Fado Lisboa

Listen! to Amalia Rodriguez. The music will open in a separate window and you can come back here if you like. ‎

“How was your flight?”

“Fun. The pilots left the door to the cockpit open. I had a great view of how they had to fight the wind to stay lined up with the runway.”

“For someone who left me to see the world, it is strange that you are scared to fly.”

“I do not feel fear in small, poorly maintained airplanes. I only feel it in modern jumbo jets. I always think they lie to me in the big jets. Whereas flying into Champaign-Urbana, Key West or Lisbon I always know the shot.”

“You never knew the shot with me and perhaps you never shall. You always wanted to know the shot when I did not know the shot. I should have shot you when I had the chance. You still have power to make me get on a train: I think of you in the rain, you are an old wound.”

“I just don’t want to go down without you.”

“Sounds like a sad assed country song.”

The owner interrupted us with a smile, with ragged wine, and shellfish. This was the sort of restaurant in which the eldest daughter worked the cash register, the eldest brother did his lessons, and any number of grubby kids played.

But I find it hard to describe for the very good reason that I have never been to Lisbon. Yet. For I write of the future, violating the old saw, write what you know. I have tasted liquor not yet brewed.


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