These Dreams of You

~ ~ ~

They continue watching the rain come down from under the Wimpy Bar overhang. Still pulling his coat close, Reg lights another cigarette. Bob says, “What’s your girl’s name again?”

“You’re not making a move on me old lady, are you?” Reg says it like he’s joking.

Bob snaps, “No.”

“Just winding you up a bit. What with stealing birds from your brother and all. Jasmine.”

“Nearly stole.”

“Right, nearly.”

“Didn’t I say nearly?”

“You did,” Reg assures him.

Sticking his head out from beneath the dripping overhang, Bob surveys the skies. “She’s African, isn’t she?”

“What?”

“Your girl.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“From South Africa.”

“Don’t remember, mate, I get all those places confused, if you want to know the truth. Same thing, aren’t they? No, she’s from that country with the emperor cat. The one the rastas think is Jesus.”

“Haile Selassie.”

“Yeah.”

“Ethiopia.”

“That’s it.”

“Abyssinia. The beginning of the world. He was at my brother’s funeral.”

“What?”

Bob says to Reg, “My brother was better in every way.”

“The emperor of Ethiopia was at your—?”

“But he had his weaknesses, and she was one.”

“Bob? I’ve sort of lost track who we’re on about.”

“And we couldn’t have it anymore. And when she didn’t want to let him go—”

“Right. We’re not talking about the London bird from the theatre anymore.”

“—she came to me,” but he stops, a man who resents having to explain anything to anyone. “I made her heart sing, for a few hours.”

“She said that?”

“She’s gone now. He’s gone too.”