CHAPTER 2: Defining the Groove for the Adventure

The girl decided to bid farewell to Prince when the train reached the Potsdam Bahnhof.  She liked her new beastie friend, but she did not like his lectures as much.

When she was alighting from the train, she was distracted right away.

“The porous lacquer finish is to enhance the sonic qualities by allowing my timber body to breathe and to set free my true tonal character and powerful punch.”

Bass the Bass in Suit

“This way!” an electric bass guitar shouted on the arriving platform, “Schloß Sanssouci, the summer palace of Frederick the Great, King of Prussia!”

Prince took a big leap, grabbed the talking bass guitar by the fretless rosewood fingerboard, and attempted to run away from the girl.

The half-metal half-timber beast rested his body on Prince’s back to stop him from moving fast.  Prince could not get rid of him completely as he did not wish to use force on his old friend.

“Please carry me to the Schloß Sanssouci,” begged the beast, whose eyes were alight with a roguish twinkle, “The gardens are extensive with many temples and follies scattered across the territory.  I have sore strings.”  He then produced a plangent tone that resonated with the steel structure of the covered platform.

Prince knew his trick extremely well and stated firmly, “The ground is mostly flat, except that there is a grand staircase leading to the summer palace, but you’ll be fine.”

The girl chuckled.  “Hello?”

“Hi, I’m Bass.  Shall we talk as we walk through the park?”

Prince frowned.  He knew Bass was only trying to buy time, so that the girl could manage to catch up with them.  Bass was good at setting the tempo for all things, just like the musical instrument laying the harmonic foundation on which the rest of the band built.

Bass could groove for ages.  The girl was in love with walking bass lines.  She listened to his soaring grooves carefully, following the shifts of harmony, as if falling in a deep trance.  Travelling with a walking and talking electric bass guitar was crazily whimsical.

They exchanged their stories.  It was not difficult to guess the myth from which Bass took his breath of life.  It had to be the love story with jazz music.

The group soon arrived at the Schloß Charlottenhof.  The girl enjoyed the high oxygen level in the park and the sound of the breeze, which were absent in the concrete jungle she came from.

“That is the baroque Neues Palais that we just passed,” said Prince, as he studied the park map further, “and we are taking the serpentine footpath to the more intimate rococo Schloß Sanssouci.  The best thing about this royal palace of retreat is in its name that, ‘sans, souci.’ particularly written with a comma and a full stop in French, is translated as ‘without worries’ or ‘carefree’.”

The girl nodded.  She had to admit that she was wrong to judge by outward appearances.  She admired Prince’s leadership qualities and understood then why Bass declared that he would follow Prince wherever he decided to go.

Just like every first-time tourist, they explored the charming environs with a windmill, an orangery, a tea house, and many more follies, and finally the bright yellow fantasy palace was in view on top of the lush vineyard.

Before climbing up the palace staircase, Bass pulled the girl and Prince together for their first group photograph, in which Prince managed to force a smile.

Looking at the selfie image from the smartphone screen, the girl said to Bass, “I like your burgundy suit, posh and handsome, showing very well against the vineyard garden facade of the palace.”  She tried to butter her new beastie friend up, hoping a brief compliment might impress.

But any lavishly fulsome praise seemed not working for Bass.

“It’s the metallic midnight wine colour!” corrected Bass, “the porous lacquer finish is to enhance the sonic qualities by allowing my timber body to breathe and to set free my true tonal character and powerful punch.  It’s far more than just the good looks.”

The girl stood right in front of the engraved palace name, speechless.  The sandstone figures, as if their pronounced arm muscles were all supporting the cornices for the entire length of the building and the balustrade above them, were so brilliantly arranged to create the rhythm for the architecture.  The drapery and folds, and the grapes and vines, pressed against the sculpted torsos, collectively and playfully depicted a light-hearted holiday romance.

Prince wandered around, sniffed around, and used all his senses in his investigation, as if he were always searching desperately for some answers.

The girl was curious and asked, “Are you on a mission or something?”

Prince’s harsh triangle eyes, the camouflage of his sense and sensibility beneath his green fur, blinked with doubt.  The happily-ever-after fairy tales offered Prince a glimmer of hope in search for enchantment.  He believed an act of true love performing against a spectacular castle backdrop would transform him back to his original self, but he did not realise that he was indeed an original.

“When the curse is reversed, I will be beautiful again and the asymmetrical eyes will be history,” Prince swallowed hard, cleared his throat, and continued, “although I don’t know exactly how, just yet.”

“You are beautiful,” Bass assured him, “you are one of a kind, for beauty is not measured by perfect symmetry, but unique in its own right to our myth.”

Prince’s narcissistic preoccupation with the dark side of fairy tales always troubled Bass.  It was unusual for a beast-like creature to imagine that he could turn Prince Charming one day without identifying the sorcerer or the witch, who irresponsibly cast the spell and run away from the victim.

As long as there were undiscovered castles and royal gardens, Prince would not waste another minute before hopping on the train to go after them.  Unless he could see his true self as it was, he would be on his forever quest forever more.