A PORTRAIT OF THE WITCH DOCTOR AS A YOUNG MAN
“Okay, we’re going to try this one last time, but with different music. Now, I want you to listen very carefully—okay? And say the first thing that comes to mind.”
“Okay.” He stares at the painting of the man and woman in the moonlight—The Secret Courtship, he wants to call it. Or The Young Lovers. “But I don’t see what—”
“Just do it, Patrobus. Please.”
“Okay.” He watches as she moves the needle carefully into position and lowers it, then closes his eyes.
You never close your eyes anymore when I kiss your lips ...
“Smoke,” he says, seeing a red and black plume—roiling, billowing. “And fire. Rising like the moon, rising in the night. Not cold ... even in winter.”
And there’s no tenderness like before in your fingertips...
“Good—good. Wha
