Daniel's Dream by Peter Michael Rosenberg Read Free Book Online

like a programmed automaton. It was only as he was stirring in the sugar that he became aware of his actions and, in that same moment, he was overwhelmed once more by the world-weary sadness that had dominated his life for half a year.
     
    It wasn’t the tea, of course; it was the knowledge that for six months most of his life had been played out in this way, going through the motions, barely aware of what was going on. It was as if he wasn’t really there at all, but just an observer, unable or perhaps unwilling to participate in his own life.
     
    A sliver of bright light from somewhere behind his head distracted him. He turned to see that the morning sun had risen from behind the trees and was now filtering through the windows of the living room, illuminating it with a bright, optimistic aura. Hope and optimism had been decidedly thin on the ground of late.
     
    Daniel grabbed his mug and the paper bag containing the new book, and walked through to the living room. He put the book and the mug on the coffee table then went across to the record racks beside the hi-fi. He ran his forefinger along the spines of the record covers, and selected ‘The Köln Concert’ by Keith Jarrett.
     
    Daniel was no reactionary, neither did he suffer from any especial technophobia, yet despite the onward march of progress that threatened to consign the vinyl record to the dustbin of history, he had yet to make the transition to compact disc, with all its supposed advantages of fidelity and convenience.
     
    Daniel had grown up with the vinyl record, and his teenage years had been dominated by the newest releases from the great rock bands of the seventies, Since his early teens Daniel had always possessed a stereo system of one kind or another, the earliest being a birthday gift from a well-to-do aunt. He had grown up understanding the importance of high-fidelity music reproduction. As soon as he had been able to afford it, he had started to customise his hi-fi, adding, exchanging, replacing, tweaking, all in order to obtain the maximum enjoyment from his treasured record collection.
     
    But it was the records themselves with their black sheen, colourful centre labels and extraordinary covers that Daniel coveted the most. If there was one thing above all others that put him off the current digital medium, it was the way the packaging had shrunk so dramatically that CD covers could simply not compete with the masterpieces of cheap art that had once graced the covers of LPs.
     
    And then there was the whole ritual that revolved around the actual playing of a record. There was something deeply satisfying about the procedure, something of the nature of a religious rite to it. Even now, years later, he still derived a strange pleasure from the process.
     
    Daniel eased the first of the two records out of its paper inner sleeve, removed all traces of electric charge from its surface with an anti-static gun, then placed it carefully on the deck and eased the stylus on to the revolving disc. He tumed on the amplifier, adjusted the volume and, satisfied that he had everything as he wanted, sat down on the sofa and allowed himself to be drawn swiftly into the melodious, extemporised piano playing. The opening refrain, as familiar to him as his own name or the sight of his face in the mirror, caused a deep, satisfying shiver of pleasure to pulse through him.
     
    He loved this music, perhaps more than any other. Like the best travel experience it meandered and shifted, never wholly certain, so it seemed, of which direction it was taking, but every now and then breaking through in a flourish of extravagance to produce the most moving and delightful of phrases, like the perfect views glimpsed from a moving train.
     
    Daniel listened to the music ebb and flow, uninterrupted for several minutes, until, calmed by its gentle rhythms, he found himself in a state of deep relaxation. He