113 lines
3.0 KiB
TeX
113 lines
3.0 KiB
TeX
% 2026.01.28-TheDinnerParty\\
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\herosection{The Dinner Party}{chapters/2026.01.28-TheDinnerParty/image/the-dinner-party.jpg}
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\DROPCAP{../../dropcap_c/dropH.png}e took his seat where placed, \\
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between a middle-aged woman in a loose cardigan \\
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who smelled faintly of citrus, \\
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and a young man with a chicken neck \\
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and a laugh that sounded like a salmon \\
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flopping in a fisherman's boat.\\
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The table was a blur.\\
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Plates clattered.\\
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Glasses clinked.\\
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Someone leaned across him for the salt, \\
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offering a perfunctory apology \\
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he couldn't quite catch.
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Sound washed in from every direction \\
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like waves at the shore, \\
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tumbling and crashing onto his ears.\\
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A word would arise briefly — \\
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'game' or 'work' or 'next week' — \\
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and then sink back into the tumult \\
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before he could grasp the sense.\\
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He tilted his head, \\
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following a mouth, \\
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unable to follow the sentence.
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Laughter came in salvos.\\
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Someone slapped the table.\\
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Another voice cut across.\\
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A story seemed to begin, \\
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only to be swallowed by another.\\
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He smiled when others smiled, \\
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always a beat too late.
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They leaned in with jokes and questions \\
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and small affirmations, \\
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keeping the conversation aloft \\
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like a ball kept in play.\\
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He could see it being done, \\
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and marveled at the skill.\\
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Each played their part \\
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like musicians in an ensemble, \\
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all riding the tempo together.
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A hand rose at the far end of the table, \\
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palm open, \\
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asking for the butter.\\
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It hovered there for a moment, \\
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waiting its turn.
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Something about that gesture \\
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reminded him of another table, \\
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in another room and another time.\\
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Fewer people.\\
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More space between voices.\\
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Someone had raised a hand there too — \\
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not to interrupt, \\
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but to hold a thought in place \\
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while others finished.
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A child had been at that table too, \\
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asking wonderful questions — \\
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why birds never bumped into the moon, \\
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whether the wind ever got tired.\\
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Her wild curiosity was honored like a gift.
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They had eaten together like that, \\
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long ago, \\
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with talk that wandered without urgency.\\
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Silence had not been a gap \\
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but a guest.
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They were gone now.\\
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Some taken by time, \\
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others scattered \\
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to the four corners of the earth.
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A piece of silverware struck porcelain.\\
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The sound was sharp and bright, \\
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like a small bell.\\
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Someone said, ``Sorry,'' too quickly.
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The room came back into focus.\\
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Faces reassembled.\\
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The woman beside him was smiling \\
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at something he had missed.\\
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He smiled back.\\
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A bowl was offered.\\
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He took it and passed it on.
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He felt a small ache, \\
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unexpected.\\
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Not to be like his present dinner companions, \\
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not to share their opinions or their certainties, \\
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but remembering what it was like — \\
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once upon a time — \\
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to be present without a mask.
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He did not resent them for what they had.
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But he could feel what he had lost.\\
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And what was beyond his grasp now.
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He also knew the cost of the table he remembered.\\
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It had been quieter.\\
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Easier to miss.\\
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What it had given him, \\
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he had not been able to keep.
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For a moment, \\
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he held both tables at once.
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