Tag: composers

  • Composure

    “What’s it’s name?” Britten peered down, bending over with his hands on his knees. His black hair was wild. The garage was chilly but not too cold. Barber had moved his car out into the driveway and Britten had parked right behind him. A single bulb burned in a socket separate from the door opener. One of those twisty, low-energy things. It was enough to see by but not enough to chase all the shadows from the corners.

    “He says it’s Arvo. There was a long string of sounds before and after,” Barber said, “but we agreed Arvo was his name.”

    “Bizarre.”

    “Indeed.”

    Britten stood up and planted his hands on his hips, considered the alien held captive in the chair. He paced back and forth, never taking his eyes off Arvo. When he stopped, he crossed his left arm across his chest then stroked his chin with the fingers of his right hand.

    “I mean, he understands English.” (more…)