Kamthibi and Trish were in Williamsburg that memorable weekend of the Fall in October. They parked their red convertible car on the lovely Winery Grounds surrounded by acres of grape plants. Holding hands, they excitedly floated into the Italian festival grounds. There was plenty of wine, colorful art, crafts, drinks, bread, sausages, a thousand aromas from open Bar-B-Queue grills, loud voices, laughter, then the music under the huge tent.
The woman who had satiated Kamthibi’s life-long romantic dreams for the first time in fifty years was with him. It was a magical experience. When they finally sat under the huge tent to listen to the band, that’s when it happened.
The music, like an incendiary device, tagged at the chords of the romantic feelings that enveloped them. His soul yearned for the bygone mysterious distant past that is shrouded in a mist of desires and memories that make the heart ache with infinite sadness and joy. He realized then why people sometimes fall to their knees and choose to die for romantic love. There was an instrument in the band that continuously slashed open his deep romantic feelings and desires that could only be consummated in the aura of his lover’s sacred presence, laughter, and teary smiles. Trish helplessly wiped her eyes as he squeezed her.
The area in the tent around them glowed, as it was pregnant with the electricity of deep emotion. Men and women were drawn to them. The experience has been etched in the deep crevices of Kamthibi’s memory forever. Kamthibi wanted to see the Tarantella Band again. He couldn’t tell whether he would be disappointed when he saw them again. He was going to break a very important rule of life that he learnt many years ago: never try to recreate anything good that you experienced spontaneously once. The second time will never be the same.
The unpublished except from the manuscript of the Romance-Adventure novel: The Bridge by Mwizenge Tembo published in 2005.