You know, Derek, I never thanked you for this comment. I know how much time it takes to do this sort of thing, and I really appreciate it. And you’re right. I really must go through and dump a lot more garbage.
Thank you, Michael
Novel Treatments / Angel in Residence Ch. 2 part 1
II
The first time up the garden path nerves had shorted out every circuit in Jose’s brain but those essential to picking up the sexual signals of the first man to ever take him to bed. Now he actually saw the garden. Its original plan lay buried under years of neglect and growth, but its original charm still flickered through the jungle’s assault. Tangled vines narrowed walks of flowering hedges. Water gurgled somewhere off in the corner. Tito waited amused while Jose absently veered off towards the sound of a fountain. Jose smiled as he walked past a niche of hibiscus where a stone plinth bore two marble feet broken off below the ankle. The stone maiden had long been lost.
In the center of a clearing, darkened by overhanging trees and filled with swaying vines, Jose saw the fountain. He followed the narrow path worn through the jungle by Tito passing every morning to feed the fish. Marsh iris choked the upper basin, and water trickled over its cast iron leaves dribbling down strands of emerald moss. Golden fish swam through the reflection of leaves and sky in the deep pool in front of him.
”Come along, won’t you?” Tito’s voice charmed the nymphs away.
”Sorry. Coming.” Jose called back.
Near the house glass lanterns hung in the branches of a pomegranate tree that bent over a table coated in a thick sea of lacquer. Around the table logs sat upended on a floor of colored glass pebbles, set in an oriental carpet pattern.
They turned off the walk to the front door and walked under spindly almond trees at the side of the house. Lemons trees against the wall smothered the arched basement windows with dust and dead leaves.
”It took me a while to learn to do a good shopping when I first arrive,” Tito began as they approached the back door.
”There’s never a grain of salt in the house, or sugar. Or anything. No wine, no beer. Nothing, really. I can’t figure out where she hides it all.”
“Who?” Jose asked, following Tito up the half flight of marble steps to the back door.
On the left another stairway curved down to a basement door below.
”Balbina.”
Tito entered the kitchen and grinned at the woman who banged pots hanging above the stove with a damp rag.
”Balbina,” he said, “this is…” He stopped and looked at Jose, confused.
”How amazing.” Tito spoke slowly. How was it he hadn’t got the boy’s name?
”What?” Jose asked.
”I beg your pardon?” Tito tried to follow his thoughts but only half succeeding as he studied Jose’s face.
”What’s so amazing?”
”Amazing? Oh. Nothing. Sorry. What’s your name, by the way?”
Jose told him and smiled.
Tito studied the even teeth.
”How lovely,” he said. Then added, “Balbina, this is…”
”Yes, Signor, I heard.”
Balbina gave him a strange look before returning her attention to the copper pots above the stove, which she continued beating rhythmically but with less interest.
”That is the famous Balbina Alban method of dusting.” Tito tried not to stare at Jose. “Swing a wet towel around half heartedly. It does pick up some of the dust, but don’t look around too closely. You’re likely to be shocked by the housekeeping, especially by what piles up in corners.”
Balbina snorted and gave them both a look of being above noticing such things.
“It can be interesting, though.” Tito added as an apology. “The rays that radiate along the floor under the table and chairs in the dining room make quite an intricate pattern in the afternoon light. It all depends where she stands when she runs the old vac. Go have look, if you like. Across the hall.
”What are you talking about?” Jose asked.
”Dust shadows on polished floors. And vacuuming, of course. Would you like some iced coffee with milk and sugar? And brandy?”
”Yes please,” Jose answered.
”You two go in with the birds,” Balbina commanded. ”I’ll bring the coffee.” She threw her towel into the sink and began to examine the groceries.
”Come. We’re being served in the library.” Tito raised his eyebrows to indicate his surprise.
In the hall Jose poked his head through the door opposite. Ten matching chairs around a dining table. In the center of the table sat a platter with a sponge cake layered with strawberries and whipped cream and dozens of blue icing bows, all surrounded by blue hydrangeas. He wondered if there was to be a party in the evening.
It was too quick a glance for him to see the dust fanning off from the chair legs below the table or that the strawberry cake and flowers were all made of porcelain. He hurried after Tito who waited in the entrance hall.
Black and white diamonds of decreasing size made the floor appear to curve, as if viewed through a distorting lens. Jose approached slowly and studied the alabaster columns that framed the front door. A half round window above the door let in light through glass cut like flowers on a Japanese fan. The fan’s plaster tassel rested on the doorframe. In the center of the ceiling, surrounded by a crowd of plaster angels and baskets of fruit, hung a glass chandelier whose arms were draped with additional ropes of crystals.
”How long have you been…” Jose began, amazed.
”Since the day before yesterday.”
”No, I mean how long have you lived here?”
”Oh, sorry. Six, seven years I guess, on and off.”
”That’s all? But everything seems old, I mean… And Balbina, she seems…” Jose paused.
”So old and lived in? The house came as is, with Balbina and everything else in situ.”
”Oh, so you two aren’t related or, anything.”
”That’s interesting. Do we look it?”
”No. Well, sort of. I mean… yes, actually”
”Well, we are, sort of. I mean… yes” Tito mimicked him.
Jose looked down at the floor, embarrassed.
“I’m sorry.” Tito said. “How rude of me. It’s a long story, though.”
”Is it?”
”Would you like to hear it?”
”Yes, please.”
”Well, great grandfather’s uncle Jack built the house, and Balbina’s great-grandmother, or great-great, or something, I’m not sure how many slipped by on that side, anyhow, she was the mistress. When Jack died, Cosima, the mistress and her daughter lived on here. And on and down until Balbina and I came along. Grandmother said she remembered Cosima’s daughter, Elise. Grand old thing, always went out in hat and veil, hated the sun. Kept a red leather trimmed carriage. That sort of lady. Never spoke about her parents though. Too grand to be illegitimate, I suppose.
”Anyhow, when I showed up and claimed the house things got very emotional. The law was on my side, but the town lined up behind Balbina. She had lived here all her life, after all. So we called a truce before too much damage was done. Now she gets a salary, and I take care of the house and everything else.”
”So she’s more than just a housekeep…” Jose began.
Tito interrupted. “Don’t even say the word.”
”So she lives here?”
”Yes. Someone has to take care of the place. I’m only here a few months a year. And I think she’s rather pleased with the arrangement. Her status among the other poor aristocrats wavered at first, but enhanced finances have made her quite her old self again.”
”Who was he?”
”Uncle Jack? You really want to know all this?”
”Oh, yes.”
”Come into the library.” Tito turned and walked through the door behind him. Jose followed.
A window to the right and another directly across from them let in a light yellowed by gauze curtains too fragile to wash. In the center eight ornately carved armchairs surrounded an octagonal table, above which hung a chandelier with globe lights floating up through looping brass arms. On the left two matching armless chairs and a low couch covered in purple velvet sat behind a table inlaid with mother-of-pearl. On the right under the front window an Italian Renaissance writing table stood behind a gold leafed chair with a pink suede cushion. Except for two huge mirrors facing each other on the long walls, the room was lined from floor to ceiling with books, in cabinets with narrow glass doors, divided into quarters by strips of lead. The ceiling was coffered in the same wood as the cabinets, and the stone floor was covered with an immense Turkish carpet.
Jose turned completely around. Tito thought of an icon being presented to the four corners of the room. When he faced Tito again he was still looking up, smiling. On top of the bookcases, perched on the branches of the cabinet moulding, was a flock of birds.
”Whiskey,” Tito said.
”No, thank you,” Jose answered.
”They’re full of whiskey.”
”What are?”
”The birds. They’re bottles. He collected everything.”
”He must have been wonderful.”
Tito went to the purple couch.
”He was a sea captain. A doctor really, but he spent most of his life at sea. Once in Beirut for repairs he met a Turk who’d just unpacked an enormous automobile. After almost driving it into the sea as he left the quay he asked Uncle Jack if he’d like to drive to Damascus. On the way Jack taught the man how to drive, and the Turk taught Uncle Jack how to pick out carpets, and where to find the best weavers.
”Afterwards, in Izmir, Jack fell in love with the Turk’s summer house and the Syrian pin ball heiress, and met the Armenian gentleman book dealer.”
”Who were they?”
”Cosima, the pin-ball heiress became the mistress? Grandmother remembered as a child hearing her Aunt
Elise tell tales from her homeland, which she must have heard from Cosima. A place of porcelain rain and crystal puddles. It must have been the mountains if she meant ice and snow. Balbina still gets pinball money from somewhere over there.
”Anyhow, when Jack retired and came home, he built this place after the Turk’s house in Izmir and sent for the pin ball queen of the Morgan land and all her plate and silver. With everything else he had in wharf warehouses they filled the place up. There’s a wonderful collection of marsh Arab baskets, and old radios. And all this, of course.”
Tito waved to the books around them.
”He got all this from the Armenian gentleman named Tanhil. Spoke six languages: Turkish, Kurdish, Persian, Armenian, Arabic and Greek. Not a word of French, or English or Spanish or any other language they could communicate in, but after a week they knew all about each other. The old man was going back to Aleppo to sell his house and everything he couldn’t take with him to France. His daughter thought he was too old to live alone in the mountains. He sold his entire library for a Kazak carpet. Uncle Jack learned Greek too, so he could actually read most of this. I’m working my way through the tales of the underground cities of Cappadocia. Do you read Greek?”
”No.”
”Of course not. Too bad, I’d love some help.” Tito paused and looked down at Jose’s feet. “What size are you, by the way?”
”What?”
”Shoes. What size shoe does you wear.”
”Oh. Eight and a half, nine, depends. Why?”
”There’s a whole room of steamer trunks in the basement, and most are filled with shoes. Probably every pair Jack ever owned. Some are worn out, but most are new, just waiting for Cinderella. I think they might fit you.
”Be careful if you go down there though. The whole cellar is piled with prints and photos and journals and god knows what. If you knock something over you’ll choke on the dust, and it’s impossible to get things stable again. I don’t know how Time does it. Or how Balbina glides through the chaos like a ballerina. Never the slightest faux pas.”
Neither was aware exactly when Tito first put his hand on Jose’s thigh to focus his attention, but it was still resting there when Balbina brought in the coffee. Jose stiffened. Balbina took no notice, set the tray down and went out.
”Oh dear,” Tito said, looking down and giving Jose’s leg a gentle squeeze before reaching for the coffee pot. ”Would you like to come with me to Botafago this afternoon? We haven’t got any sugar. I hope you don’t take it in your coffee.”
”I do like it, actually.”
”Of course. Well, there isn’t a bag in the entire village, not even for ready money. Balbina!” Tito shouted at the receding footsteps. “Some sugar. Please. Just a spoonful.” Then more quietly, “I’ve got to go to Botafago anyway. I’m starting work tomorrow and I want all the shopping done. I’d love the company on the drive over the mountain. And I promise you a luscious lunch afterwards.”
Balbina returned with a translucent teacup on a saucer. It was obviously her private sugar supply. Hard brown lumps and white grains half filled the cup along with a tiny silver spoon encrusted with amber crystals. Jose had only to let the clinging mass on the spoon dissolve in his cup to sweeten his coffee.
”I’ve heard the Botafago market’s wonderful,” he said.
”You’ve never been?” Tito asked. ”Then you must come. It’s great fun.”
”Some more light bulbs for the basement, Signor Tito,” Balbina said before turning on one heel and walking towards the door.
”Oui, madam,” Tito replied. The muffled thumping of her high heels over the carpet turned into a staccato tapping when they hit the stone floor. ”Anything else, my lady?”
”Sugar, Signor,” she said from the hall. “Don’t forget.”
”I wish I knew where she sells them.” Tito said as the tapping disappeared down the corridor.
”What?”
”The light bulbs. I’m sure I could buy them right here in town instead of going to Botafago every month, if I only knew where she unloads them.”
”Maybe there’s something wrong with the wiring,” Jose wondered.
”Not according to the electric man.”
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LeeO1 reviewed Version 1 -
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I have only read this entry, but, I am very impressed with the detail. I have a very real picture of the house, furnishings and surroundings. Since I am not familiar with the story line I can only share my impression of the writing.
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derekosborne reviewed Version 1 -
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Your dialogue is good, but your description needs work. The narrative has to move things along, not bog us down in too much detail. Your descriptions are much like your conclusion about the garden – overgrown, broken statues, you have to look hard for the original design. I like the characters, especially the names. It sounds like you have a novel here.
“A window to the right and another directly across from them let in a light yellowed by gauze curtains too fragile to wash. [rest of paragraph] The ceiling was coffered in the same wood as the cabinets, and the stone floor was covered with an immense Turkish carpet.” (Total 150 words)
Forgive me, but here is what I would do as an editor.
“A window to the right and another directly across from them let in a light yellowed by gauze curtains too fragile to wash. In the center, eight chairs surrounded an octagonal table, above which hung a chandelier with looping brass arms. On the left two more chairs and a low velvet couch sat behind a another table inlaid with mother-of-pearl. By front window an Italian Renaissance writing table stood, a gold leafed chair pushed up close. Except for two huge mirrors facing each other, the room was lined floor to ceiling with books in narrow glass-doored cabinets. The ceiling was coffered in the same wood, and the stone floor was covered with an immense Turkish carpet.”
(Total 115 words)
It’s the same room, the same quality and the reader does not get bogged down by detail. Then, of course, you need to aske yourself why we need a description of the room. I hate when people tell me how to srite, but I hope this is constructive.
starhammer1 reviewed Version 1 -
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Pretty good entry so far. I liked the characterization and the dialogue, very realistic. Keep it up, I look forward to more.
Calypsoidal1 reviewed Version 1 -
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Having reviewed Part 2, I have the same comments: the wonderful writing, the easy dialogue, just a few places where one too many descriptions crowds into a single sentence, like the library. But it held my interest, the strange story of how all this stuff ended up in this house…Really a pleasure.
They turned off the walk to the front door and walked under – walk/walked
Lemons trees against the wall smothered the arched basement windows with dust and dead leaves. – the dust and dead leaves smother, not the lemon trees.
Tito entered the kitchen and grinned at the woman who banged pots hanging above the stove with a damp rag. – grinned to her or at her? Maybe break this up.
“The rays that radiate along the floor…” – rays radiate?
and began to examine the groceries – began to unpack, or just examine?
It was too quick a glance for him to see the dust – then this description comes from no one’s POV.
”...housekeep…” Jose began. – use the dash, not the ellipsis, and nothing after it.
LovelyLola reviewed Version 1 -
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I like the way you handled the symbolism of one man who is pure being led down the garden path. It was literal and figurative. Nice touch. The background information provided about the house was interesting, too. Jose seemed naive enough. Tito seemed worldly enough. Good development of the characters, even Balbina.
duddbudda reviewed Version 1 -
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The opening sentence is a little long, with a rough syntax; possibly it could be improved simply by changing ‘to ever’ to ‘ever to’.
Syntax again ‘waited amused while Jose absently veered’ maybe [waited, amused by Jose’s absent swerve toward].
Again ‘folowed the narrow… feed the fish’ has more clauses than the structure allows, adding a comma or two should sort that. If I notice more, I’ll just put the first and last two words of the sentence with the problem.
‘over its cast iron’, ‘its’ should be [the]
It may be technically incorrect (I don’t know) but I’d say when Tito introduces Balbino and Jose his speech, though broken by a pause, could quite happily be kept as one paragraph. Possibly I just have issue because urbis has unusually long lines.
The quality of the conversation is brilliant; I’ve not read much (including a lot of published books) which has as credulous speech as this piece.
‘Afterwards, in Izmir… ...book dealer’ a little too much info in one sentence. Given that Tito seems to pause regularily (which I gather from the short sentences and have to say is an excellent method for making me feel that he’s doing quick bits of recollection without there having to be any breaks in the actual speech), this sentence rushes a bit overmuch. Same for ‘The old man… ...to France’.
This is a beautiful piece; the bond between the two differentt men is very subtle yet crystal clear. The descriptions are vivd, yet not overdone. the whole piece has a perfectly relaxed mood and Tito’s voice is very characterful.
Excellent
Josh
DCAllen reviewed Version 1 -
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The encroaching jungle in P1 is a good image. “A place of porcelain rain and crystal puddles.” (nice) I like this. You describe the house well. Jose comes across even more innocent than in the first chapter (good thing). I wonder, though, why he just goes into the house with Tito. Character motivation seems to be the weakness in this section.
Proofreading notes:
It would be better to say how the stone maiden was lost. (something as short as the sentence you’ve written though)
cast iron leaves = cast-iron (prenominal)
Lemons trees (typo)
who banged pots = was banging (If she was in the middle of this when Tito and José entered.)
“How amazing.” (needs to be on the line before it since it’s Tito’s dialogue)
“Balbina, this is…” and then later ”. . . housekeep…” Jose (Represent interruption with the em dash rather than ellipses. I like Balbina already.)
half heartedly = halfheartedly (But “beating rhythmically” doesn’t sound halfhearted to me.)
a look of being above noticing (could be better if you show her attitude through an action without describing it)
”. . . yes, actually” and then ” . . . yes” Tito (terminal punctuation missing)
At times in dialogue Tito seems to speak broken English, but then he delivers a perfectly correct story about how he and Balbina came to live in the house. Seems implausible. Is the broken English in dialogue an error?)
I wonder why Tito is telling José all this. More motivation her in Tito’s characterization?
moulding is British English for molding (American)
pin ball, pin-ball = pinball (and I think readers are going to need a tad more information here. What is a pinball heiress?)
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