A flamenco dirge finds its voice in Parisianne Modert’s latest entry.
The Sad Lady of an Andalusian Night
by Parisianne Modert
“Reaper Trainees, please welcome Alejandro, Reaper Extraordinaire,” I heard.
An elderly man with skin weathered by sun, wind and sea water entered the room from behind me. My impression of Alejandro was Picasso’s “The Old Guitarist” slouching unevenly towards a raised stage. After laboring to position his bent over figure on the stage stool with guitar across his left knee Alejandro nodded downward. The back lights dimmed leaving only a silvery spot light on his face. His sad, fingered, twelve beat soleá and dark amber eyes rose beginning his morose lesson.
“In 1589 lived a lady named Sayyida of light red hair, skin of pale cream and large vacant, blue topaz eyes. Her duende spirit of flamenco, tapped stair steps, waving arms led us spiraling upward towards the full moon lit tower atop the woeful stone castle by the sea. She paused at balcony’s edge, high above the jagged rocked waters of the Mediterranean port. ‘Come home to me my love,’ she screamed to her husband, Jalid, a Moorish sailor.
Sayyida’s shriek, love desperate for her Jalid, possessed a pending death chill, black as his starless night skin. She attempted to conjure the uncharted waters, he had sailed bringing her gold earrings and treasures, to return him home from the seas and lands of exotic adventure. Jalid’s lovemaking with Sayyida had been an untamed passion dangerous as a typhoon’s whirlpool.
Sayyida wailed over the balcony’s edge, her tortured third-eye sight seeing Jalid drowning. Silvery dagger moon beams sliced her insane, pale face, tears flying sideways from the incoming winds. She cursed within delusions to the endless, heartless waves accepting her love’s death. Crying out ‘Jalid,’ Sayyida threw herself from the balcony to reach Jalid’s next life, red hair blowing upwards behind her until knifed by the jagged boulders, thrown lifeless about by the sea without their souls’ reunion.”
Alejandro silenced his nylon strings, the room becoming death’s dark blindness.
“Sayyida refused reaper help as is her right and became trapped forever to repeat her Andalusian sad lady, full moon cyclical suicide based on love’s obsessive tides, again and again.”