my work. Help yourself to food if you like.'
La Flaca looked around her in wonder. The whole shack was full of music manuscripts in rolled and crumpled sheaves piled from floor to ceiling or crammed against the windows.
'If you had food,' she observed, 'I would not be here.' He shrugged and La Flaca sat down. 'Your family will be waiting,' she said.
At that, he paused playing and flexed his hands.
'I never had a family,' he said, 'no father, no mother, no sweetheart, no children. All that I ever had was this,' he began playing again, 'and no-one really wanted it.'
With that the keys took his melody into the air and La Flaca sat back prepared to be patient. But the musician, who had never known another audience in all his life, did not stop. She wondered if perhaps he could not.
So she called up all who had loved him and the notes themselves came. Among them flowed the elegant, the witty, the whimsical, the loving, the tragic, each of them singular, dancing to its own creation. There was such a throng that the musician could not ignore them. His fingers stilled aghast at their beauty, and in that moment, like the rustle of rain turning into thunder, came their applause. Maestro! They cried, cheering, bravissimo! Maestro!
Among them stood one older and sweeter than even his music, gazing at him like no other.
Well done, came the words, I am so proud of you.
With that, the musician stood up, bowed to them all and walked into the sunlight. The crowd followed him.
A long time later he saw La Flaca again, though this time she was far from skinny. Her cheeks were full, her eyes sparkled, and her body was round with a promise he could barely believe.
'Who would have thought it?' He laughed, gesturing at her happy belly.
'It is time,' she agreed, 'but not if you are still tired. Are you ready to try again?'
It took him a moment but he nodded, flexing his hands once more.
'Yes,' he said, 'this time I am going to learn to paint.'
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Date: 2025-09-25 11:26 am (UTC)--I love that line.
I also love your envisioning of the Fetcher as female, since so often I sense them as male, and you definitely expanded my mind by having her appear a second time not wasted away but round-cheeked and -- pregnant?
And "Are you ready to try again" is a nice touch, too, as the final line.
Really nice to encounter, first thing in the morning.
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Date: 2025-09-26 12:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-09-26 12:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-09-25 11:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-09-26 12:05 pm (UTC)