Belligerence will get you nowhere. said the Midget to The Suit:

It doesn’t suit your disposition and what is more it’s rude, and if you care to disagree then I will have to move – out of the frame.

The Suit said nothing. He didn’t need to as he hadn’t heard a thing the Midget said and the reason for this was that the Midget was across the street and behind the picture window of the little cell that was one of many there in the red-light district of the city. The canal flowed serenely by, the rippling waters reflecting the garish colored neon lights flashing up and down the staadt. The Suit was out looking for some deviant action and the Midget, in her S ‘n M outfit posing suggestively in the window, whip in hand, caught his fancy for some reason or the other – he couldn’t put his finger on why exactly at the time. So he tried to look fierce and threatening, imagining that this would turn the Midget’s S ‘n M mode on. Hence the Midget’s reaction – which he didn’t get – which is where this thing started to begin with.

I’m not sure where exactly this whole thing is going, as the story is Java’s – and just as he got through this first bit, he answered his phone, mumbled something incomprehensible and split. All I know is that he had this ‘experience’ in Amsterdam when he was there last and for some unknown as yet reason he decided to let me in on this ‘anecdote’ after all this time. Could be the recording his memoirs now that the blog is doing some of it – one never can tell with Java. So I get some music on and try to finish the January edition of Total Film – the one with Mr. Pitt on the cover. The Swingle Singers are swinging into their acapella version of Bach’s Fuge in D minor and all’s right with the here and now.

Much later in the day – Java is back and fixing his stash to be ready for Friday night’s revelry, he’s got the sound up and this Dutch guy Tjhis Van Leer doing Johaan Sebastian on flute – coincidentally sustaining the Baroque trend from earlier on – not a patch on the Swingles, though. And speaking of ‘Dutch’, I remind him of the aborted anecdote.

Shheeet maaan, sorry bout dat, but dat was our very own Cherry Lady needin mah ass in a hurry, so I do my good deed for da day an help her pretty little butt out.

He lights up and turns on Van Morrison, then switches the box to ESPN Sports, puts it on ‘mute’ and we watch gymnasts do their routines to ‘Moondance’. Java settles back, feet up, relaxed, and I get to trying to coax the story out of the haze he’s getting into.

Da Midget Wanda an I, we be ol frens maan – from dat last trip we be makin over dere. She be from a Surinamese farder an a Dutch mamma an look reeal good, sept she be a mini vershun of da reeal ting. Anyways, I be visitin her dat night – jus to be shootin da sheet – we don be getting into any of dat weird-ass stuurf, hear? So she be in her window displayin her wares in her skimpy-ass leather get-up when she see dis Suit on de odder side da staadt. I be sittin off to one side where I can’t be seen from da staadt, but dere’s dis peep-hole dat I can check whaas happenin outside (dis be where da ‘manager’ sit an watch da ‘trade’ on da staadt an help da girls wit dere selecshun). Da Suit he be lookin like he be interested an be putting on dis mime show – what Wanda be takin fo ‘beligerence’ an so she tell me dat opening line bout belligerence not fittin dat Suit’s dis-po-si-shun.

Aannyways, we watch dis dude do his trip an after he get tru a whole routine of self-deefence sheet, he gets dis baad-ass knife out an do a number wit dat, slashing da atmosfere aroun his ass, whirlin and twirlin it, reeal pro like. He get tru dat shheeet too an den he whips out dis han-gun an does a cowboy number wit dat piece. Wanda tinks he be a faar out dude an gives him da come-on sign. We watch Da Suit as he crosses dat staadt and rings da bell.

I get to da nex room tru dis bookcase disguise like a door an can see waaz goin down wit Wanda tru anodder peep-hole on de odder side.

So Da Suit come in, Wanda close up her pictchure window wit dese heavy satin drapes an aks Da Suit to make hisself comfy. She get him a drink an den she aks him to show her his tricks wit dat blade an dat piece. He laugh an take off his coat, showin Wanda his pockets – no weapons. He gets her to pat his ass down – top to bottom, till she be shure dere aint no weapons. So she aks him where dey be an he answer her by holdin out his empty hands an den, before we know it, dat blade appear in his left hand and dat piece appear in his right – an he get to twirlin, whirlin and sheet – reeal show he put on and den, jus like dat, he do somting like wave, an dose weapons disappear. Sheeet! I don know what to tink an I be seein dat Wanda be trippin out too. Da Suit is one of dese illusion-makers – a magic dude. So Wanda aks him to do somting else. Dis dude, he pick up dis jar of water – you could see tru dat it be tree-quarter full, he cover it wit his coat an he tell Wanda to concentrate reeal hard on it. One minit later he whip off dat coat an dere be two fish swimming around in dat jar. Wanda nearly fell off dat chair she be on – an me – all I want ta do is get outta dis small space I be in, so I knock on dat bookcase-door. Da Suit wonder waaz goin down when Wanda swing dat bookcase open an I step in dat room, but he settle back after Wanda introduce me as her ‘manager’ an he even produce dis pink carnashun from tin air an put it in my jacket button-hole. Den he tell me to excuse dem – natchurally wantin to spen his time wit Wanda. So I bid dem goodbye – my mind still trippin from dat display of magic an trip on down along dat canal wit dose ripplin multicolored neon lights reflectin in dose waters and head on down to da Paradisio where de action be happenin.

When I see Wanda da nex day, her whole place be converted to da mos stylish cell on dat block and from what I be gadderin, she have plans to get a whole lot closer to dat Suit an tell me da nex time I be visitin dat city she probably be livin like a queen!

Java replaces Van Morrison with (don’t ask me why) Rimsky-Korsakov’s ‘Scheherazade’, based on ‘Arabian Nights’ which, as Rimsky-Korsakov put it, is “..music for the sake of music”.

On second thoughts – maybe that is why he did!

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