PHOTO PROMPT © Björn Rudberg
Jim played the Palais that last evening. He pressed his cheek to the neck of his double bass, the strings plotting out where his beard might one day grow, and called to the girl in the green dress who was pretending not to cry, ‘They say it’s only ’til Christmas. We’ll play again then!’
Two months later, as the damp English countryside unrolled outside a train carriage, Jim took the whisky the nurse offered. ‘Come dancing tomorrow night,’ he said. ‘I’ll be back with my bass.’
He didn’t ask her what was underneath the huge white paws at the ends of his arms.
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No Frigate like a book 
Doesn’t sound like he’ll be playing the bass any time soon. Nice, bittersweet take.
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No, I don’t think so either – poor Jim.
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This is so subtle, a world evoked with an enviable economy of words. I missed the “over by Chistmas” referemce on the first read. This is my favourite story of the week
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Very kind of you to say so. Glad you liked it.
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This brought back some similar sentiments as from “Farewell to Arms”… which I guess it was.
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Not consciously but…..yes, you’re right. Great photo, btw. I’m sure it is cello but it immediately made me think of my grandfather who played the double bass in dance halls.
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Beautifully written.
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Thank you 🙂
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Dear Louise,
Subtle and bittersweet. One of the casualties of war that aren’t all that casual. Lovely piece.
Shalom,
Rochelle
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No, definitely not casual. Poor Jim.
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