The Garden at Midnight

Let’s go outside. Yes, let’s. Let’s go outside and walk in the garden.

It’s too hot in here, don’t you think?

With the fires and the candles reflected in the windows and mirrors, like hundreds of tiny stars, and the smoke and the wine spilled on the marble floor and the women’s perfume and men’s aftershave and the music and the laughter weighing down.

Can’t you feel it?

It so heavy, falling down all around us, draping over the bare shoulders of the girls and wrapping itself around the dancing, the swirling couples, tangling our legs and tripping us. Thick and heavy and soft, like the velvet drapes, smothering us, rocking us gently to sleep in the drowsiness of the merriment.

Quick! Quick! Outside while we still can, out into the peace of the garden at midnight.

Ah, there, isn’t that better?

You can barely here the music now, can you? And all of the people might as well not be there. They’re just ghosts, really, moving about silently through the smoke and the music, laughing in silence, like those old black and white movies and you can see where the film’s coming apart.

It’s so peaceful out here, with the little fountain singing quietly to itself and the rose bushes, the pale little dancers in the green dresses swaying in the dark. Have you ever smelt anything so sweet?

Stand there, just there, and you can feel their scent as it rolls across the gardens.

Can’t you feel it?

If only they knew, those stupid women, the ones who wrap jasmine and sunflower and a million other exotic sents around themselves, if only they knew the beauty of the roses in the dark, or could feel the grass and the damp earth in the air as it caresses your body, as it hangs off you and lifts you up, up towards the moon.

The moon!

Look at it, look, up there, see? And the stars!

So pale and beautiful, reflected in the softly singing fountain. So bright too, and pure. Much better than their candles and fires.

We should tell them, shouldn’t we? Tell them to put out the torches, to light up the moon, to light up the stars! Let them shine in the darkness!

Oh no, not cold. Not cold at all. Well, maybe a little.
But there’s enough here, don’t you think? Enough light, enough heat, enough music, enough and enough.

And look, there in the corner, a little apple tree! I wonder if there’s any fruit. No, no you’re right; it’s too early, far too early to be thinking about that sort of thing. Let’s not think about the harvest until we have to. Enjoy the night while we can.

Come on, let’s dance!

Music, yes, of course, of course the fountain will sing for us, won’t it? Tired of the soft soliloquies and the droopy roses, aren’t you?

But they do look droopy, don’t you think? And tired. Perhaps they need to rest. Yes, sleep deep and peaceful in your beds, we’ll tell the others to keep it down, that the flowers need their rest.

Me? No I’m not tired at all.

Another drink? Well, I’m sure that the fountain… no, you’re right, perhaps not.

Oh, look, fishes!

Yes, there are. See? There and there, little tiny silvery and gold ones, going round in little circles.

Reflections? No, not reflections. Fish.

Back inside? But it’s so nice out here, don’t you think?

So peaceful, and… and…

I suppose you’re right.

Goodbye little garden. Sleep tight roses; sing them a lullaby fountain, won’t you? Perhaps the fish will sing the harmony, if you ask them nicely. Farewell, beautiful moon and tiny, shiny stars.

Goodbye.

Goodbye.