I met Death in a smoke-wreathed red-lit bar in New Orleans,as he offered to buy me a bourbon.
"Holy mother of heaven," I blasphemed succinctly,as some of the patrons snickered.
Death pulled his mask off to reveal handsome café-au-lit features and dark green eyes,and then extended a skeletal hand to me "You gave me a fright,"I admitted "my deepest apologies, mon cher,I am Death at our neighbourhood Mardi Gras and I am practising my role." He took my proffered hand and brought the back of it to his lips for a gallant kiss;he flicked me a rather unmistakeableb look under his dark lashes.I returned his look with one of my own,and he let my fingers slip slowly through his."You must call me Octave,mon cher."
"I am Passepartout,"I dipped my head slightly "an appellation,as well as a burden."
"Then I will choose another for you!" he decided,with a slanted grin."A special name for you andnme ,tonight.'Laurent;for you look a bit like a Laurent."
"Laurent...and Octave,"I agreed with a slow smile."They sound an intriguing pair."
"Being súr!" Octave told me he was a free person of colour now;I was aghast to realise still worked as a servant for the very same family!
"I have my life,don't I?" his eyes flushed with anger.I still wake up some mornings not sure if I am alive or dead."
"You are alive," I reassured him,reaching out for his shoulder. Octave wiped the anger from his expression with the ease of long practice ,and smiled a slow,duzzling smile."You look sad ,mon a fool I am,to confess these things to you,when I would rather see you smile." I smiled at him to dispel the last of the heaviness in the air."A smile!" He exclaimed,triumphant.
"It is a rapturous smile,full of secrets I wish to unravel."
"I have no secrets."
"Now that," he said,"is a lie,and a transparent one at that." Death,it seemed,was not easily ,the hour had grown late,and we had to walked me upriver,to the border of the Garden District where Monsieur Fogg had taken lodgings,amonget the American moon shone down on the Mississippi, and Octave leaned towards me and we kissed right there on the tasted of bourbon and dark nights and-I will say no more of it here.A man,even one such as I,must have his will be one of them.I think of him often,when I think of New Orleans.