Disclaimer: Left 4 Dead 2 belongs to Valve.
Setting: Ten years past the two previous chapters, five years past Apocalypse.
Nocturnes and Cigarettes
Preludes, additional chapters
Part ONE
A Chopin concerto was playing through the speakers attached to every upper corner of the lounge. Of course, Ellis had no idea if it was Chopin. Just like the country that was still recovering from the apocalypse, the music felt to him like a strange place. He looked around to check the bar's mostly black interior. The only sources of lighting were minimalistic white lights from the lamps and the greenish light from a large aquarium installed to the wall in his right-hand side. Some tables shared the greenish reflection, but the most affected was a grand piano in the far-off corner of the lounge. Seen from his angle, the lights seemed to interlace each other, even the reflections seemed as if they were about to trade places.
There were people in suits talking excitedly in suspended voice occupying sofas across the piano. All of them wore suits, yet they looked perfectly at ease as they leaned against the back of the sofa, leaned forward to take their glasses on the low glass table then leaned back. One of them crossed his legs. The fabric followed his leg as if it was made of rubber. Ellis frowned then looked at the handwritten invitation in his hand. The paper which was once neat and stiff, now resembled his old wool blazer and jeans. He had taken the blazer from his late father's mothball-smelling cupboard and the jeans was the only pair without holes.
A medium-sized fish swam across the aquarium, casting a passing shadow in the greenish light. One of the men in suits gave him tentative look. Ellis was unaware of it.
A thin Japanese woman in beige silk dress an left the reception desk to welcome him, as if she had just become aware that Ellis was actually a visitor. She wore frameless oval glasses, her long hair was tied in a loose bun. The long dress hung loosely on her petite body, ending several centimeters above the ankles. It was easy to know that she wore nothing else underneath. Her features retained sure signs a weariness, like a weathered clay statue. For that reason, the dark-red lipstick she had on looked like a highlighted line among rows of texts. In fact, it was the only make-up she had on. This must've been the type of woman Nick would've addressed as "ugly beauty", Ellis thought. There are women like that, Ellis. She would've passed for ugly but for some reasons, you think she's beautiful. Then it'll always be that way for you, although you'll never find out what you exactly like about her face. It seems that her face comes altogether at once, and it becomes impossible to imagine her not owning that face. He had hard times guessing her age.
"Welcome, Sir," she said.
Ellis swallowed. That was the first time someone addressed him as "Sir".
"Uh, I have an invitation."
She frowned then extended her hand. Ellis passed her the invitation. She took it then took some time to read it. As she read, the tapped a heel of her crème pumps. Her fragile ankle looked as if it was about to crack every time she made a tap.
A while later, she looked up at him with a smile, handed him back the invitation then walked him towards a sofa near the piano. "This is your reserved seat. Please feel free to order anything. My name is Marie, you may call me if you need anything."
The song moved to the Ballades, Sviatoslav Richter on piano. Ellis had no clue whether it was heavier or lighter than the previous music. Since it was solo piano he assumed that it was supposed to be a lighter piece. A waiter came to deliver him the menu book and an ashtray. Ellis thanked him than waited until he left before he extracted a pack of Marlboro regulars from his blazer pocket. When he had lit one, he put the carton back into his pocket then started leafing through the menu. Like the music, the names of cocktails confused him.
Ellis looked at the people in suits again then tried mimicking their easy attitude. He sank himself on the sofa, crossed his legs then tried smoking comfortably. Yet no matter how hard he tried, his shoulders were tense: again and again his gaze dashed back to his dirty nails and old working boots.
Nick showed up a while later, wearing a black suit. He walked towards the bar then ordered for himself a drink. Marie left her desk, seemingly telling him about Ellis's arrival. Nick nodded several times, took his cocktail glass then left for Ellis's table.
"You know, you could've taken anything from designer stores since the Apocalypse had cleared more than half of the population," he said with a smile then took a quick sip.
"Man, it doesn't feel right," Ellis said, taking a last smoke then stubbed the two-third smoked cigarette in the ashtray.
"Think of it as something outside the morals," Nick said sat down on a leather stool facing Ellis's wide sofa. He bottomed up his drink then extracted a pack of Benson & Hedges, took a cigarette, put one between his lips then lit it with a copper lighter. "Carpe diem, Ellis."
Ellis nodded, but he wasn't approving Nick's suggestion. The wool blazer felt comfortable enough for him and the boots had taken his feet's shapes and clung there like a second skin, he saw no need in taking unattended things from designer stores.
"Grey Goose?" Nick asked a while later, a bit surprised.
"Yeah, just something that caught my eyes from the menu," he said. "I don't know any of the cocktails, you see, and the explanations don't seem to make it any better."
"Pretty remarkable for something picked at random," Nick said. Smoke came out of his thin lips as he spoke. "It's purely distilled vodka that already tastes good that I'm completely against the idea of using it as base."
"Say whatever you like, Nick," Ellis said with a smile, his hands nervously searched the cigarette carton on the cushion. "Not that I'll understand." The carton had slipped to behind a cushion and he couldn't seem to retrieve it since he was only searching on his right.
Nick smiled then, as if reading Ellis's mind, extracted a cigarette then passed it to him.
"Thanks," Ellis said, taking the cigarette. He lit it using his plastic lighter.
"So, Ellis, what are you up to these days?"
It suddenly dawned on him that the way Nick said his name hadn't changed. Nick had become thinner and his face had the same kind of weariness like the Japanese woman at the reception table. Even the way he moved had changed, like gentlemen in sixties American movies. The only thing that hadn't changed was the way he said "Ellis".
"Working at my auto-shop," Ellis said, letting out a puff. "Past midnight, I rehearse with my band. We've just signed with an indie label some two months ago."
"Rock?"
"Kind of," he said. "We do covers of Jimi Hendrix and Bob Dylan."
"Your covers sound somewhere near Midnight Riders?" Nick asked with a frown.
"No, not at all," he said. "Midnight Riders would've passed for underground. We're not at all that hardcore." After a while: "The demo recording's in my car. You can have it if you want."
"That'll be great," Nick said, gradually easing his frown into a smile. He wasn't sure if he actually wanted to listen to it, though. He simply couldn't picture himself listening to rock: thirty seconds, and that was about all he could stand.
"Hey, Nick," Ellis said when the third Ballade ended. "Laugh at me all you want, but this kind of music makes me feel uneasy."
"Starters in classical experiences same kind of tension," Nick said, averted his gaze towards the aquarium then to Ellis again. "Because with classical, what you get is an intense, inward emotion, unlike that you get with rock: the raw type." He stubbed his cigarette butt into the ashtray, stood up then added: "I have to perform now. I'll get back to it later, since it will go on for hours…"
On stage, Marie placed a Chopin Nocturne book on the stand, then arranged the ones on a small table next to the piano. The detached scores she put on the side.
When Nick sat on the piano stool, the greenish light reached his face, giving strange accents. The music had been turned off. Nick took some time to remove his rings, put them on top of the piano, opened the book then ironed the fold using his hand before started playing.
Ellis looked back at the table and realized that Nick had purposely left a carton of Benson & Hedges for him. Carpe diem, Ellis, he thought, sinking back on the sofa.
For some reasons, the melancholy-sounding songs seemed natural enough to Ellis. It seemed to him that this type of music had always been there, even back then, personified in the way Nick moved, talked, and thought.
He lit another Benson & Hedges then returned to noticing Nick's fingers on the keys. They looked perfectly at ease, sometimes he could even look away and still got the notes right. Ellis, on the other hand, had no clue that a piano could be that complicated. Although he couldn't yet put into words, the movements of the hands, wrists, and fingers were fascinating for him. Nick had been married twice, divorced twice, and he could picture none of the women disappointed by those fingers. He shook off the thought then waved at Marie, who was, by chance, looking in his direction. She nodded and smiled, took off her glasses, put it next to the book on the counter before finally left for Ellis's table.
"Mind if I ask you to sit down?" Ellis asked.
"Pleasure's on me," Marie said. "Besides, it's past midnight already, there wouldn't be that many people coming." She looked back at the reception desk then added: "Can I first take my cigarette and tell someone to watch the desk for me?"
Ellis nodded. She walked back towards the desk to fetch her Gauloises and a lighter then waved at someone at the bar to take over. A man in his late fifties nodded then left for the desk. Marie took a seat on a leather stool facing Ellis's sofa.
"What is he playing now?" he asked after she sat down.
Marie extracted a cigarette then put it between her lips. Ellis was about to light her cigarette when she waved it off with a smile then lit it using her own silver lighter.
"Nocturne in E from Opus sixty-two. Chopin," she said after a puff.
"This one sounds sad. But then, everything he's playing sounds really sad for me," Ellis said, looking back at the stage. After some time, he asked: "Are all songs by that guy supposed to sound that sad?"
"You see, Chopin suffered from a disease his entire life, so every day became some kind of struggle against death. If one is placed in that position, I'm sure melancholy thoughts will be natural enough. In his case, he translated them into music. The nocturnes in particular," Marie said with a smile.
Ellis stubbed the butt of his cigarette then bent his neck left and right. None of them popped.
"So, nocturnes are supposed to be sad," Ellis said to himself. Then to Marie: "But most rock musicians are sad then come up with violent songs."
Marie took a smoke then replied: "There are hundreds of years in difference. I guess musicians' temperaments must've undergone some kind of change, too."
"Anyway, playing like that, he seems really at home," Ellis said after some time.
"Yes. Even back then he interpreted Chopin best, out of all composers," Marie said with a smile. Smoke floated out of her lips. "I saw his solo performance for the graduation. He played the first and fourth Ballades then came back with an encore because they couldn't stop cheering."
"You were in the same school with him?" Ellis asked.
"He was my senior."
"You must've known him for a long time," he said. "Mind to tell some story?"
"I went to see him to ask for a signature after the recital. It was then I knew that we're Americans, born in the same city, and both specialized in interpretations of Chopin. Talk of coincidences." She said with a smile then crossed her legs. She paused some time for another smoke then looked at the stage before continued: "We got married a few years later when I was twenty-five, only to separate after one and half years. Hard temperaments on both sides," She smiled then gazed at the high ceiling. The music entered a change in tempo. "We met again at one of CEDA Shelters after the Apocalypse. Honestly speaking, I've never guessed that any of us would make it alive, out of all people. He said he had a small classical bar and he asked me to help him manage it, since he never likes taking care of things other than playing music and choosing records to be played here."
She asked after a short pause: "You knew him during Apocalypse?"
"We and two other persons got left behind while trying to catch a whirlybird," Ellis said then took a smoke. "He was really cold back then, everybody thought that he was some kind of 'out there'—he eventually learned to believe us, though."
"You know, he's never the type who believes and makes friends with just everyone, leave alone keeping them. Once he wants to, though, he has his ways," Marie said. Ellis let out a puff then took a shorter smoke, during which he caught another glimpse of his oil-tainted nails. The taints looked naturally parched there, as if his nails had been that dirty since the day he was born.
"I guess he had no other choice back then," Ellis said. "Besides, zombies are impossible to talk to."
Ellis continued with the story of their conversations at the swamp.
Another song ended. Nick turned a page then launched right away into the next song.
"He never likes telling anyone about himself," Marie said assuredly, lit a new cigarette using an used one then stubbed the butt in the ashtray. "I bet you're the only one he'd told about the bar. He must've really liked you, even back then." She smiled when she finished speaking.
"I was always on the careless side," Ellis said, letting out a puff. "He always cleaned my mess, so probably I'm like a brother to him. I think it's easier to relate to someone when one's stronger and the other's pretty much hopeless," Ellis chuckled then added: "I'm speaking from experience."
"Nick never believes in 'family', he doesn't even know how it's supposed to look or feel like," Marie said. She cleared her throat before continued: "Besides, the way he looks at you explains everything. He doesn't even need to tell me."
The song reached its final chords.
"I don't get it," Ellis said some time after Nick started another nocturne.
"Nick's pretty much like a well-written novel," Marie said, letting out a long, leisurely puff. "You flip it this way and there's your fact. Next time you flip it the other way and there's another. None of them is wrong. His views are always wide."
"In human language?"
Marie chuckled.
"For him, if it's attraction, then it is: pure and simple. There's no straight, homosexual, or bisexual. An attraction's an attraction. He takes it the way he takes music: if a piece is badly interpreted, for him it'll be that way."
"Human language, still?"
Marie uncrossed her legs then straightened the fabric on her thigh.
"He bases meanings his own way."
"Sounds pretty stiff for me," Ellis said. The song repeated the refrain on octaves followed by scales. "I like this part," he told Marie. She waited until the part passed then replied:
"On the contrary, it's very flexible once you get to know it: meaning that he makes most definitions universal. It's a non-judgmental, non-categorical view. Alright so far?"
Ellis nodded. By now he had forgotten his cigarette.
"Non-judgmental, non-categorical view," he mimed.
The long column of ash formed at the tip of Ellis's forgotten cigarette fell on his jeans. He wiped it off then patted several times on the spot to get rid of the remaining ash.
"An attraction's an attraction," she said assuredly.
On the stage, Nick paused to stretch his arms and fingers, closed the book in front of him then took a new one from the table next to the piano. He put it on the stand, opened somewhere in the middle then took a deep breath before started playing.
The two songs from the book turned out to be ones to close to his performance. When the second song ended, Nick closed the lid of the piano, stood up from the stool then went to the bar for another drink. The customers clapped for some time, which surprised him because he had left for the bar without even a single attempt to make any contact with them. In the end, he turned to look at them then nodded with a smile.
Marie had returned to her desk before the last song ended to start the music when the performance ended. Before then she had replaced the ashtray and taken her used glass back to the counter. When Nick returned to Ellis's table, everything was just like what he had seen before performing, except for the carton of Benson & Hedges which was now half empty.
"The last two songs are by a different composer, right?" Ellis asked.
Nick extracted a cigarette from the carton on the table, put one between his lips then lit it using his copper lighter.
"Right. Bach," he said. The smoke that came out of his mouth curled mid-air, lingering there for a long time. "The first one's a prelude, the second one a bouree. Both from his second English Suite." A short while later, he asked: "Marie told you?"
Ellis nodded. "No. After some time of listening to Cho-pine I realized that the other two aren't his. I can't tell exactly why they sound different, though."
"Like you can't tell a prelude from a bouree," Nick said with a smile.
"You bet."
"They're of different periods," he took a long, leisurely then added: "Their musical textures are different, although the influences are clear."
Pretty much like the ages in rock, Ellis thought.
"The piano has the strangest sound I've ever heard," Ellis said after some time. "Sort of like a guitar after being left out cold for too long."
Nick turned to look at the unattended piano on stage. He always did it to make sure that it still shared his loneliness. Under the single spotlight and bathed in reflective lights from the aquarium, it looked somehow orphaned.
"Pleyels are supposed to sound like that," he said, turning to look at Ellis. "Besides, that one's an 1885."
Nick uncrossed his legs. Ellis watched the folds of the fabric as Nick did so. The suit was actually that flexible, after all. "Anyway, where are you going to sleep?"
"In my car," Ellis said assuredly.
"My apartment's a ten-minute drive from here," Nick said, stubbing the butt of his two-third smoked cigarette. "If you want to, you can come with me and leave your car here. I've got securities. I'll get the recording tomorrow."
"Say, you've got a piano at your place, too?"
"A 1920 Steinway," Nick said. "After the Apocalypse, most of the things are pretty much free, if you know what I mean." After a while, he added: "You weren't drawn into the performance."
"I figured that you actually didn't want to hear anyone clapping," Ellis said. "You played only to know that you've made it out alive after a long Apocalypse."
Ellis looked through the windows. The city looked like the eyes of someone on drug, the lights looked pretty much confused whether to stay lit or out. During these hours it wasn't strange that even L.A. had its own deserted spots, although Ellis wondered if it was actually the fact or that Apocalypse had cleared too much people who usually swarmed the city past midnight. It seemed that the time had come into a halt, if it wasn't for the light that passed their faces from time to time as the champagne Maserati advanced.
