When I Met Charlie - A Short Story Photograph

I thought it would be appropriate to demonstrate to you, dear reader, why the unfamiliar alleys and narrow streets of smoky London is a paragon of hidden treasures, a resuscitative remedy for any mind toiling in the doldrums of daily routine. On this particular day I decided I would navigate through London’s China Town, a part of the capital’s labyrinthine body that I am well versed in but, that is not the story that I wish to tell. Let me start from the beginning. I was about to step foot into China Town when quite suddenly, from behind, I heard a gentle voice, as light and delicate and soft as pillow feathers. It called out in my direction, ‘Madam?’ I paused and turned around. There was no one there. A few people were further down the street and I gauged that from that sort of distance it would be nearly impossible for them to have called out after me in whispers and still be heard. I shrugged my shoulders and continued to walk on. ‘I say, Madam, I am here’. Now I was truly mystified! I turned around and scoured my vicinity once again – and that is when I saw him!! Dressed in baggy trousers, an old-fashioned fitted coat, tie, large shoes, bowler hat and a flower in hand - there was no mistaking who this was!! The great jester of silent cinema, Charlie Chaplin!! I froze, not out of fear but utter confusion and, I shan’t lie, a slight twinge of excitement was twitching in my belly that was getting bigger by the second. ‘Yes, Madam! You! ’ Voice stolen by the bizarreness of it all, I nevertheless edged closer to the chap who was claiming to be Chaplin, the sad clown and sweet street tramp of silent cinema. ‘Ahem ahem, you can talk!?!’ Yep, the first words I vocalise to one of my greatest screen icons and it just happens to be one of sheer and profound disbelief! I quickly felt ashamed of my impropriety but I think he saw through it and smiled, toothbrush moustache rising and stretching out as if it were invested with a life of its own! ‘No time to explain Madam. You took your time but I knew you’d find me soon enough!’ Still trying to decide whether I had been cocooned in a dream, Chaplin’s words went into one ear and came out of the other. Without any conscious control I heard myself say, ‘What do you mean Mr Chaplin? What on earth is going on? Are you for real?!’ His smile grew wider but I could tell he was in an awful lot of hurry. ‘Madam, I wish I could explain but time is not on my side today. I… ‘, his gentle voice trailed off and he turned his gaze away from me. He was hesitating, searching for the words that he so dearly wanted to catch and place before me. ‘Mr Chaplin, take your time, there is no rush’, I reassured him. ‘No Madam. My time is short’. His eyes met mine and I could see that he was reaching out to me in earnest. Silence followed. ‘Mr Chaplin, what is it? You must tell me’. He came closer and closer. I would have slapped the face hard and sharp had it been any other man but, no, this was alright. I knew he would not hurt me. Mr Chaplin shifted his face a little to the side and then he whispered into my ear…. Oh, if only you could have seen my face – the face of someone for whom the world had disappeared, for whom the world had reappeared brighter, fuller, stronger. He stepped back and his eyes shone tenderly, a new light born in them and in his hand the flower jittered slightly. He did not move his lips but I could hear him beckoning me, ‘Say something, Madam’. My heart on the brink of melting into warm pumpkin soup, I swallowed hard and just as I was beginning to gather my reply – ‘Mr Chaplin, I too – ‘ a bell stroke the hour, a mechanical firework to mark the onslaught of time at which I was prompted to retrace my bearings. The people who were at the bottom of the street were now close to approaching me. I sighed and returned to my impromptu stage with Mr Chaplin except, he was gone. In front of me once again stood the frozen statue of the master comic, not the man that I had just moments ago shared a few words and eternal silences with. My heart sank with an interminable loss that I could not explain. ‘Mr Chaplin? Mr Chaplin?’ No response and a silence ensued that would forever send a gold rush of bittersweet thoughts to whenever I watched a silent movie. I stepped away reticently, spirit slumped and chest heavy. Could I even take any more pictures today after all this? I ripped myself away and walked on towards China Town but, not before turning around one last time. Chaplin was still poised in my direction and I was in his. ‘Mr Chaplin, I shall return to this spot in the future and when I do I shan’t let time come in our way. I will find a way. Wait for me…’ Dear readers, I swear, through the thickness of that oppressive bronze shell, my Chaplin’s toothbrush moustache rose a little higher…’ Photograph & Short Story: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | London Street Photography Series | London | UK 2014

Photography:Color on Other

Original:One-of-a-kind Artwork

Size:19.7 W x 35.4 H x 0.4 D in

Delivery Time:Typically 5-7 business days for domestic shipments, 10-14 business days for international shipments.