Six Sixes by Grace Andreacchi by Robert McEvily

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BY BY BY BY BY BY BY BY BY BY BY BY BY BY BY BY BY BY BY BY BY BY BY BY BY BY BY BY BY BY BY BY BY BY BY BY BY BY BY BY BY BY

GRACE GRACE GRACE GRACE GRACE GRACE GRACE GRACE GRACE GRACE GRACE GRACE GRACE GRACE GRACE GRACE GRACE GRACE GRACE GRACE GRACE GRACE GRACE GRACE GRACE GRACE GRACE GRACE GRACE GRACE GRACE GRACE GRACE GRACE GRACE GRACE GRACE GRACE GRACE GRACE GRACE GRACE

ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI ANDREACCHI

SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI SIX SIXES BY GRACE ANDREACCHI

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Contents

RUE ST. ANTOINE …… 5 THE BLIND LEADING THE BLIND …… 6 CURTAIN UP …… 7 LULU ON THE UNDERGROUND …… 8 SACRE CŒUR …… 10 SUMMER IN THE CITY …… 11

About the Author …… 12

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RUE ST. ANTOINE

I had been in Paris for about three weeks. I was in a copy shop on the rue St. Antoine where I’d gone to copy a picture I’d found in le Figaro of a hideous, elongated angel with the wings of a monarch butterfly. I had to wait a long time for a machine, I stood there, waiting, waiting… and suddenly there comes over me the old familiar feeling – of being watched. And I turn around, and there you are, sad ghost, watching me through the plate glass window. In your sunglasses. In the rain.

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THE BLIND LEADING THE BLIND

Two blind men, both with white canes, were making their way along the street. One stood behind the other, his hand on the first manâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s shoulder. The man in front tapped the pavement with his cane, sweeping it from side to side as if scything imaginary grass. The second man held his cane loosely, barely grazing the earth. Their progress appeared to me dangerously awry. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m unable to say whether they eventually went into the ditch or not.

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CURTAIN UP

It was the hour when the streetlights have just been turned on, and the fountain in the centre of the garden had sunk to its lowest ebb. A small boy was crouched over the quiet pool of water. Lit from below by the pale green underwater light, he appeared a fairy child at play in a magic forest. The spotlights set into the rim of the fountain glowed like so many enchanted water lilies. For a moment under that great, gathering sky and flanked by the tossing heads of the enormous oak trees, it was the perfect curtain up. But what the play?

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LULU ON THE UNDERGROUND

Two young girls of about fifteen or sixteen were walking just ahead of me, hot and sticky on the Underground, their arms around one another like lovers, and close behind them their pimp, a barely middle-aged man, tall, fat and gingery in a cloth cap and flash waistcoat walking beside them with an almost paternal regard. The girls were nearly naked, dressed in skimpy mini-dresses, their thin legs and arms bare. They both had the same long, wildly curling masses of unkempt hair, like a pair of pre-Raphaelite maidens, one girl little and blackhaired, the other taller and blonde, they were giggling and holding one another up as they stumbled along on very high heels. Their faces, not very clean, and had a sly, feral look to them. The three of them turned back into one of the tunnels, past the NO ENTRY sign, in search of God knows what. Their drunken laughter, so sixsentences.blogspot.com

young, so almost innocent, echoed in the tunnel behind them.

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SACRE CŒUR

One night in July, when it wasn’t too hot, I walked up the hill to the little park that’s tucked away behind Sacre Cœur and sat for an hour in the twilight, reading nonsense in le Monde, the odours of soot and lavender, and the sound of children’s voices, high and sweet. A very drunken young boy came up to me and asked if he might ask me “une question insolite.” Go ahead, says I. “Est-ce que tu aimes la vie?” he said. I stopped to reflect for just a little moment and said, “En effet, oui!” “Moi aussi,” he said, and we both smiled.

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SUMMER IN THE CITY

I’m a great connoisseur of city summers. Today was almost hot, certainly hot for London at over 80 F – with a thick, pearly mist that dimmed the top of the BT tower to dreamlike inconsistency, a mist heavy laden with flower scents and choked with exhaust gases. People become very strange in this sort of weather. Inhibitions seem to fall away, aggressions surface, strangers stare at one another menacingly, or shout things, or laugh inexplicably. In New York they’d probably open a fire hydrant and cool off but here they don’t seem to have any fire hydrants. Which makes me wonder – where do they get the water for putting out the fires?

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