[ It's true Daud's always thought of his work as being precisely honed, perfect in its execution. Not beautiful, perhaps, but worthy of admiration. Singular. Conducted with a level of skill and grace not managed by other men. So while he doesn't precisely take to the stranger's shower of words - again, the man's saying far too much, in love with the sound of his own voice - there's a dim ring of satisfaction at the final words. A new vision, indeed; one well beyond the grasp of the people of this city. And it doesn't hurt that the man speaks of Daud's renown.
Perhaps this man isn't wholly mad, after all. So long as Daud ignores his claim that they're somehow exactly alike. It's a ridiculous idea, and Daud's gaze sharpens at its sound, but it isn't enough to put him off.
Amid the chaos of words, what catches Daud most is the talk of 'him.' The 'him' who's been shooed away - an act Daud can understand; an act Daud could applaud - and who 'sits outside of everything.' The 'him' who's so neatly anatomized by this man, who seems not to have impressed this self-styled artist.
Daud hopes the black-eyed bastard regrets what he's done. The strange, flitting creature he's unleashed. (But that's too much to hope for, isn't it? More likely, the Outsider's enjoying the show this one provides. More likely, the Outsider knew exactly what he was doing when he marked this man.) ]
You speak as if you've known him for years.
[ Again there's an unintentional accusation in the statement, a tone Daud would deny if confronted. ]
But you're right about the bastard.
[ Daud produces and lights a cigarette, takes a deep draw and looks around. ]
cue the deepest facepalm in all the world
Perhaps this man isn't wholly mad, after all. So long as Daud ignores his claim that they're somehow exactly alike. It's a ridiculous idea, and Daud's gaze sharpens at its sound, but it isn't enough to put him off.
Amid the chaos of words, what catches Daud most is the talk of 'him.' The 'him' who's been shooed away - an act Daud can understand; an act Daud could applaud - and who 'sits outside of everything.' The 'him' who's so neatly anatomized by this man, who seems not to have impressed this self-styled artist.
Daud hopes the black-eyed bastard regrets what he's done. The strange, flitting creature he's unleashed. (But that's too much to hope for, isn't it? More likely, the Outsider's enjoying the show this one provides. More likely, the Outsider knew exactly what he was doing when he marked this man.) ]
You speak as if you've known him for years.
[ Again there's an unintentional accusation in the statement, a tone Daud would deny if confronted. ]
But you're right about the bastard.
[ Daud produces and lights a cigarette, takes a deep draw and looks around. ]
This is your work.