*~*~*~ �Always with me, tiny dancer in my hand You can't hear me When I say softly, slowly Hold me closer tiny dancer Piano man he makes his stand In the auditorium...� -Elton John and Bernie Taupin *~*~*~
When I say Softly, Slowly...Hold me closer Tiny Dancer...
�But, oh, how it feels so real.� Christian felt his tears sliding down his face as he convulsed, the doll in his hands crushed to his chest. His lungs heaved and the pain just wouldn�t go away, the bitter sweet memories flashing through his mind. Harold Zidler leant forward and put a hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort Christian.
�Satine...my Tiny Dancer...� Christian rocked, his floorboards creaking.
He remembered the way he had lay with her, watching her sleep. No- one near. She had smiled and looked so peaceful. She was tired alot. Always busy. But she always found time to dance.
�Christian, please. She...she wouldn�t want you to greive.� Zidler tried to stand Christian up, but Christian just curled up into a ball. He knew he would never see her again. It was over. Nothing mattered. Her pretty eyes, gone. How could he live? His life was worthless. Zidler rose and walked slowly and sadly to the door.
�I�ll come back soon.�
�Don�t.� Christian grated the word out. Loneliness was his consolation.
And even that was torture. As Zidler made his way out, Christian glared at his typewriter. The Underwood. He pulled himself upright and leant heavily on the desk. Around the Underwood lay bottles and glasses and cigarette stubs. The Underwood itself was grimy and tarnished. Tarnished. Like me. Chistian thought, laughing mirthlessly. Two of a kind. Me and my typewriter.
Christian�s shoulder�s shook as his laughing became angry sobbing.
He seized a bottle and flung it at the wall, one of the shards opening
a
cut in his cheek. The blood ran down his cheek and Christian stood,
staring sightlessly down at the windmill, that, while turning had meant
love and safety.
Now all it meant was loss and sadness.
* * *
Satine smiled at Christian across the room. She strode over towards him, humming their song. Her pirate smile captured Christian. He laughed and held out his hands. She was back! She�ll never leave now. But then, before his eyes, Satine crumpled and Christian watched in panic and helplessness as she wasted away in his hands. Just like before. But then, his hands began to glow. And beneath them, a piano. Then, Christian woke up. Just a dream.
His heart jolted and he stumbled to the window. He collapsed on the windowsil. The Moulin was still dead. So was Satine. So dead. But through his head, ran a song. A new song for him and Satine. About her. For the world. Christian frowned and stared at his hands.
�Tiny Dancer in my hand...� He whispered it, turning slowly to face his typewriter. Nest to it lay his doll that Marie had made. It was of Satine, in her sparkling Diamonds outfit. Sequins and feathers. The face was rouged and beautiful, with a small smile that was just the one she reserved for Christian.
�Always loved to dance, my little bird.� She had said, running a finger over the face of the doll.
Christian sat down at his typewriter and began to type the words that
came to his head. He typed faster and faster, ignoring Zidler when he
came to call.
He had a reason to live. And he would sing it for her.
* * *
You�ll marry a music man...
�ZIDLER! Open up!� Christian hammered on the door, ignoring the time. His eyes were feverish and he had not eaten in two days, but he had words. And now, he needed a tune.
�Christian? Are you alright?� Zidler frowned at him, confused and worried. The young man had done this once or twice before, trying to find Satine. He had refused to believe that she was gone. They had to bring her back somehow. The just had to. But this was different. �I can finally ensure that she�ll never leave me. I need to use the piano.
Please! Now!� Zidler stared for a second, then grabbed his coat and
keys. He stopped at the door and patted Christian�s arm. He caught
Christian�s gaze.
�Alright, son. Let�s go. Explain on the way.�
* * *
All through the summer Christian sat at the piano, requesting pictures of Satine, seeing few people. But everyone in Paris learnt of the young man writing the song for his dead beloved. Every day, Zidler took tours through the Moulin, which had been restored. This was it�s only source of income, as the ladies and the bohemians had left. The last room of the tours was always the auditorium, where Christian could be seen, toiling obsessively over the piano. He never left, sleeping little and eating less. He was wasting away, getting little sunlight and maintaining a constant fever.
But he was almost finished. Almost. One part just wouldn�t come. The
tune for the words,
�But oh, how it feels so real,
lying here with no one near
Only you, and you can�t hear me
When I say softly, slowly...�
It was the part Christian always avoided. Even when the other
musicians who wanted to play with him asked, he would not bring
himself to it. When Toulouse, the only bohemian to stay, had tried to
cajoule him into it, Christian had retreated into the song, playing one
part over and over. But slowly, he came out of the shell and the band
picked it up. And Zidler decided to get it performed. At the moulin.
* * *
The night began to draw near, one month away. Christian became a new man. More like he was when he first met Satine, smiling and laughing. But whenever he smiled, no one could fail to notice the twist of sadness before he pulled away. The angelic smile that became hopeless and lost. It left everyone feeling like they knew exactly how he felt through each of their losses. It got him a little nickname, one that everyone used to refer to him, and a few even called him it to his face.
The Sad Music Angel. The Angel.
Marie fitted him out a new tuxedo, black and red. And all was
prepared. The night came and Christian was calm. He made his way to
the small shrine he had made in her old dressing room. He often spoke
to the shrine, hoping that it would help him.
�Alright, love. This is for you. I�ll tell our story.�
* * *
Christian walked out onto the stage. The room was silent, and Zidler had not done his usual crowd pleasing chatting. This was a serious night. Christian carried a redwood cane with a rose on the end and wore a tophat. He bowed once to the crowd, before settling himself at the piano. This was it. The piano began it�s simple, sweet melody all alone, while the light�s dimmed and glitter began to sprinkle from the roof.
�Blue jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man...� Christian returned his eyes to the keyboard and changed the key.
�Ballerina, you must have seen her dancing in the sand And now she's in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand.� He stared up at the ceiling for the bit he knew. The crowd was entranced, his every move watched.
�Jesus freaks out in the street
Handing tickets out for God.�
Then Christian reached the part that never failed to make him smile.
�Turning back she just laughs
The boulevard is not that bad.
Piano man he makes his stand
In the auditorium.�
Christian hardened and Zidler watched with Marie on the sidelines at the man who had loved Satine.
�Looking on she sings the songs
The words she knows, the tune she hums.�
Again, Christian hardened, but he knew that it was better if he sung it. His voice rang out through the hall and they all felt the strength that it took to sing this.
�But oh how it feels so real
Lying here with no one near
Only you and you can't hear me
When I say softly, slowly...�
Christian smiled at Toulouse, sitting in the front row. Then he launched into the chorus of the song. Singing to Satine it his entirety.
�Hold me closer tiny dancer
Count the headlights on the highway
Lay me down in sheets of linen
you had a busy day today.�
The crowd leapt to their feet, cheering and applauding the young love. The song was brining out the best in people.
�Blue jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band
Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man.�
Here everyone smiled. The truth in the statement was there. A lot of the women were already tearing slightly, and the next line got the entire group bawling.
�Ballerina, you must have seen her dancing in the sand
And now she's in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand...�
The sound almost dropped out, but continued. A strong piano and then everyone joined in for a repeat.
�But oh how it feels so real
Lying here with no one near
Only you and you can't hear me
When I say softly, slowly...
Hold me closer tiny dancer
Count the headlights on the highway
Lay me down in sheets of linen
you had a busy day today.
Hold me closer tiny dancer
Count the headlights on the highway
Lay me down in sheets of linen
you had a busy day today.�
Christian dropped back until only the paino was playing. A spotlight illuminated him, and everyone could see the tears, but those who looked closely saw that he was better. Less strained. The song faded to nothing and the crowd leapt to it�s feet, almost as one, caught up in the bliss of music. Christian took a single bow, and then walked calmly offstage. As he reached Zidler he smiled faintly.
�I hope she liked it.�
�She would have loved it, son.�
* * *
The song went on, widely unknown by society outside of Paris, and it was passed down, with it�s story, to a boy, aged twelve, on a family trip to Paris in 1959.
When he heard the story, the boy was struck with a strange desire to spread it to the world. He knew, somehow, that he couldn�t yet spread it, but that the time would come when he would be able to keep Christian and Satine alive. When he, in 1970, under a different name, became one of the world�s most popular idols, he realised that he could now show the world the story and song. On his album, Madman Across The Water, the boy, now a man, produced this song. In 1971, the song became known across the world as one of Elton John�s most popular. One day, in a chance meeting, Elton John bumped into a young director, who insisted on being referred to as Baz.
The story was brought up after a round of Absinthe shots and Baz decided to direct it as a movie. But, due to copyright reasons kept the Tiny Dancer out of it. Instead, he used another of Elton�s famous songs, Your Song. And so, The story and the song have spread, connected.
FinishED!
