An Old Man Dreams of Youth

 

A Dance

An old man sits on a park bench feeding the pigeons. “Coo-coo,” he calls to them while he scatters seed. “Coo-coo. Chuck-chuck-chuck. Here, birdie.” He sits back and laughs, though he knows the birds don’t see the joke.

A young woman, a girl, walks by. She’s on her way to who knows where? Another world. Another destination. Just a road on the way. A walk in or through the park. She stops when she sees the old man feeding the birds, not wanting to disturb him, or them. He pauses, looks up, smiles, and gestures her to pass. He’s doing nothing. Just feeding the birds. ‘Don’t let me get in your way,’ he thinks in her direction, kindly. She can’t hurt his revelry. Indeed, she is just another bird to cross his territory. To make him smile for a bit. ‘Nice birdie. Pretty birdie. A smile for the bird,’ he thinks. ‘Coo-coo!’

She continues. Further on. To the next crossing in the park. To the next garden, the next stream, but stops. And looks back. And sees the old man and his park bench and his pigeons and his kindness and his coo-cooing and his smile for the birds, her included. And something else.

She walks back. For a moment they look. She smiles and reaches out her hands to him. And the old man stands up and takes her hands back. And then the dream beings.

They dance. To a tune. A waltz. Les oiseaux dans la charmille. The Birds in the Arbor by Jacques Offenbach. Tales of Hoffman. An old march. The Doll’s song, so they say.

Les oiseaux dans la charmille,

Dans les cieux l'astre du jour

Tout parle à la jeune fille,

Tout parle à la jeune fille d'amour!

 

The birds in the bower

And in the skies the day star

Everything speaks to the young lady

Everything speaks of love to the young lady

 

Old man and young girl. Dancing together. One on one. In hands together and hand in hand. In pirouette and enfolded in each others’ arms. Flung far away and rushing back together in embrace. They dance. No, they Dance! For once! As neither had danced before! This was a dance to BE danced, not just TO dance.

 

Ah! Everything speaks of love

Ah! This is the comely song

The song of Olympia, of Olympia!

Ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah!

 

And once. Far down. Below the pigeon bench and the scattered seed to where they had first met and come together. The man and the woman meet and come together again, neither young nor old. Just they. And pause. And hand in hand. At arms length. Eyes together. And come together. Closer. Ever closer. Entranced by each other’s eyes. He takes her in his arms and pulls her close, as does she him to her. And they come close. Oh, so close. So close to… A kiss. Oh, so close to a kiss. The man dreaming, dreaming. Of the young girl in his arms. An old man dreams…

 

All that sings and resounds

And sighs in turn

Moves her heart that tingles

Moves her heart that tingles with love

 

And the music starts again and they fly apart. Arm in arm. Hand in hand. Beat and pulse to the music. One and two and three. The beating of bodies beating as only bodies in love know how to do.

And so they dance. The Doll Song. One with the birds in the arbor. Two lovers playing a song of love. Dancing a song of yearning. Grasping a song of wanting. A song of…

And they come together, once more, at the end. He kneels before his dreamed love, takes her hand and kisses it. She bows to him and recognizes his love. In her dreams.

 

A!! ah! tingles with love!

This is the comely song

The song of Olympia, of Olympia!

Ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah!

 

And they part.

He goes back to his bench and feeds the pigeons with the last of his seed. She continues on her way. But not before they exchange one last glance. The tingle of love. A dream.

An old man dreams.