Nocturnes Read Online Free PDF Page A

little society.
    Josef Griter, a longtime admirer and would-be lover of Lessa’s, had just completed a satirical speech on the morally-enlightening qualities of Scotch whisky. Isaac took Lessa’s hand and led her out to dance. With his arms safely around her, Lessa was able to let go of the last wisps of the anxiety that had clouded her days of late. Isaac felt her relax into him and marveled again at how well they fit together.
    “Josef will probably go to his grave carrying your heart on his sleeve,” he said casually.
    “Isaac. You exaggerate. Josef likes the idea of love more than he likes the work required to sustain it. He’s too sentimental. And he admires every woman he knows he can never have. But he doesn’t care for me any more than he cares for Sarah, or Judith. Besides, he loves you like a brother.”
    “Perhaps. But he would certainly jump at the opportunity to love you like more than a sister.”
    “You’re jealous,” she laughed against his shoulder.
    “Of course I am. It goes with the territory of loving the most beautiful fish in the sea. One is always looking out for hungry sharks.”
    She squeezed his hand as they laughed some more, and laid her head against his chest. This was where she belonged. Her home was right here. And everyone who saw them together knew it. The song ended and they returned to the crowded table.
    “Oh, Lessa! You’ve returned in the very nick of time.” Josef took her hand from Isaac’s and led her to the head of the table, explaining, “Karl has been driving the spikes of his alleged poetry into our ears, and we need you to soothe our fevered brains with something cool and embraceable. Ladies and, ahem, gentlemen,” he shouted above the din at the table, “I give you the most lovely, the most talented, and temporarily the most obscure poet in all of Poland: Lessa Frankle! Or should that be ‘Bloom’?” He winked knowingly at Isaac as the group applauded and whistled.
    Lessa smiled and looked at each of her friends in turn. “These are the best of times,” she thought. “But they cannot last.”
    She pushed the troubling whispers aside and addressed the table.
    “You honor me with your enthusiasm. And Isaac has promised me that the ones who whistled will be entitled to a little extra over what was discussed.”
    Isaac pretended to reach for his wallet as everyone whistled in unison.
    “I’m afraid that I have nothing new to share with you. I am working on some new pieces now, but they won’t be finished for a while…”
    The exaggerated agony of their pleas assailed her. “Anything, Lessa! Recite one of your lullabies.”
    She laughed. A luxurious and rich low-note melody. To Isaac, her laughter was her greatest lullaby.
    She was enjoying herself, and smiled at them all again.
    “All right, then. A lullaby for my sleepy friends.
    As you fall to sleep now,
    Remember to dream.
    The night is not as long
    As at first it seems.
    The daylight needs its rest as well.
    So use these hours between the suns
    To laugh and sing in a sweet-dream spell.
    Love finds its courage
    In the shadows and shade,
    Where it meets the monsters
    That our selves have made.
    But I will be here
    When you’ve journeyed through.
    (From the loving womb,
    To the powerless tomb)
    My candle burns all night for you.”
    They applauded furiously, offering her imaginary garlands and awards. A hasty crown was fashioned from a napkin and placed upon her head. Isaac burned with love. She walked quickly to his end of the table and sat next to him. He kissed her ear.
    “Have I mentioned that I love you?”
    She looked into the fountain-brightness of his eyes.
    “Oh, Isaac. You tell me in all the words you speak and in all the things you do. And you give me such courage.”
    She squeezed his hand hard. The two of them sat there, but somewhere else, as the Warsaw night played out around them.
    There were more drinks and more stories, and the talk gradually turned from the lightness of lullabies