I get back to the caravan and Richard is sitting on the steps, still finishing his coffee. He smiles at me, doesn´t ask me where I’ve been, but I explain anyway by answering the question he´d asked himself earlier, including a reminder that I am still waiting.
- I´ve been thinking that maybe you´ve told me about the “Upstairs, Downstairs” thing only because you want to share it with someone who is not on the “inside”, because you are interested in my perspective from the “outside”. I´ve not been invited down to the basement yet, so I haven´t got that image of Dylan on the basement stairs going up and down, then up again, engraved in my mind. You must be truly obsessed with it if you take it with you to dreamland …
- OK. You know I mentioned to them the other day that you might join us any afternoon now in the basement to watch us play - ´cause we all know you listen to us anyway, from the outside – but it´s not my fault they haven´t brought the idea up again. Anyway, I´m not talking about dreams in other people´s hands – your fault, Nar- but of an image of uncertainty – I don´t know if you get it- which has something to do with the feeling I´m getting as I try to write this song…
- What are you unsure about? Is it more the words or the music?
- Well, I´ve been talking about uncertainty, actually, which is more suggestive than the word ´unsure´… But since you ask, it is the words I´m most hung up on … The chords I´m clear enough on, you´ll see.
Leaping up, he disappears into the caravan and emerges holding one of my guitars. He plays five chords, droning random words to a descending melody which at times recovers its verticality, climbing sharply alongside his burning voice. When he finishes, we sit in silence. He breaks it himself:
- From now on, Nar, I´ll be coming to your caravan every Wednesday at 9:30 so we can discuss the matter further - he says putting his hand on my shoulder, looking rather serious.
- I don´t believe you, Richard
- You´d be wise not to.
Getting up, he leaves his empty coffee cup on the bottom step and sets off towards the forest, waving goodbye with his hand. I watch him head off, barefoot, and somehow I know I have just heard the untaken photograph of a legend: with my ears, with my eyes, with my anticipatory love for myths in the making .-.-.-
If you find me in a gloom or catch me in a dream