The saxophone of the sans merci street

Posted: 05/07/2009 in Literature, Poetry, Short story
Tags: , , ,


Walter Crane. Such sights as youthful poets dreams Jimmy was getting up at 5 o’clock every morning. No matter how he was feeling, its health condition, nothing could keep him into bed. He was always rising up into one quick step, putting on these curious rounds glasses on the top of his nose, the glass he discover in a drugstore and, within two or three pirouettes, he was rushing in to the kitchen to prepared is breakfast: allongé double and tartines. Listening to the jazz of the day playing on the radio, he swallowed everything presto, standing in the front of the window. Jimmy never wasted is time. He loved to watch the sky, the clouds and the rhythm of the wind specially to improvise some fugues for this new day.

From this point of view, facing south to the river, he could guess the beginning of his second house roof. He could see the colors and swell the flavours of is private workshop. The little building was near its apartment from only a few streets.

Jimmy was a coachman, like his father. His stable accommodated 8 horses and a saxophone.

Habitually, he comes in the early hours in the quiet stable. Taking great pleasure to salute each of the guess with some caress, he was taking there morning feelings. The beasts, more beautiful each and every day, swinging about softly in they own box. Jimmy prepared the first meal of the day with lot of care. Each animal required a special diet imagine by they owner. Morning ration looked like a smooth medley for an equestrian ballet: wheat for Billy, corn for Anaïs, honey for Nathaniel, oats for Gimesome, thyme for Summertime, cinnamon for Damebelle and mint for Ella…

While the horses where eating, Jimmy was cleaning every parts of his Eden east of the sans merci street. He was sweeping everywhere, changing there bed of the night for the one of the day and putting some order in the club house. He inspected the condition of the harness and the horse-drawn carriage. After while, he finished his morning tour with an inventory of the all and nothing at all of is domain.

After this preamble, he turned himself to his beloved old chair, the one that uses to belong to his father, Jimmy the first, and give to this new day a first jazz session, a little improvisation without any pretension. An ode to his friends the horses following by some secrets notes that only belong to him. Jimmy the coachman played the saxophone and every horses became the Jimmy Quartet of the sans merci street.

Around nine O’clock, the others coachmen where enter into the stable and quickly getting to the work. Soon, they where all ready to go out and play the song of the day into the streets of the Vieux-Québec.

This is how one Saturday morning of June, in front of the Château Frontenac, I cross the road of Ella la Rousse, Jimmy the coachman and a saxophone.

To be continued…



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