I’m a writing maniac… here I go.
I’m at Sensi Paradise, and I’ve already seen the Brazilian girl, or the Israeli girl, or whatever she was. I’ve watched her boyfriend make love to her with his eyes, and I’ve (almost) captured the shot of the red leaf. I’ve finished my tuna focaccia, and cleaned the spinach off my face. I am sitting contentedly at the table, staring at the sea, when I hear…
“Fraira-jaka! Fraira-jaka! Here I am! Here I am! Can you hear the bells ring? Can you hear the bells ring? Ding dong ding! Ding dong ding!”
The little girl at the next table is tiny, she is tow-headed, and she is singing. I would know this song anywhere, even in Dutch, which is the language she’s singing in, I think. So the words aren’t the ones I remember, but the melody is. I remember singing that song when I was a little girl. I remember my mom taking my hands and clapping them to the beat, ding dong ding, back and forth.
She keeps singing, this two-and-a-half or three-year old, and I peek out at her, shy, not wanting to disrupt her singing. She keeps at it, chest puffed up and high, and I am laughing, and her parents are laughing, and we make eye contact and joy moistens everyone’s eyes.
Fraira-jaka! Fraira-jaka! Here I am, here I am! Can you hear the bells ring, can you hear the bells ring? Ding dong ding! Ding dong ding!