Prelude

11th October 2021

The Tokyo Tower. It was one of his favourite places in the world; a quiet yet watchful presence in the middle of the bustling capital of Japan, like a mother watching her children while they played. One could stand at the very top, like he did now, and see every corner of Tokyo.

Of course, from this height, he could not see the faces of the people that thronged the streets, and the lights from the pubs and cars were only tiny pinpricks. It looked as if the entire city was a glass mirror, reflecting the stars in the night sky. Looking down, he felt like one of patron gods of the ancient cities of Greece, though the one he was sworn to protect was not among the drunken merrymakers below him. He turned away from the edge of the tower and stooped to undo the catch of his cello case. Until the time came to awaken his master from her sleep, this cello would be his sole companion.

He extended the end pin of the cello, adjusting its height to fit his tall frame. Then, with his bandaged hand, he tightened the screw at the end of his bow to adjust the tension of horse hairs. Now he was ready. He positioned his left hand on the fingerboard, and with his right, pulled the bow across the bottom two strings, making them resonate with each other one octave apart: the starting chord for the Prelude of Bach's Cello Suite No. 5. The notes came to him easily, subconsciously. He had, after all, practiced this song for more than a century – almost two.

As he played, he allowed his thoughts to wander. It had been fifteen years since the most reckless and embarrassing deed in his entire 200 years of existence: confessing his love to his master, in a collapsing opera house that was about to disappear from the face of the earth. Since then, he had been too afraid to face her, reverting to stalking her, like he had first done when he found her in Okinawa. Besides, he reasoned, she deserved a normal life. His presence would only be a reminder of the painful past. Yes, so she cried when she thought he was gone, and he knew that, cursing himself for being the reason for those tears. But those tears would dry one day. And perhaps she will learn to live in a beautiful future – without him.

He reached the end of the Prelude, and moved smoothly into the Allemande, the second movement, as though he was merely turning a corner into the next street. His thoughts, likewise, now turned to Solomon Goldsmith, Diva's Chevalier who had claimed to love his master, and had died for that tragic love. But at least he had been bold of his love and unafraid to proclaim it. He envied Solomon. He himself was sure of his own love, but not so much about what he should do about it. While he was convinced that she was better off without him, his selfish heart longed to have her to himself. Such appalling, un-servant-like thoughts. He was disgusted by his own desires and dreams, even as he relished in them.

And yet, wasn't it his master who had said she wanted to travel the world with him at her side? As a Chevalier, his foremost instinct was always to grant his Queen's wishes. Did she still wish that, he wondered. He wished he had Solomon's wisdom and courage to choose the right thing to do.

He stopped his bow in mid-note, and moved his hand to wipe his eyes, glancing as he did so at the moon. The day had ended, and yet another had begun. It meant nothing to him, who lived within time, but was not bound by it. He packed his cello away and picked up the rose that lay at his feet. It was pink, just like those he had given her every day all those years ago, when she had not yet become his master, and he, her servant. Two centuries later, he found himself doing the same thing again, visiting the Miyagusuku family crypt every day, bearing a fresh rose for his Queen.

Shouldering his cello case, he stood up. It was time to go.