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31_days2005-09-27 11:49 am
tortillafactory.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2005-09-27 11:49 am
[Sept. 27] [James Bond] Café au Lait
Title: Café au Lait
Day/Theme: Sept. 27 - Chasing the metaphysical express
Series: James Bond
Character/Pairing: Bond/OFC
Rating: PG
Il a mis le café
Dans la tasse
Il a mis le lait
Dans la tasse de café
Il a mis le sucre
Dans le café au lait
Avec la petite cuiller
Il a tourné
Il a bu le café au lait
Et ila reposé la tasse
Sans me parler
Il a allumé
Une cigarette
Il a fait des ronds
Avec la fumée
Il a mis les cendres
Dans le cenrier
Sans me parler
Sans me regarder
Il s'est levé
Il a mis
Son chapeau sur sa tete
Il a mis
Son manteau de pluie
Parce qu'il pleuvait
Et il est parti
Sous la pluie
Sans une parole
Sans me regarder
Et moi j'ai pris
Ma tête dans ma main
Et j'ai pleuré.
- "Déjeuner du matin", Jacques Prévert -
[English Translation]
James always took his coffee black.
He was a man who loved strong feelings, and strong tastes, whether or not they were pleasant. Perhaps, for him, all les sensations fortes led to pleasure. I could never understand how he could drink a vermouth-laden martini without cringing, just as I could never comprehend his ability to swallow straight espresso without gagging. He'd all but quit smoking years ago, when a neo-Nazi group was able to recognize him by the scent of his cigarettes, but perhaps the tobacco had already destroyed his taste-buds.
Whatever the reason, James always took his coffee black.
We were breakfasting together in the café across the street, as we always did on Saturdays. Always? It had only been two months. It felt like forever.
But, as James always said, nothing except death was forever.
The ends of his long fingers, ever restless, idly traced the pattern of flowers and vines on the tablecloth. "I'm being sent away for a while," he said. "Important business."
"All right," I said, though it wasn't.
"It might be for a rather long time," he went on. "I have to establish - well, anyway. I thought I might - you'll be awfully lonely if you just wait around for me all that time. I'm not saying we've got to end this -"
"Not a period, but an ellipsis?" I suggested, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice.
"Exactly." He ought to have been relieved, but he must have felt the tension that still crackled between us.
Coffee came. I doused the blackness in the cup with a liberal amount of cream, stirring until it became the color of mud after a desert rain. To my astonishment, James did the same. I dumped sugar in mine, and so did he. His restless hands, I realized, were doing things without the permission of his brain. He did not look at me.
I told myself that I had no right to be hurt. I knew this would happen - sooner, rather than later. It was a choice between him and my other passion - the two were incompatible.
Not a period, but an ellipsis.
I would never see him again.
He drank his coffee in one quick gesture, then fumbled for a cigarette. Probably to get the sweet taste out of his mouth. Pleasant things were still poison to him. I recall that even his musical preferences ran to the masochistic.
When the cigarette was burned down, he tossed it into the ashtray and stood. I still had no words, and neither, evidently, did he. He set his hat on his head and wrapped himself in his overcoat, looking very much like a dark hero of film noir.
Goodbye, James.
The words wouldn't come out.
His eyes were on the door as he made his way over and stepped out into the rain. A rush of cold wind hit me as he disappeared into the crowd, and I waited to hear the words.
Goodbye, Kara.
But he was gone.
He once told me that when he was a boy, he used to go down to the tracks and chase the trains. I suppose he believed if he ran fast enough, he'd be able to keep up, to fly, to go wherever the train was going. And now, today, he's off again. Chasing the metaphysical express - hoping it will take him somewhere new. Somewhere without me, or anyone else.
He never loved my music - he just loved the idea of sleeping with a musician. But I'll keep on playing it for him, anyway. I will keep on sitting at this table, drinking my café au lait, and remembering him.
Suddenly, I realize I am crying.
Day/Theme: Sept. 27 - Chasing the metaphysical express
Series: James Bond
Character/Pairing: Bond/OFC
Rating: PG
Dans la tasse
Il a mis le lait
Dans la tasse de café
Il a mis le sucre
Dans le café au lait
Avec la petite cuiller
Il a tourné
Il a bu le café au lait
Et ila reposé la tasse
Sans me parler
Il a allumé
Une cigarette
Il a fait des ronds
Avec la fumée
Il a mis les cendres
Dans le cenrier
Sans me parler
Sans me regarder
Il s'est levé
Il a mis
Son chapeau sur sa tete
Il a mis
Son manteau de pluie
Parce qu'il pleuvait
Et il est parti
Sous la pluie
Sans une parole
Sans me regarder
Et moi j'ai pris
Ma tête dans ma main
Et j'ai pleuré.
- "Déjeuner du matin", Jacques Prévert -
[English Translation]
James always took his coffee black.
He was a man who loved strong feelings, and strong tastes, whether or not they were pleasant. Perhaps, for him, all les sensations fortes led to pleasure. I could never understand how he could drink a vermouth-laden martini without cringing, just as I could never comprehend his ability to swallow straight espresso without gagging. He'd all but quit smoking years ago, when a neo-Nazi group was able to recognize him by the scent of his cigarettes, but perhaps the tobacco had already destroyed his taste-buds.
Whatever the reason, James always took his coffee black.
We were breakfasting together in the café across the street, as we always did on Saturdays. Always? It had only been two months. It felt like forever.
But, as James always said, nothing except death was forever.
The ends of his long fingers, ever restless, idly traced the pattern of flowers and vines on the tablecloth. "I'm being sent away for a while," he said. "Important business."
"All right," I said, though it wasn't.
"It might be for a rather long time," he went on. "I have to establish - well, anyway. I thought I might - you'll be awfully lonely if you just wait around for me all that time. I'm not saying we've got to end this -"
"Not a period, but an ellipsis?" I suggested, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice.
"Exactly." He ought to have been relieved, but he must have felt the tension that still crackled between us.
Coffee came. I doused the blackness in the cup with a liberal amount of cream, stirring until it became the color of mud after a desert rain. To my astonishment, James did the same. I dumped sugar in mine, and so did he. His restless hands, I realized, were doing things without the permission of his brain. He did not look at me.
I told myself that I had no right to be hurt. I knew this would happen - sooner, rather than later. It was a choice between him and my other passion - the two were incompatible.
Not a period, but an ellipsis.
I would never see him again.
He drank his coffee in one quick gesture, then fumbled for a cigarette. Probably to get the sweet taste out of his mouth. Pleasant things were still poison to him. I recall that even his musical preferences ran to the masochistic.
When the cigarette was burned down, he tossed it into the ashtray and stood. I still had no words, and neither, evidently, did he. He set his hat on his head and wrapped himself in his overcoat, looking very much like a dark hero of film noir.
Goodbye, James.
The words wouldn't come out.
His eyes were on the door as he made his way over and stepped out into the rain. A rush of cold wind hit me as he disappeared into the crowd, and I waited to hear the words.
Goodbye, Kara.
But he was gone.
He once told me that when he was a boy, he used to go down to the tracks and chase the trains. I suppose he believed if he ran fast enough, he'd be able to keep up, to fly, to go wherever the train was going. And now, today, he's off again. Chasing the metaphysical express - hoping it will take him somewhere new. Somewhere without me, or anyone else.
He never loved my music - he just loved the idea of sleeping with a musician. But I'll keep on playing it for him, anyway. I will keep on sitting at this table, drinking my café au lait, and remembering him.
Suddenly, I realize I am crying.