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letra de "angel" (short story by peter daltrey) - kaleidoscope (english band)

they called her angel

she lived in south london in a street of nondescript victorian terraced houses in an area where every street looked the same. after dark dogs and gangs of rowdy youths roamed the streets. women hung from windows, smoking and shouting conversations to neighbours. cars sped up and down the narrow, treeless streets, their h-rns blaring, sometimes with youths balanced on the roofs in daredevil stunts. the insistent rumble of bass pounded out its native rhythms from open windows and doors. younger children played football with empty cans for hours on end. p-b-scent girls sat on the bonnets of rusty cars, fiddling with their short skirts and sucking on communal cigarettes

white dust and s-x were brought and sold, not in dark alleys, but out there on the street, both lucrative commodities. heaven and h-ll were administered through blunt needles and disease needed only the careless to flourish and survive. this was city life in the mid-eighties
(overture)

angel watched all this from her window. she was untouched by the influences around her, living in a world of her own. the wind blew colourful litter along the street

but inside the house was quiet. angel’s mother was down the club with her latest boyfriend, vincent mandelli. angel had never known her father. she hid a small, mono-chrome photograph of a young man with bushy black hair and a ready smile; the only proof that he had ever existed. angel’s brother, terry, told her that her father had been a ‘right b-st-rd’ , but angel refused to believe it, preferring the still image that starred from the tatty photograph. her father never changed: he never aged, never looked tired, never lost his temper — never stopped smiling at his daughter
two years earlier, in sad, silent protest at her father’s continued absence from her life, angel stopped eating and lost a stone in five weeks before her mother even noticed. by this time angel was seriously ill. a slow physical recovery still left her hungry for love and affection. when she was well enough to take it her mother beat her for causing her so much worry

but since mr. mandelli’s arrival, angel’s mother’s attentions had been distracted by him and the child was left to live her own life. because she was so quiet she was shunned by her peers at school. the harassed teachers did not have the time or the inclination to give her special attention and labeled her ‘difficult’ in school reports that went home but were never read. in the winter angel attended school only because it offered warmth and shelter from the elements. but in the summer she preferred to walk in the green oases of london’s parks. occasionally she would walk all the way up to town and spend hours beside the lake in regents park. she was attracted to water — it was clean and pure — and she loved the sound of running water. she had never seen the sea, but longed to experience the power of waves washing over her body. she would sit for hours staring at her own reflection in the broken mirror of the lake
(broken mirrors)

on one such outing she was propositioned by a man and she run away in panic, arriving home in a distressed and disheveled state. as she ran, stumbling, up the stairs her mother winked at mr.mandelli, “oh, dear me.” she chuckled archly, “look’s like she’s discovered boys at last.” mr.mandelli nodded gravely. “do her good,” he
commented wisely around a mouthful of gum. “bring her out of herself.” as angel lay exhausted on her bed she could hear them laughing downstairs. she covered her head with the pillow and screamed, releasing her fear and anger

when angel’s brother left home in search of work in the north, angel moved into his larger, bedroom. the walls were covered with photos and life-size posters of terry’s hero, elvis presley

angel pinned her father’s picture to the wall over the record-player. afraid to venture into the parks for fear of being accosted, angel spent each day in her room. her mother was working and so the girl had the house to herself. for weeks she did nothing but lie on her bed wearing only a nightdress, listening to terry’s collection of elvis records. in a state of near agoraphobia she would refuse to leave the room. her mother gave up
trying to coax her daughter downstairs at meal times and eventually left the food outside
the bolted door, returning later to remove the untouched plate. for six weeks angel lived with presley in the claustrophobic confines of that enclosed room – day and night
(angel’s song: “dear elvis presley . . .”)

one night angel’s mother was woken by her daughter’s screaming. she urged mr. mandelli to break down the door. they found angel, naked, contorted with pain, crouching in the corner of the room. to the accompaniment of ‘heartbreak hotel’ mandelli talked quietly to the child, eventually calming her and winning her confidence. he picked her up and, breathing garlic at her, told her everything would be all right. her mother suggested asprin and mandelli swore at her and ordered her to call an
ambulance. the record-player had stuck in a groove and presley wailed to an empty
room: ‘i bin so lonely — i bin so lonely – – i could die…’

a few days later angel’s mother was astonished to hear from the hospital’s psychiatrist of her daughter’s phantom pregnancy. she objected to the doctor’s accusations of parental neglect. angel was transferred to a convalescent home in putney. but she suffered a relapse and while under heavy sedation her confused s-xual fantasies caused her nightmare hallucinations
(nursey, nursey)

angel was seventeen when she was finally released from the home. with a doctor’s help she found a job in a small antique shop in barnes. she was now a beautiful young woman. her long hair was touched with gold, her skin unnaturally white. her eyes were those of a child, searching, but guarded. her rare smile gave light to her wary eyes and a moment’s colour to her flawless skin. still delicate, still unworldly, angel had developed
some strengths at the hospital. when the shop’s owner made persistent, unwanted advances, angel refused to run away from the situation, but stood and faced the man who withdrew for fear of reprisals. but his son, roger, an eager, acned youth with freckles and a squint, developed a crush on angel and was rewarded for his continuous compliments with an agreement to accompany him to the cinema

angel, dressed all in white as always, was spellbound by the film on the wide screen and sat in the back row in a kind of euphoria as the camera revealed every emotion in minute detail as the leading-man made love to the comely actress. roger was not so lucky and was forced to endure the film with a stinging red check after his fumbled embraces were repaid with a slap from the girl at his side
(small song – – heaven in the back row)
over the following weeks roger made further desperate attempts to seduce angel, but was rebuffed everytime. he was infatuated with the quiet, beautiful girl. on valentine’s day he sent her a rude card with one of his cliched romantic poems scrawled inside. angel thanked him then tore the card in pieces
(burning bright)

in the summer angel returned on her days off to the peaceful acres of london’s parkland. everywhere she went she attracted attention; she looked different – dressed in diaphanous white, carrying her shoes, walking with a graceful step through the cool shadows to the lake, the golden fleece of her hair blowing in the breeze, her cheeks only lightly flushed in the city heat

as she sat one day beside the lake someone spoke to her. “how are you, my daughter?” the man asked. angel turned, shielding her eyes from the sun. she saw an old man with a weary, lined face, his chin covered in white stubble. in spite of the heat he wore an ancient overcoat, its holes patched with newspaper. a row of rusty medals hung from ribbons on his chest. he wore one brown shoe and one black. “are you well now, child?” the man asked more urgently. he carried a tray of matches slung from a string around his neck. “i’m not drunk. if that’s what you think,” he assured the girl who had not moved

“then sit and talk awhile.” angel invited. during the afternoon a policeman come over and asked angel if the old man was bothering her. angel shook her head. “he’s telling me stories,” she replied. although recognizing this stranger’s feeble grasp on reality, she also saw the peace in his rheumy eyes and allowed him to talk. later he
tried to apologize for his rambling poetry. but angel simply smiled and touched lightly his hand
(the matchseller)

angel enjoyed her work in the busy antique shop. barnes still retains the character of a village with its tiny, red-brick cottages, its elderly trees and its scattering of curio shops. collectors of antiques scour the charming shops for rare items. angel liked the atmosphere in the small shop, surrounded by stately grandfather clocks and leather-topped desks, gilt-framed original oil paintings and stained-glass lampshades. in the winter a log fire crackled in the grate, but now, in the summer, the door was left open and angel sat in a robust chesterfield sofa that had seen better days and read gaunt’s, “the pre-raphaelite tragedy.”

angel noticed the distinguished man looking in through the window, but continued her reading. many people felt too intimidated to enter the shop with its dark treasures, preferring to stare through the glass at the displays of jewelry and gold watches. but this man entered the shop and, ignoring the polished mahogany and the edwardian china, came straight over to angel. he handed her a business card. angel read: carl philips, producer, tva films inc

“i’ve been watching you” the man said abruptly. angel instinctively withdrew deeper into the comforting cushions of the sofa. “don’t be alarmed,” philips begged. he told angel he had been searching for silver snuff boxes. angel replied that they had none in stock. “i don’t care.” phillips said quickly, startling the girl. he told her he wanted her to do a sereen test as soon as possible

angel laughed awkwardly, brushing her hair away from her fushed face. “why me?” she asked, fixing the man with her beautiful eyes. philips was unable to reply and simply shook his head

angel’s mother eagerly gave permission for the screen test, but vincent mandelli asked philips some pertinent questions about what the girl would be asked to do. philips assured them that it was respectable. “i have a film to make.” he told them. “your daughter is – is very beautiful. she has a very photogenic face. but more than that -much more..” mandelli was skeptical, but also agreed to the test

swept along by the enthusiasm of those around her, angel soon become excited by the prospect of becoming an actress — impossible as that seemed. in one whirlwind month angel was tested successfully, signed a contract for three films and moved into an apartment at the studio. letta, a pleasant woman of forty, was appointed as angel’s personal assistant. an older man, simon, was engaged as an acting coach – his job was not easy but he soon recognized angel’s determination to succeed

angel herself was surprised by the reserves of energy and drive on which she was able to draw to complete the months of grueling rehearsals. letta and simon soon became like substitute family for angel, offering her encouragement and support when moments of self-doubt threatened her new-found confidence. both became very
protective of the girl in their charge, recognizing her naiveté and innocence, characteristics not normally appreciated in their industry. they were aware of her vulnerability in this tough environment
“am i awake or dreaming?” angel asked one day
simon ran his hand through his thinning, white hair. “both.” he replied seriously. angel laughed out loud and kissed the man on his bearded cheek. simon embraced the girl for a moment. “back to the script! we’ve work to do.” he ordered brusquely to cover his sudden embarrassment

by the end of the year angel had completed her first film, ‘the coronation of the fledgling’, but was unhappy with her performance and was ready to return home. but simon urged her to persevere, convinced that she could become an accomplished actress. angel’s confidence was boosted by favourable reviews on the film’s release. she quickly went on to make her second film, ‘all hail to the hero’, an epic, like the first film, set in medieval england, with angel playing the part of the virgin princess
(the coronation of the fledgling) (all hail to the hero)

recognising the potential of their new star, the film company launched a massive publicity campaign with the release of each film and angel was soon front page news throughout the world and every fashionable magazine’s cover carried the image of the serene “white-faced lady as she had been dubbed. after a brief initial protest from letta and simon she toured the world and quickly became a cult figure. the films were
playing in every city coast to coast in america where she was driven in an open-top limousine through the canyons of new york for a ticker-tape welcome. reporters at a clamorous news conference asked if she were anorexic, who was she living with, was it true that she swam naked in the serpentine every morning when in london, what did she wear in bed. minders always prevented her from answering such questions

in berlin she was photographed painting a white broken heart on the wall. in italy she posed self-consciously beside the venus du milo. in sydney she was rushed naked to a waiting white rolls after fans discovered where she was dining and invaded the restaurant, successfully ripping her thin, white dress to shreds as precious mementos

the fashion houses of paris, rome and london saw the potential of this new wave of medievalism, this fascination with the past made popular by the two successful films and were soon redesigning their collections. but artistic licence produced a range of clothes that owed more to the victorian rather than the medieval era: the timeless, mysterious works of millais, holman-hunt and particularly rosetti and burne-jones, being the link between the two eras. it was a style of life a hundred years old. it was not uncommon to see a motorbike cruising through the streets of a city with the driver wearing a frock coat and a silk scarf and his girlfriend on the pillion looking like a cross between queen quinevere and jane morris in a wind-swept dress of green velvet. many young people took to wearing white make-up. a new gentleness, not seen since the self-indulgent sixties, now established itself. the media soon latched on to this phenomenon and were singing the praises of virginity and victorian morals, even going so far in some newspapers to suggest that young people might now get more enjoyment from attending church services than drinking and dancing a suggestion not taken up by the masses
angel was held up as a kind of new madonna, the virgin. her tollowers became so fanatical that riots broke out wherever she appeared. her screen persona become so confused with her real character that her fans thought of her as divine, untouchable – not that this stopped them trying to touch her. six people died in a stampede in a stadium in nice – and letta and simon called it a day. they refused to allow angel to make further
live appearances. simon was concerned for her safety, but also furious that, to date, angel had received very little money. payments for her personal appearances went to the studio. simon and letta hid angel away in the country

the media hunted high and low for the girl they felt they had made a star. piqued at what appeared to be her ungrateful attitude they turned on her with malicious eagerness. they had made her a cult figure, they had put her on that pedestal – they would now shake that pedestal until she fell from grace. in a concerted effort the newspapers set about undermining the image they had helped create. they had to prove she was not a virgin. they found it impossible to make the dirt stick to vincent mandelli, but found roger at the antique shop a willing partic-p-nt in their intrigue. with a little monetary encouragement roger was happy to embellish his sordid stories with some lurid details he sold his story exclusively to three separate papers. one hard-working reporter even managed to contact the matchseller. his hallucinatory recollections were front page scoops
– and angel’s fragile reputation was ruined

with no immediate plans for her third film, angel was advised by carl philips to leave the country to allow the furore to die down. with letta and simon she flew to paris and then drove over land to philip’s clift-top villa overlooking the atlantic near le roch-lle

away from the spotlight, angel took great pleasure in long walks alone along the
beach. she sat for hours watching the mighty atlantic waves crashing on the shore. she
watched the comical gulls circling overhead. but it was a melancholy existence. angel recognized a continuing emptiness in her life, in spite of the valiant efforts of letta and simon to make her feel genuinely loved. too much had happened too soon to this inexperienced girl. the false world that had been built around her over the previous chaotic year had been sn-tched away. she had been used. now she had to rethink her
life. simon suggested on several occasions that she move in with him at his house hidden deep in the beautiful wiltshire countryside. but letta advised her not to make any hasty decisions

against simon’s advice. angel went into the town of la roch-lle to buy some books she wanted. simon agreed only if she went in disguise. angel wandered the narrow streets of the attractive coastal town dressed in white, as always, but wearing a long, black cloak and headscarf. but she was recognized

she realized she was being followed and tried to lose the man in the crowded market place. in a panic she ran down a side street. but the man pursued her. angel stopped running. she turned and came face to face with a tall, determined-looking young man. his long, black hair was flying in the wind, a worn velvet ribbon securing & few wayward locks. his jaw was firm — but his eyes were placid and caring. he stared at angel without speaking, a questioning, awed look on his powdered face. he thrust a letter into angel’s trembling hand and then turned and ran, his long frock coat flying behind him like urgent wings

angel hurried home and locked herself in her room, assuring her concerned guardians that nothing was wrong. at nightfall she took a candle out onto the balcony and opened the letter. jon, the young man, wrote of his love for the white-faced lady but the letter became incoherent, allusive, details from angel’s films weaving in and out of jon’s own incoherent words. it was clear that like thousands, possibly millions, of other admirers, he was unable to distinguish between the legend and the reality of the girl he loved on
the wide screen
(white-faced lady)

christmas came and went at the villa with few celebrations; like many lonely people, angel found only a greater loneliness at such times. storms heralded the new year and for many days the occupants were almost besieged in the house by galeforce winds that threatened to topple the high pines of the surrounding wood. to while away the hours simon taught angel to dance and never seemed to tire of his task, happy to hold the girl close as they waltzed inexpertly round the sp-cious room. letta insisted that angel must
be tired, but simon refused to listen

during a spell of warmer weather angel spent the evening reading on the balcony of her room. she was suddenly startled by a shadowy figure clambering over the parapet. it was jon. he begged her not to scream and she reluctantly agreed to listen to his story. jon explained in a firm, quiet voice how he had been a student in london. he had fallen in love with angel and spent every day in the cinema, needing to be close to her. angel protested and threatened to call simon, but jon backed away and promised not to touch her. he realized, he explained, that his love had become an obsession, almost an illness. he knew the only way to cure this illness was to face the object of this craving and be absolved

“you sound like the cripples.” angel retorted. “they wanted me to touch them. it was terrifying.”

jon shook his head, brushing his hair from his dark eyes. “i am the beggar,” he explained

but angel had heard enough and insisted that he leave. without a word jon disappeared into the night. angel found herself trembling. she looked up, but found no answer in the crooked smile of the moon

the following day angel walked alone on the beach in the pale dawn. jon followed her. but now angel was not afraid, knowing inside that the time was right. they talked all morning. the waves thundered, showering the couple in a cool, silver rain. then they talked no more
(freefall)

letta and simon were shocked when angel returned to the villa after dark, accompanied by jon. angel refused to answer their questions, insisting that they sit down together to eat. the atmosphere was eased by the emptying of several bottles of wine. but simen soon realized what had happened on the beach and in a drunken rage he attacked jon. the two men threw a few wild punches, but were quickly separated by letta

now it was angel’s turn for drunken behavior and she turned up the radio and danced on the table top to one of those dreadful french pop songs – adding her own cynical lyrics
(standing)

but the mood of abandonment quickly evaporated. angel sat weeping, suddenly overcome with remorse

simon revealed the he had wanted angel to live with him not as a daughter but as a wife. “i’ve always loved you,” he declared. “surely you knew..” simon accused jon of raping angel. in one last angry demonstration he hurled a bottle of aphrodisiac at the young man and ran from the house
(diary song: the indian head)

two hours later the police arrived. simon’s car had crashed. the body was found in the blazing wreckage. they handed angel a letter taken from the body. scrawled across the singed envelope were the words; je pouvrais etre votre pere vraiment. mais vous connais pas moi. angel collapsed in jon’s arms

the following morning the letter was opened. it was from carl philips, demanding that angel return to britain to fulfill her contract. but angel was distraught over simon’s death and her own final loss of innocence and under heavy sedation was unable to make any decision concerning her future. letta took charge and decided to fly home with angel. she asked jon to stay behind to take care of the funeral arrangements. she promised angel would send for him when she was fully recovered. jon kissed the pale, glass-like check of the young girl and watched as they were driven away from the silent villa

after a brief recuperation angel returned to the studio, but it was painfully obvious that she was unwell. she arrived late on the set unable to remember her lines and her once flawless face now wore a ghostly mask. there was a haunted look in her tired eyes

with unfortunate timing a bitter letter arrived from jon, who felt that he had been abandoned
(song from jon)

letta urged angel to send for her lover, convinced that he could give the girl the affection she needed. but angel was overcome with guilt. “it was because of my foolish affair with jon that simon died,” angel cried. “i k!lled simon.“

production of the film was halted when angel was rushed to hospital after collapsing on the set. she was found to be suffering from acute anemia. she was also three months pregnant

carl philips offered to suspend production until after angel’s baby was born, but his star refused to continue under any circumstances. “i’ve been in bondage to fame for too long,” she complained. “i want my release.” her contract was torn up and she was told to repay her advance. it left her penniless

now angel wrote to jon, begging him to come to her. she felt his baby moving inside her. but jon had disappeared and angel never heard from him again

letta found them a small, one-room attic flat in paddington and the two women moved in. letta had very little money and angel was destitute, but refused to return home to her mother. they spent their days wandering the streets, sitting in dirty cafes amongst the faceless crowds
(long way down)

at night they lay together and talked of better times to come. thinking of names for the baby occupied them for many quiet hours. letta smuggled a puppy and a kitten up to the flat, hoping they would make angel more cheerful, more optimistic. but angel’s condition suddenly worsened and she was admitted to hospital. the doctors told letta the girl would have to remain in their care until the baby’s birth. letta decided to return to scotland to her sister’s remote hill farm to prepare for angel and her baby

“in a few months you’ll be walking with your baby in those hills,” letta told the frightened girl. “all this will be behind you.” she had arranged for a nurse to look after the puppy and kitten. letta left and angel was alone again

five days later angel’s baby was still-born

after a brief period of recovery angel moved into an empty room in the nurses home. no-one had heard from letta or knew where to contact her. angel decorated the room with newspaper and magazine pictures. she was unable to sleep and sat up all night reading by the light of a candle. she sometimes danced in front of the mirror
singing to herself, fighting back the nightmares. at other times she would sit on her bed staring at the two faces in her locket: one the smiling face of a man someone had once told her was her father, the other a photograph of jon, his earnest features made less severe as the picture faded to grey
(the locket)

the nurse was concerned about angel’s condition. her nightly consumption of sleeping tablets was alarming. she sent for terry. angel’s brother arrived drunk, having come down to london to see a football match. he was unable, or unwilling, to comprehend the seriousness of the situation. angel insisted he take the cat and dog and he left
(picture with conversation)

from her window angel saw the leaves falling from the trees and heard the distant crying from the hospital’s maternity wing. she thought she heard the sea a long way off, but it was only the wind lamenting the summer’s end. she watched the stars wheeling overhead, unsure if she were awake or dreaming

they found her dead. they thought she was sleeping, but she was cold and white and more beautiful than ever

they called her angel
(epitaph: angel)

- kaleidoscope english band

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