Tag: #amwriting

Writing about writing a book – Day 24, a missing piece of the puzzle

In what might seem a disjointed piece of narrative, we never quite got to understand why Bill was in the hospital, or more on those he met along the way.

This should precede the reading in Day 22

 

“Bastards,” Killer muttered.

We called him ‘Killer’ because it was the nickname the Army had given him.  We were sharing the guard duty and had spoken briefly over the watch, but up till then, the silence had stretched over an hour or so.  It didn’t take long for anyone to realize he was a man of few words.

He’d been in the regular army for years and asked for the posting.  He’d made Sergeant several times, only to lose those same stripes for fighting, usually after R&R and a bout of heavy drinking.  Now assigned to our platoon to lend his experience, the conscripts were expecting him to ‘look after’ them.  Other than myself and the Lieutenant, he was the only other regular soldier.  Unfortunately for them, he hated both conscripts and the Viet Cong in varying degrees, and depending on his mood there was little tolerance left for the rest of us.

“The people who sent us here or the people trying to kill us?” I asked before I realized I’d spoken.

I didn’t hear the reply, the skies opening up with another torrential downpour that lasted for about five minutes, and going as fast as it came.  When the sun finally came up, it would make the atmosphere steamy, hot, and unbearable.  It was quite warm now, and I was feeling both uncomfortable, and fatigued.

Killer looked just as stoic as he had before the rain.  He looked at me.  “Damn weather.  Worse than home.”

“Scotland?”

“Scapa Flow, Kirkwall.  I should have been an engineer on ships like my father, but I was too stupid.  Joined the Army, finished up here.  What’s your excuse?”

“Square peg in a round hole.  The army seems to handle us in its stride.”  It was more or less the truth.  I joined the Army to get away from my parents.

“That it does.  That it does.”

The rain came and went, during which the rest of the camp roused and went about its business.  It had been a long night for some, still getting over the shock of the attack, and the ever-pervading thought the enemy was still out there, biding their time.  It would be, for them, a waiting game, waiting for the conditions to wear us down, and lose concentration as inevitably we would.

Certainly, by the time we were relieved from sentry duty, I felt I was in no condition to match wits with a donkey, let alone the enemy on his own home ground.  When I stumbled over to the mess area and looked at the tired and haggard looks on the faces of the platoon, I realized that went for all of us.

Killer and I managed to get about an hour’s rest before the call came to move out, rain or no rain, and after a breakfast to make anyone ill, we left.  For hours it rained.  No one spoke as we strained to listen over the rain spattering on the undergrowth, all the time expecting the unexpected.  That was the benefit of the surprise attack; we no longer took for granted we would be safe.

Water gathered in pools along the trail, hiding any chance of seeing landmines.  Rainwater and sweat ran into our eyes, making it difficult to see.  Water leaked everywhere, making it very uncomfortable.  This was not war.  This was utter stupidity.

I was about to remark on the futility of it all to the Lieutenant, who had taken the lead, when one second he was talking to me and the next he crashed to the ground, a sniper’s bullet killing him instantly.   Someone yelled “Contact” and we hit the ground, bullets flying all around us. 

Too late, I thought, as I felt the hit of what seemed to be a large rock, then the searing pain in my leg, just as I hit the ground…

 

© Charles Heath 2015-2020

 

Past conversations with my cat – 45

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This is Chester.  We’ve been getting quite a few scam calls lately.

Like today, the caller said they were a technician from Telstra, our leading telecommunications company in this country.

The scammers think that most if not all people are with Telstra.  The problem is, it’s a lot less than they think.

Hence getting the phone slammed down in their ear, because nearly everyone knows they’re scammers.

So, Chester gives me the death stare after today’s effort.  it’s not the first time, and the banging noise startles him if he’s asleep.

That’s enough yelling and banging the phone, he says.

Then you answer the phone and sort them out.

You know I can’t do that.

Well, you should I say.  They always ask for the owner of the house, and that’s you isn’t it?

No, I just live here.

I snort this time.

I make your bed, get you foot, clean the little, put up with your cantankerous ways.  If you’re going to behave like that, then you have to start taking responsibility.

He gives me that condescending look reserved for the servants.

The phone rings.

Funny, Chester just disappeared.

 

 

Be careful what you say, it cannot be unsaid

You know the moment the words leave your mouth that you have said the wrong thing.

It might be exactly what you were thinking, it might be said before you had time to process what you were going to say, but it’s the look on the face of the recipient that tells the story.

Oh, my God, I shouldn’t have said that!

Your initial reaction is to try and say it’s not what you meant.

Generally, these horrible mistakes come at a point where emotions are running high, and there is an element of truth in the statement, and one that the recipient is aware of, and doesn’t need reminding of.

Not by their best friend, partner or closest relative.

Would it be better if you were not one of those three?

Maybe.

But it isn’t.  Anger, followed by tears, followed by silence.

This is where the statement, time heals all wounds, is brought into play, and you hope that it is true.

Interesting subject, is it not, for the opening gambit of a story?

 

In a word: Pray

It’s usually associated with the church, and saying a prayer for someone or something, but it kind of covers a lot of different situations, like,

We’ll pray for rain, we’ll pray for Mary to recover, I’ll pray for forgiveness.

In other words, in all of these instances, we are looking for intervention by God.

There is another instance, not related to religion, in that in a general sense you can pray for good weather over the weekend because they’re going camping.

In fact it is basically to hope for something very much.

It is, in a sense, wishful thinking, because in reality, no-one can predict, let alone dictate, what the weather will be.

It is also a forceful way of saying something, like,

Where the hell have you been, pray tell?

There is another word that sounds quite similar, prey.

That describes a creature that is hunted by another for food.

It’s also someone who is easily deceived or harmed.

It could also be something that preys on your mind

“The End of the Road”, a short story

From the days of wandering the remote country towns of New South Wales in Australia.

 

The End of the Road

 

The man who had said that we would never make the distance was right.

It had been my idea to go ‘troppo’, forsake everything, hop on a motorbike and go around Australia.  I was, at that stage fed up with everything and, catching Harry in one of his low spots, he decided there and then he would join me.

For the first few days, we believed we were stark staring mad and talked about calling it quits, but perseverance made all the difference.  After two months we were glad we had the resolve to keep going, and in that time we had managed to see more of the Australian countryside than we’d seen all our lives.

That was until this particular morning when we arrived in Berrigum, what could have been called a one-horse town.  It consisted of one hotel, one general store (that sold everything from toothpicks to petrol) and an agricultural machinery depot.  It also had a station and some wheat silos, and this appeared to be the only reason for a town in this particular spot in the middle of nowhere.

And it was the railway station that interested Harry, who was, by this time, getting a little homesick and fed up with his motorbike.

After coughing and spluttering for the last week it had finally died, and the five-mile walk to Berrigum had not helped either his temper, or his disposition, and had only served to firm his resolve to return home.

It was hot but not unbearably so, unlike a hot summer’s day in the city, and even worse still in public transport.  For miles around as we tramped those five miles all we could see was acres and acres of wheat, but no sign of life.  It was the same when we reached the town.  It appeared all the people were either hiding or had left.  Harry suspected the latter given the state of the road, and the buildings, more or less the epitome of a ghost town.

Standing at the end of what could have been called the main street with only our own dust for company, one look took in the whole town.  In a car, one wouldn’t have given it a second look, if one had time to give it a first.  I didn’t remember seeing neither any speed restriction signs nor signpost advertising a town ahead.

And since no amount of argument could sway him from his resolve, the first objective was to get a train timetable, if such a thing existed, and make arrangements for Harry’s return.

The station was as deserted as the town itself, and a quick glance in the stationmaster’s office showed no sign of life.

Leaving the bikes on the platform outside the office, we headed for the hotel for both a drink and make enquiries about rail services.  Being a hot day and the morning’s tramp somewhat hot and dusty, we were looking forward to a cold glass (or two) of beer.

The hotel looked as though it was a hundred years old though there was no doubting a few relentless summers would reduce it to the same state.  It was as bad inside as out, though the temperature was several degrees lower, and we could sit down in what appeared to be the main bar.  We were the only occupants and still to find any sign of life.  Overhead, two fans were struggling to move the hot air around.

More than once Harry reckoned it was a ghost town and I was beginning to believe him when, after five minutes, no one arrived.

After ten, we stood, ready to leave, only to stop halfway out of our chairs when a voice behind us said, “Surely you’re not going back out there without refreshment?”

“I was beginning to think the town was deserted,” I said.

“It is during the day, but when the sun goes down…”

I didn’t ask.  We followed him to the bar where he had stationed himself behind the counter.  “The name is Jack.”  He stretched out his hand towards us.  “We don’t bother with last names here.”

“Bill,” I said, shaking it, and nodding to Harry, “Harry.”

Harry nodded and shook his hand too.

“The first one’s on the house.”  He poured three glasses and put ours in front of us.  “Cheers.”

In all cases, it went down without touching the sides (as they say) and he poured a second, at the same time asking, “What brings you to our little corner of the earth?”

“Just passing through,” I said, “Or at least for me.”

“And you?”  Jack looked at Harry.

“I can’t hack the pace.  I can truthfully say I have thoroughly enjoyed the trip so far, except for a few mishaps, but for me, it’s time to get back to the big smoke.  My ‘do your own thing’ has run out of momentum.  Do you know if there is a train that goes anywhere important?”

The publican looked at him almost pityingly.  “Important, eh?”  He rubbed his chin feigning thought.  “You make it sound like you are in purgatory.”

“Aren’t we?”

I suppose one could hardly blame Harry for his attitude.  After all, at the beginning, he had numerous accidents, caught a virus that stayed with him (and a couple of torrential downpours had done little to help it), and now his motorbike had finally died.  No wonder his humour was at an all-time low.

For a moment I thought the publican was going to tell Harry what he thought of him, but then he smiled and the tension passed.  “Perhaps to a city fellow like you it might be,” he said.  “The mail train which has a passenger carriage comes through once a week, and, my good man, you’re in luck.  Today’s the day.”

“Good.  How do I get a ticket?”

“You’d have to see the Station Master.”

“And where might he be at the moment?  We were at the station a while back and there was no sign of life.”

“Nor will there be until the train comes.  Meanwhile, there’s time enough for lunch.  I’m sure you will stay?”  He looked questioningly at us.

I looked at Harry, who nodded.

“Why not.”

 

Over lunch, we talked.

I remember not so long ago when I had to attend a large number of lunches where the talk was of business, or, if anything, mostly about subjects that I had no interest in.  It was always some posh restaurant, time seemed important, the atmosphere never really relaxed, and to get into a relaxed state it took a large amount of alcohol to deaden the despair and distaste of that one had to fete in order to secure their business.

How different it was here.

We talked about the country, and, after seeing as much of it, and worked on it as we had to fund our odyssey, we could talk about it authoritatively.  And, most of all, it was interesting.

The atmosphere too was entirely different than it had been in the city.  Out here the people were always friendly, people always willing to stop and talk, particularly farmers; share a drink or some food.

There was none of this carefree purposefulness in the city, and more than once I’d thought of the fact one could travel in the same train with the same people for year after year and still not know any of them.  It was the same at work.  Even after five years I still hadn’t known three-quarters of the office staff, and most of them probably didn’t want to know me.  Harry was virtually the only real friend I’d had at work.

But here, in ‘the middle of nowhere’ as Harry had called it, I felt as though I’d known the publican all of my life instead of the few short hours.

 

Some hours later and after much argument, where Jack and I tried to talk Harry into staying (Jack said he knew someone who could fix anything including Harry’s bike), Harry remained unconvinced and resolute.  Jack, to round off the occasion (we were the first real guests from outside he had had in a week) provided another on-the-house ale and then saw us to the station.  “After all”, he had said, “I’ve nothing else to do at the moment.”

By that time the station was showing a little more life than it had before.  A station assistant, moving several parcels with a hand trolley, slowly ambled towards the end of the platform.

And whether it could be called a platform was a debatable point.  It was a gravel and grass affair that looked more like part of cutting through a hill than a station.

At the station, Jack portentously announced he was also the stationmaster and would be only too happy to take care of Harry’s requirements.  It would be, he added, “the first passenger ticket sold for several months.”  Certainly, the ticket he handed Harry bore witness to that.  It had yellowed with age.

One would have thought with the imminent arrival of the train there would be more people, but no.  The only event had been the station assistant’s stroll to the end of the platform and back.  Now both he and Jack had disappeared into the office and we were left alone on the platform.  Very little in the whole town stirred, nor had it the whole time we’d been there.

“Well,” I said to break the silence.  “I’m sorry to see you going through with it.  I thought I might have been able to talk you out of it…”  I shrugged, leaving the sentence unfinished.

“I’m sorry to be going too, but a body can take only so much bad luck, and God knows that’s all I’ve had.”

“Yes.”  I couldn’t think of much else to say.  “But it’s been good to have your company these last few months.”

“And you.  When do you think you’ll get back?”

“When I get sick of it I suppose.”

“Look us up then when you get back.”

“I will.”

Thankfully the appearance of the train in the distance broke off the conversation.  I had begun to think of what it was going to be like out on the road with no one to talk to but myself.  The thought was a little depressing and I tried not to let it show.

We said little else until the train pulled in, three flat cars, seven enclosed wagons, a passenger carriage and the guard’s van.  The train stopped with only part of the passenger carriage and the guard’s van at the station.

The guard took aboard the parcels the station assistant had left for him earlier, and then put those that were for Berrigum on the trolley.

I shook Harry’s hand and said I’d see him around.  Then he, the motorbike, and the guard were aboard and the train was off, disappearing slowly into the afternoon haze.

The station assistant then repeated his amble to the end of the platform to collect the hand trolley.

“Staying or moving on.”  Jack had come up behind me and gave me a bit of a start.

“Staying I guess, until tomorrow or maybe later.”

“I had heard one of the farm hands is leaving tomorrow heading back to Sydney.  There could be a vacancy.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I said.

“I could put in a word for you.”

“Thanks.”

Jack just grinned and we headed for the hotel.

 

© Charles Heath 2016-2019

Conversations with my cat – 83

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This is Chester.  He has reminded me that it’s Groundhog Day.

So I had to ask, where on earth did you get that from?

Everybody knows it’s Groundhog Day.  He sits there with this knowing look in his face, and it dawns on me, he’s been looking up stuff on the computer again.

I am going to have to remember to turn it off.

In Canada and America maybe, but we don’t have it here because we don’t have the cold and snow like they do.

We have cold because you light the fire.  I’m sure there’s been snow.

Now I know he’s finally losing it.

It’s 35 degrees Celcius outside, and even when it is cold it’s still 16 degrees Celcius, not Fahrenheit.

Look, get with the program here.  We need something to celebrate.

Why?  And a second later realizing I should not ask.

It’s been a bit dull, no mice, no treats, all bad news on the internet.  Oh and by the way, since cats only get cat flu, you want to be careful not to get that new coronavirus going around.

I shake my head.

Now I’m definitely turning off the computer at night.

Cat flu indeed!

 

 

 

In a word: Not

You will not go outside, you will not go to the movies.

The word not, when used by your parents when you are a child is the key in the lock keeping you from having fun.

It is the very definition of everything negative, and much harsher than just a plain no.

That you will ‘not…’ has been the gateway for many an exploit or adventure, because anything you have done contrary to the ‘not’ is all that much sweeter.

Until you get into trouble, but, then, isn’t that how you learn life’s lessons?

But if you are a programmer like me, not takes on a whole new meaning in a language like,

‘If not like …. then’

meaning in layman’s terms if something isn’t like a specific value then do something else.

Hang on, isn’t that a bit like reality?

This is not to be confused with the work Knot which is,

A blemish in a piece of wood

The speed of a ship, winds, and sometimes a plane

But basically,

Something you tie to keep your shoes on, or around your finger to remind you to tie your shoes before getting on the 36-knot high-speed ferry made of knotty wood.

It is also something you find in tangled hair and is very painful trying to remove it.

It is also an unpleasant tightness in body muscles and you need a masseuse to get rid of them.

“Second Thoughts”, a short story

Get me to the church on time.

It was a tune out of My Fair Lady, and it was in my head the moment I woke up that morning.  And this day was, to quote some immortal’s line, was supposed to be the happiest day of my life.

But, somehow, it didn’t feel like that and lying under the warm covers of my bed, perhaps for the last time at my parent’s home, the last place I thought I’d find myself, I began to consider how it was I had ended up in this situation.

It was not a question of who the bride was, we had been friends from an early age and used to joke about getting married, but at the age of six or seven, that was a concept rather than something we might act on in the future.

Except that was how it panned out, and, not for the reasons one might think would lead to such an eventuality.

Yes, we were close friends till the early teens, then my family went in one direction, New York, and her family went in another, San Francisco, and in each place both families built successful businesses.

Josephine, the intended bride, and I met off and on over the next fifteen years, some of that mutually when we were at university together, and, I might add, living together.  Even then, there had been no suggestion of permanency because we each had to go home to eventually work in the family business.

In those few years, it had been easy because there had been no expectations by either of us.  We simply came together, stayed together, and parted at the end both happy to have enjoyed the experience.

Then, several events changed the course of our lives.

My father died unexpectedly at a crucial point in the company’s expansion, and without his direction, it began to flounder.  Then, Josephine arrived in New York to open a branch of her family’s business, and just happened to arrive on the day of my father’s funeral.

I thought it a coincidence and was grateful for her support at a time when I needed it.

A month after that, one of the lead investors in the new expansion plan pulled out, as was his right because the loan had been contingent on my father overseeing the project.  It was the end of a very bad week, and instead of being the last to leave the office, I left early, called up an old friend, Rollo, who had followed us to New York, and we went to his favourite bar.

He suggested a night on the town was called for and I agreed with him.  I think by that time I’d had enough of the problems for a few days.  But with Rollo, I learned no invitation was without its twists and turns, so when he said his sister was bringing a friend, I had to act happy even if I didn’t feel like it.  Her friends could be a little strange.

Another coincidence, the friend was Josephine.  Hearing from her once maybe, but twice in the same week, I didn’t think so, so I let it pass.  Yet despite my reservations, in the end, I had to admit I was glad to see her because the last thing I wanted to do was entertain a quirky woman I didn’t know.

Long story short, Josephine’s family business came aboard as the replacement investor, but not without some rather stringent requirements, and though no one on either side would admit it, it was suggested that perhaps Josephine and I would make an excellent match.  After all, we were childhood friends, had lived together without the problems that sometimes came with it, and we would be working very closely together.

I proposed, she accepted, and everyone was happy.

Well, not everyone.

 

I was down in the dining room getting breakfast, before the wedding, when Rollo arrived.  It went without saying Rollo was going to be the best man.

Curiously, he was neither surprised nor shocked to learn of my proposal, but it was a surprise to learn, in a roundabout way, he wasn’t exactly happy for me.  It was not anything I could put my finger on, but more of a feeling I had.  And, to be honest, before I had proposed to her, I was sure that Rollo had feelings for her, and at times I thought how much more sense it would make if they were together.

I’d even asked him once or twice if he liked her, and he just said they were friends.

The other side of that equation was his sister, Adrienne, who was, I thought, charming, funny, and sometimes a little offbeat, which is why I was drawn to her.  Over time, I think I may have developed feelings for her, but by the time those feelings were rising to the surface, I was advised that a woman of Josephine’s standing was more my type.

My mother could be very annoying at times, and whilst she might be looking after her son’s best interests, she was also looking after the company’s interests as best she could.  I suspect Josephine’s parents were the same, hoping their daughter would marry advantageously.

Rollo, being on the outside, had summed it up perfectly, ‘if this had been the eighteenth century there’s no doubt you two would be the perfect match’.

“You look as happy as I feel,” I said when I saw him.

“It’s going to be a big day, church wedding, in Latin of all languages, then the society event of the year.  What’s not to be happy about?”

Put like that, I shrugged.  “A registry office, burger and chips at the local diner, then a few days in the Catskills would have sufficed.”

“And on what planet do you think you are right now?”

I didn’t answer.  I simply poured another cup of black coffee and sat down.  It was a large room, with seats for a dozen, and I was the only one up.  I had expected a room full of family members, of which at least twenty were upstairs right now recovering from last night’s festivities.

Rollo poured some tea into a cup and sat opposite.  “OK.  What’s wrong?  Wedding day jitters?”

Could he read my mind?

“It just doesn’t seem right.  I mean, it seems we have been on this track forever, but you know, there’s something missing.”

“Love?”

Exactly.  It was another of those thoughts I had just before I got out of bed.  I liked her, maybe I loved her once, when I didn’t really know what love was, but now?  I don’t know what it was I felt about her.  I had been expecting those mythical thunderbolts to strike, but as the days, weeks, and months wore on, it just didn’t happen.

It was almost if we were going through the motions.

“It feels like it’s going to be a marriage of convenience.”  There, I said it.

And I expected Rollo to start having a fit.  Instead, he concentrated on putting three spoonful’s of sugar into his tea and stirring.  And stirring.  And stirring.

“Say something,” I said.  “Anything.  Tell me I’m being stupid, tell me to get out of my funk and screw my courage to the sticking place, or whatever it is you say in times like this.”

“It’s not like you to drop a bomb like this at a time like this…”

I felt he had more to say, the good part where he’d call me an ass, and then tell me to get my shit together.  It wouldn’t be the first time.

“But…”

“But I rather get the impression this wedding might not be going ahead.”

“It has to.  God knows how many people have put themselves out to be here.  It was, my mother said, a logistical nightmare.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time this has happened.”

“You’re supposed to be arguing for the wedding, not against it.”

“I would if I knew your heart was in it.  But it isn’t, is it?  I think you’ve spent so much time trying to please everyone else, that you have forgotten about yourself.  I know you’re not happy.  I also happen to know that Jo isn’t either.”

“You’ve spoken to her?”

“Just before I got here.  Call her.  You two need to talk.  In the meantime, you’re going to have to repay a huge debt after I somehow manage to sort this mess out.  My car’s outside.  Leave now, and I’ll let you know when it’s safe to return.”

“Where will I go?”

He smiled.  “I’m sure you’ll know by the time you get in the car.”

It was reckless and would cause a lot of pain and anguish for my mother, but I considered how much more pain it would cause to Josephine if I didn’t call it off.

I made the call on the way upstairs to finish dressing.

“I’m assuming you’ve spoken to Rollo?”  She didn’t wait for me to speak.

“You feel the same way?”

“It started out with the best of intentions, but I can’t help thinking if we were right for each other we would have married after university.  We are best friends, Alan, and I don’t think it’s ever going to progress from there.  I know you feel that too, it’s just the pressure from our families has managed to mask our true feelings.”

“Do you have any idea what sort of storm is about to erupt?”

“Everyone will get over it.  There’s too much at stake on both sides for there to be any real or lasting consequences.  I guess Rollo is going to have his work cut out for him.  I’ll see you one the other side.”

She didn’t say what other side, but I suspect it meant when the dust had settled.

I literally ran downstairs, mainly because I heard movement and didn’t want to run into anyone, and out the door towards Rollo’s car.

Once again I had to admire the fact he had exquisite taste in cars, and the one he’d brought was no exception, a Lamborghini, yellow, fast, and he knew I wanted to drive it.

What I didn’t expect. His sister, Phoebe, sitting in the passenger seat.

 

© Charles Heath 2019

“Echoes From The Past”, buried, but not deep enough

On special, now only $0.99 for the next few weeks.

 

What happens when your past finally catches up with you?

Christmas is just around the corner, a time to be with family. For Will Mason, an orphan since he was fourteen, it is a time for reflection on what his life could have been, and what it could be.

Until a chance encounter brings back to life the reasons for his twenty years of self-imposed exile from a life only normal people could have. From that moment Will’s life slowly starts to unravel and it’s obvious to him it’s time to move on.

This time, however, there is more at stake.

Will has broken his number one rule, don’t get involved.

With his nemesis, Eddie Jamieson, suddenly within reach, and a blossoming relationship with an office colleague, Maria, about to change everything, Will has to make a choice. Quietly leave, or finally, make a stand.

But as Will soon discovers, when other people are involved there is going to be terrible consequences no matter what choice he makes.

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Searching for locations: The Paris Opera House, Paris, France

This was one of the more interesting experiences for the grandchildren as they were, as all young girls are, interested in ballet.

We thoroughly enjoyed our visit which included some time watching ballet practice.

I could not convince anyone to take the elevator back down to the ground floor as it was suspected we might be ‘attacked’ by the ‘phantom’.  Certainly, the elevator was very old and I think at the time it was being repaired.

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Part of the Grand Staircase in Palais Garnier Opera de Paris

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The ceiling above the main staircase.  The ceiling above the staircase was painted by Isidore Pils to depict The Triumph of Apollo, The Enchantment of Music Deploying its Charms, Minerva Fighting Brutality Watched by the Gods of Olympus, and The City of Paris Receiving the Plan of the New Opéra.

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The ceiling of Chagall at the Palais Garnier

On 23 September 1964, the new ceiling of the Opéra Garnier was inaugurated with great pomp.  It was painted by Marc Chagall at the request of André Malraux

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Amphitheatre and Orchestra Pit entrance

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Interior, and doorways to boxes

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Box seats in the auditorium

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Ornate ceilings and columns

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Seating inside the auditorium

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The day we were leaving Paris, was the first night of the Bolshoi Ballet.  My two granddaughters were greatly disappointed at missing out on the opportunity of a lifetime, to see the Bolshoi Ballet at the Paris Opera House.

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But we did get to see the principals practicing.