Scenes from Prague Part 1

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The Conductor

It was like watching a conductor in action - arms everywhere, movement, passion. But instead of music pulsing through her veins it was stories that drove her, sentences gave her rhythm, words were here beat. Her face was intense as she acted out the various parts of her story. At first I thought she was telling her story through sign language so extreme were her hand gestures. Them I thought she was embroiled in a violent row with her companions; she moved closer and then danced away like a boxer teasing an opponent, an occasional jab to her friends’ shoulders to make a point. But their laughter told me this was no pugilist, it was a raconteur working a crowd and boy did she know how to work them; her two friends were hanging on every word, living every beat, enthralled by her enthusiasm. She made me smile, but there was just one problem. She was outside the cafe and I was inside and the glass that separated us meant I never heard one word of that story. 

The Sleeper

She was tired, you could tell she was tired, you could tell she'd have loved to have been at home in bed but then again that would have meant husband and kids clambering for time and attention - meaning no possibility of a nap. Maybe the tram was the best place to grab 40 winks. She lent her arm on the small window ledge, resting her head in her palm and closed her eyes. She drifted away. Despite the chatter of voices and the clatter of door, sleep came quickly. But she had a problem, each time she reached a certain point of unconsciousness her body relaxed meaning her arm slipped from its precarious perch, her head jolted and she was awake. She cursed mildly before resuming the position and drifting off again. But almost as soon as she'd fallen asleep, the same procedure happened again, relax, slip, jolt, curse, repeat. The period of sleep was shorter, the face angrier and the curse louder. A few times she looked around for someone else to blame as if someone was pushing her arm off the ledge, then she resumed exactly the same position in the hope that this time her elbow would stay put and her sleep would last. She reminded me of a wasp continually banging it head against a window completely bemused and befuddled by the glass. I had to admire her perseverance, she was sticking to her task but it was a triumph of hope over experience or stubborn stupidity or possibly both. 

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