Silver – stanza 23.3

Silver’s journal had this to say:
Tonight, I had dinner after our final
Rehearsal with Mme. Tasha, Chris
And the producer, a powerful looking
Young looking but clearly older than he seems
Gentle, graceful, charming man; People
Have said he produced the entire Gala
To showcase my talents but I’ve never
Seen him before; of course, I feared
That this was an elaborate scheme to
Seduce me, I mean, it happens in movies
But he barely spoke to me, whispering
To Mme. Tasha in Russian, leaving me
Tete a tete with Chris and as we spoke
I learned to know him in an entirely new way
The force of his will behind his raw talent
Transformed him, in my eyes, from a dancer
My dance partner, into a practicing genius
Of a visual language that is dance and
I became enamored of him, far beyond
The lust that had been brewing, as it will
Between partners, this became deeper, holy
In the ritual of souls, what a fascinating
Young man, imported from halfway across
The globe to dance with me, how can I
Help but love him – even in his faults, I
Am lost, enchanted, stolen, feverish, swept
Over by emotions cascading in a mad flood
And then I recognized Randolph Courlain

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Silver – stanza 22.3

“What about the twenty-third?”
“What is that, Sunday?”
“I think so, yes.”
“Let me see, here, Sunday, no, the Gala is Sunday.”
“The Gala?”
“Ballet. It’s a special event, not on the calendar.”
“I was going to say, I hadn’t heard.”
“It’s been hastily arranged. I don’t even know
Where I heard about it but you know James
Any excuse to wear a tuxedo.”
“Who’s dancing?”
“They’ve invited dancers from lots of companies
But really, no big names.”
“That seems a strange choice.”
“That’s only the beginning. The headline
Is some local girl, no one has ever heard
Of her.”
“The producer’s girlfriend?”
“That’s what I thought too. But I know
Elise at the studio she came from. So
I know people who know her and they
Don’t think there is any hanky-panky
The weird part is that some of the say
She is a terrible dancer, at least no where
Near good enough to headline a big show
While others assure me that she is divine
That they’ve never seen a better dancer.”
“Maybe she’s gotten over a hurdle.”
“Makes sense except she’s far too old.”

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Silver – stanza 21.3

At one end of the room, a music student
Paid his debts by playing for the entertainment
Of the club’s patrons, an eclectic selection
Of classical and contemporary pieces mingled
With folk songs, both local and foreign
Indulging the student’s field of study
“Here’s one from the new world,” he declared
Sixteen bars in, Malinov went white
“What is it, dear?” asked Tasha
Malinov dismissed her with a lie. It was
Their way but Tasha wasn’t buying it
“I demand that you tell me the truth.”
Malinov smirked, knowing how many
Times he had made that very demand of her
Without her budging in the slightest from her
Silence, so he told her another lie, which she
Accepted but he couldn’t help wondering
If she knew perfectly well what he heard
From what he knew, reading into her stony
Admissions, Tasha had known Silver for much
Longer than his mere four hundred years
Her voice sang so clearly, so directly in
The simple composition rendered weakly
On a poorly tuned instrument, how could
Tasha have not recognized Silver there
And know it at once, what it meant to him
But Malinov said nothing to Tasha and readied
Himself for a journey abroad. Tasha knew
There was nothing for them to discuss

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Silver – stanza 20.3

Malinov took breakfast in the gazebo near
The gardens, sipped his coffee, buttered his
Toast. “Hans,” he said to his servant
“Yes, sir.”
“Are the young people up yet?”
“Sir?”
“Lotte and Manfred. Have they had breakfast?”
“They’re gone, sir.”
“Gone?”
“Early this morning. I was under the impression
That you knew.”
“I did not.”
“They said very little in my presence. I guess
I assumed.”
“Did they say where they were going?”
“No, sir.”
“Nor how long they would be away?”
“No but they had trunks.”
“Trunks?”
“Packed with clothing and toiletries. The
Other maids helped them pack.”
“Thank you, Hans.”
“Sir.”
Malinov finished his toast and coffee
Manfred had gotten carried away
Wanted Lotte to himself, unaware
That she was merely a vessel containing
His beloved Silver, who would surely
Return to him once she became aware

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Silver – stanza 19.3

“We’re arranging a show, a ballet Gala
Four months from now in the capital
We want you to headline, dance a gran
Pas de deux with a ballerina we discovered”
My comprehension halted at the word “headline”
All I could do was nod, positive but lost
What was he saying, what did he mean?
A thousand questions assaulted my mind
In a jumble of wonder, when do we leave?
How much does it pay? What would I dance?
Where would I stay? Did he really mean me?
Over the next hour, he explained the score
As I managed to ask my questions
Looking back, I realize the one thing
I never questioned was whether to go
Along with the scheme, sold at “headline”
And bolstered by my supreme confidence
In myself, why wouldn’t they want me?
So I rushed in where wise men might not
The other question I didn’t pursue was
Allison, who was she and what had she done?
Come to think of it, I did ask him something
About her; he told me that she was his reason
For producing the show, without her, no show
So I made arrangements with my company
Who were preparing for a long break anyway
Packed my bags, grabbed my passport
Met in the lobby by a big limousine sent by
Courlain and flew a private jet to the States

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Silver – stanza 18.3

“Give me a beat,” said Marx, almost singing
Smiling and nodding as he showed them their
Seats, “Let’s groove, Daddy O” with a melodic
Insistence; Malinov greeted, Razor greeted
And Black Marx passed them a joint ritually
“Not your surface grade weed, true underground
The kind only music can buy, Tympanic Vibes”
We participated in the smoky ceremony and
Songs of thanks and praise and I asked him
About Silver, had he seen her or heard her around
He cast his gaze vacantly for a few beats
“No, haven’t seen her, haven’t seen her”
He stared away again, muttering and I
Suspected he was busily writing a new song
“Not here, not this side, not since Naples, I’d
Gone to Vienna, saw her there, singing opera
Is that right? We ran into each other in Italy
I was doing magic with the violin, remember?
I miss those days, I really do, when music
Remained a local phenomenon, we played
Or we heard nothing, everyone joined
I saw Courlain recently, four months ago
Came in late, caught a show, pretended he wasn’t
But I know his rhythms, the unique beat of his
Life, like I know my own heart, I know your
Sound, but I played along, ignored Courlain
And I saw Tasha not long after that but
She didn’t pretend, she was looking for me
And I dig the way that woman can move”

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Silver – stanza 17.3

Unbeknownst to Silver, Courlain took possession
Of the young man they intended for Malinov
Beloved of the vessel chosen for Silver, a year
Passed and Courlain slowly emerged from within
Razor points out at this point that he doesn’t
Know the full story; Silver died and possessed
The young woman; a few days later, long before
Silver could influence the young lady, she and
Courlain ran away, ultimately to the Americas
Silver doesn’t discuss the past, that is known
Courlain might, after a few beers, possibly
But Razor doesn’t really trust his accounts
Courlain will say anything to further his game
Honesty just isn’t something he aspires toward
So we don’t know and Malinov is left wondering
If Silver recognized Courlain in the young man
Before she died and if she did, did she go
Of her own accord, wanting to be with Courlain
Or perhaps she recognized him before she died
But didn’t have time to do anything about it
Which leads us to a more sinister question
Did Courlain kill Silver, facilitate her death
Knowing she would possess the young woman
Perhaps when she recognized his presence
Realizing the jig was up, he silenced Silver
Knowing the affection her vessel felt for his
Would suffice to overcome the recent love
She’d felt for Malinov as the vestiges
Of their relationship long ago was rekindled

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