FACTION AND FICTION

In October 2003, I was in Siena attending a course on creative writing held by Canadian writers.
One of the exercises given to us, was to go to the Campo, the main piazza to observe life around us and then write a very small story on it.
Off I went and chose a restaurant and a table that had a good view over the piazza.
I ordered a simple pasta dish and thoroughly enjoyed it. Food for my stomach but not enough for thought! Then I took out my notepad and my pen, placing them on the table. I started observing. But nothing special was there. I waited and waited. People at the tables conversed lightly while enjoying their lunches. But not enough food for thought there either! Others were criss-crossing the piazza.

It seemed a hopeless exercise. Nothing to write about. I was waiting for some kind of inspiration. But nothing happened. Half an hour had gone. And then all of sudden, I started to see, and this is what I saw and what I wrote:

"The Jester on the Campo

Summer still lingers on in spotlights of sun.
In shadows fall waits. The clock in the bell
tower has only one hand. Exact time not
required?
A man you could easily ignore, if not for his
red beret, hobbles in from the cup of piazza’s
palm. He stops in front of Ristorante il Campo.
From under his jacket he pulls out a plastic
sprinkler and sprays water on hapless passers-by.
He brushes his teeth with a stick of tooth-brush
and grins. He takes out a comb fit for horse’s
tail and offers it to a bald man walking by.
He smiles lifting his eyebrows, mocking surprise.
No mock for the 17 clan flags of Siena. He
salutes them before walking away.
One day, the last hand in the clock will drop.
The Campo will rest in eternal time. The flags
will flutter. The jester will return, with a green
beret perhaps, with the same games but to a new
audience. He has a story to tell.
Will you listen?"