Author's note: Hi! I'm back. Anyone missed me? As I thought, revision is arduous, and it's unlikely I'll be able to update again before May. But I don't want to drop the quality of the chapters, so it'll take a while. As for this chapter, I spent a ridiculously long time studying the history of gas lighting and the Greek dances, only to find out that at the time, there was no gas lamp yet and the Greek dances aren't exactly what I envisioned them to be. It was fun writing but skimming through YouTube was quite a horrid task. Anyhow, I got the feeling that the story has been getting dark and heavy lately, so I wanted to make this chapter lighter, bit more poetic too if possible. Tell me what you think, please?
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Chapter 5: As the touch of a feather
Time is something strange, perhaps the strangest of all things out there. It exists alongside all that is, to be with and within the world as it is known. For that reason, there can be no doubt that it is an objective entity. See, for example, the transition of a bright autumn afternoon, light as the flutter of a butterfly's wings, to the crisp winter day, when the sun hides behind heavy clouds and the wind sweeps through roads with billowing swipes, pulling the lone leaves remaining into a melancholic waltz. The sky was so blue before, the kind of blue that deepens when summer silently passes her throne of season, and there was something so very gentle about the sunlight, the way it showered all in a veil of white that suffused in a sense of longing that lasted for what seemed like an eternity. But because time moves as it does, there was no eternity there. Without anyone noticing, the leaves on the trees grew older as each day passed, until one day, when suddenly one opened his eyes and saw the green had changed into yellow, the colour bright and sweet as the taste of a ripe plum. And then, some grew brown, the others red, some embraced their last dance with the breeze with enthusiasm, while others lingered on the drying branches as if afraid to cut the last string attaching them to the flow of life. Then one day, the painting full of such vibrant colours disappeared, as time would have it. Gray slowly crept into what was blue before, and sunlight lost its colour altogether. Under the waning sun that could not pierce through the piling layers of clouds, the little town covered itself with a blanket of gray. There was something quiet invading the space, as if life itself knew when to dim its brilliance in the blanch of winter. Yet, within houses where candles and lamps were lit, a warmth greater than any before pervaded every part of the room in a golden glow more intense than the summer sun. Smoking cups of coffees, fond eyes, and a quiet afternoon spent gazing out of the window, laughing in silence at the gray out there, a stark contrast to the warmth and companionship one was never short of yet could never get enough of. It was strange, because time is inherently subjective, too. Laughing eyes, endless conversations on everything and nothing all at once, a bashful touch, a hold of the hand, someone's blushing as the bloom of a timid rose on snow white cheeks, it was as though time had never moved, because there was always something warm there, and in the white of the little café, everything stretched into an eternity that lasted exactly fifteen minutes every day. The baskets of flowers wilted, yet in their place there were evergreens, their passion for life reflected in one single lopsided smile over a scarlet scarf. The little town appeared as if it had gone to sleep, yet those who had their time preserved knew better than anyone that it was not so, because the warmth was still there, shared over the appreciative silence of a quiet afternoon and the laughs exchanged in pure mirth alike.
In the quiet mornings of the gray winter, Doctor Dégel Leblanc was officially offered a professor chair in the Department of Classics at the town university, to be commenced at the start of Lent. It was a small event, really, in the busy flow of people hurrying about their own business, yet for those involved, it was one of the most significant incidents. The Baron Leblanc had not wasted the opportunity to hold a formal re-introduction of his eldest son into the nobility by a banquet held at the family estate. The date intended was a week before Christmas Eve, but much, much earlier, his second son, M. Unity Leblanc, immediately after the news was announced, had arranged for his half-brother a private drinking party between the two siblings. Beneath the silver moon, they had sat in front of the window, facing each other and glasses in hand. It had been a pleasant sort of conversation, much too polite and impersonal in Dégel's opinion, yet familial all the same. He was deeply grateful for the fact that he had a brother who understood him, yet there was something missing that made the rendezvous just a tad empty. All the same, an immense sense of achievement filled his heart, which slowly grew into an urge to share. It was a strange thing for him, because before that he had never experienced such a sensation; even if he did, holding a quiet conversation with his brother before a roaring fire and over a few drinks would have sufficed. Yet right then, the only thing that came to his mind was a blue darker than the night sky and a smile so honest and warm it could have been the sun itself.
It was thus that on a windy afternoon, behind fogging glasses, Dégel Leblanc was looking at the man sitting across him, unable to decide what to do. There was a longing within him that urged him to tell the other man about the achievement, if only to see him smile and congratulate him, to have his approval, and, just perhaps, to see him glad on behalf of himself. Yet, the idea seemed an utterly foreign notion to him, for he could not answer for himself why the other man should be so. Never before had it occurred to him that trivialities personal to anyone should be a concern of another – it was not that he did not witness others actually doing it, but only that he could never bring himself to understand the sentiment, until it was he himself who could not but had to succumb to the craving for attention as a puppy its master's. More than that, he wanted to invite Kardia to his estate for the masquerade, even though he himself held no interest in the event. What he wanted was to see the other man coming for his sake, in his congratulations, and perhaps to show his family this brilliant man whom he had befriended. It was an irrationality that transcended all that he had ever felt before, for he knew well that the man could not mix in his society, nor will his family approve of someone coming from neither the nobility nor the clergy.
'You seem uneasy. May I know what is bothering you?'
The question startled him out of his doubts. Dégel looked up to see intent blue eyes on himself. There was a questioning look upon his countenance, but there was something else, too, in the downturn of the corners of his mouth and the way his brows drew together ever so slightly. He told himself it was only his own imagination, yet another part of him could not but had hope that it really was concern the other was directing towards him. The mere thought made his heart beat just that fraction faster, yet it was all he needed to release the iron control his will had on his instincts. Sometimes he had to question himself, that why and how the very simplest gesture by that one man could vanquish his will, forged from years of self-discipline and study, yet at that moment, it was the last thing the young man could bring to his mind, too lost was he in his own state of excitement.
'Well, yes. I only want to tell you that I have been offered a professor chair at the university.'
For a short moment, there was a blank, before Kardia's expression morphed into a perfect mask of triumph. A broad grin broke out upon his countenance as his eyes lit up brighter than Dégel had ever seen him; he looked as if it was he himself who had been awarded the place. With a playful click of his fingers and a laugh that resounded within the small space of the café, yet as free as the wings of a bird on a bright spring day: 'That's it! I knew it! Did you remember? On the first day we started talking, I had asked whether you were a professor. Now you are – look, you're going to be a professor now. Ah, what fabulous news; this calls for celebration, Dégel my friend.'
The genuine flood of joy from the other threatened to sweep Dégel away. Along with the intense passion and happiness within the depths of Kardia's eyes, every syllable, every little sound of his laugh only made the the elation within his own heart lift into something impossibly light, as if the whole of his being was surrounded by the sheer warmth that exuded from the other in his childlike delight. With such enthusiasm branded into himself in that moment, Dégel forgot why he was concerned in the first place.
'Indeed. My father has arranged a banquet at the family estate – the Leblanc estate. I was wondering whether you could come and join us.'
His words had an instant effect. Kardia stopped in his track as if struck by lightning. The smile vanished from his face in a split second, an immensely sad look in its place, before he forced a lopsided grin back. There was something very wrong about this latter smile, that he knew, because it was untrue. The look shook him to the core, reminding himself of what he had said in his slip of control. Yet before regret could even start eating at him, the other had already interrupted.
'Perhaps the next time, my dear Dégel, for that is not what I have in mind at the moment. I would not be surprised if you have never been to a proper celebration before. Come now, if you come here tomorrow at nine in the evening, I'll take you to the public house for a real celebration.'
There was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes at the end of the offer, yet the sadness was still there, lingering somewhere deep within. Kardia's answer was all too clear; it was not 'another time', as he had said, but 'never'. A shudder passed through Dégel's body. He could feel his facial features moving without his meaning to, perhaps to show some emotions he had never been acquainted with – perhaps disappointment, perhaps sorrow – he was unsure, but all the same, he turned his head away, unwilling to let another see his weakness. Yet, a hand placing itself upon his cheek had stopped him before he could look away, and Dégel could but direct his eyes towards the other man whose fingers were gliding against his skin in a non-existent caress. Any attempt at cheerfulness had vanished altogether. His smile was still there, yet it was sad and bitter at the same time, the way his brows drew together and the way his hair casted a shadow over his bright blue eyes.
'Come, do not make that face. You know yourself that what you proposed was a fleeting fancy that was not meant to last. I did not want to say it in order not to hurt your feelings, but someone like me cannot possibly mingle within your society. That you come and meet me like this, and that you would want to hold your celebration with me, should be enough, yes?'
His expression was tender as he said all that, as if Kardia was afraid to hurt him. The hand on his face fell away, even though the warmth stayed, seeping into his heart as from the look he received. Dégel focused his attention on the understanding the other man was giving him, choosing to run away from his own feeling of despondency for the moment, instead trying to reciprocate what the other could offer him, to appreciate him and his consideration, and in turn, to show his gratitude.
'Thank you, Kardia, for everything. I would very much like to hold this celebration with you tomorrow.'
It was thus that they agreed upon the rendezvous. For that night and the next day, Dégel was in a terrible state of excitement and agitation. He could not concentrate on what he was doing, and at times, his heart beat so hard that he fancied he was actually drunk despite not touching a drop of alcohol. After supper that day, he went out an hour before the agreed time. His feet hurried themselves along the well-memorised route. In his excited state, he could not recall having walked there at all. It was as if in the blink of an eye, he was already at the familiar corner, his familiar corner, only that it was not so familiar in the dark, under the flickering light of the lantern hung in front of the café. Shadows were thrown upon the walls he had always remembered to be pure white, and in the faded yellow artificial light, the scene was almost melancholic. Dégel's breath caught in his throat as he saw the outlines of a lone figure leaning against the lamp post, hands in pockets and wild hair pulled back in a low pony tail. The contours of the man's face were accentuated by the shades casted upon his features, and in the yellow light, there was something akin to a sick hue painted upon his normally lively countenance, his lips pale and his eyes darker than night itself. There was something inexplicably lonely and sorrowful about the man, the way his shoulders drooped and his back hunched even as most of his weight was still leaning against the lamp post, that Dégel could not but feel his eyes sting for the first time in a very long while.
'You are very early.'
At the sound of approaching footsteps, Kardia looked up with a crooked smile as he greeted Dégel.
'So says the even earlier one. What time did you come, pray tell?'
'Just a little before you.'
Brushing aside his uneasiness, Dégel came to the other's side. At a closer look, he appeared even more pallid than he first seemed. Under his tan skin, his face was drained of colour, and his lips were starting to turn blue. It was indeed a chilly night out, with the fog starting to draw up and the air humid, the cold seeping into one's bones despite the layers of clothing. Suddenly feeling bold, Dégel lifted his hand to touch the other's face, imitating what Kardia did to him not so long ago, on a crisp autumn morning, yet equally tenderly.
'You face feels like ice. Pray do not lie, Kardia. For how long have you been waiting?'
Something flashed through the other's eyes, before he straightened out of the shadow while laying a hand upon Dégel's own on his face, slowly drawing it towards his lips. His hand was burning hot against Dégel's own skin, a perfect contrast with the chilled feeling of his complexion. Trapped between the two extremities, the palm of his hand was kissed by a pair of chapped lips, cold yet scalding at the same time, sending tingles of electricity down his spine. An unreadable sensation passed through Kardia's blazing eyes, before Dégel's hand was released and his back was turned, any emotion hidden away in the shadows of the night.
'Come. Tonight you will learn the true meaning of 'celebration', my dear Dégel.'
Still feeling himself burning as the sun, Dégel followed the other man, half-wondering why he was suddenly so straightforward. There was a deeply troubled feeling about him, but try as he might, Dégel could not discern what it was. And so he followed Kardia, through the dark streets lit up in a pale yellow by the few lanterns hung in front of the houses, in the biting kiss of the winter gale. The public house they arrived at was brightly lit, the light penetrating through the frost on the windows to cast a golden hue upon the deserted street outside. Once the old creaking door was thrown open, noises streamed out in a flood – loud laughter, chatting, the sound of gypsy music, glasses clanking, someone's merrymaking; it was as if the whole world had boiled down into that rowdy public house. Dégel did not normally like commotions and crowds; he detested them, in fact; yet, at that moment, he could not but feel his spirit lift. Perhaps it was because of the glimpse of mischief he caught on Kardia's expression, or the laugh he was throwing his acquaintances there, Dégel was not sure, but he was glad to see some mirth back at last in the other man. Then suddenly, his hand was taken, and he was pulled inside to sit at the table nearest to the stage, where a round of flamenco was being performed in the staccato of guitar music, and Dégel forgot why he was worried in the first place. Heat invaded his personal space, followed by the hearty smell of food and alcohol; not the most pleasant smell in the world, but lively all the same. He saw Kardia roughly pulling some men to their table, and told them with an exuberant laugh that Dégel was to become a professor came next spring. The look of genuine amazement and adoration on their faces, their heart-felt laughs and congratulations, the lopsided grin Kardia flashed him, and the cheap beer shoved into his general direction – all of them suddenly made him feel warm inside, because they were different from the formal nod of approval of his father, and the polite conversation over light champagne with his brother Unity. In that moment, Dégel discovered that he, too, had a youthful soul, that which he could never imagine himself having, because he was laughing and accepting the boisterous slaps on the shoulder with grace, feeling more alive than ever. Though he kept refusing, the endless invitations to drink and the cheering from every which direction kept coming, until at some point, he could not remember which, Dégel acquiesced and starting drinking to the sound of loud and wild toasting. At first, he felt some apprehension at being surrounded and at the centre of attention, but then, as his hand was squeezed by a larger and by far warmer hand under the table, and his eyes caught in the proud gaze of blazing sapphire, his shoulders started relaxing, and Dégel found himself enjoying the attention. They were people he had never met, and perhaps his celebration was only an excuse for them to drink and have fun, yet it did not matter to him, because at that particular moment, he was actually feeling that he was only twenty four, and the boundaries all melted away in a non-existent wisp of smoke.
At some point, Kardia found a few of his compatriots, and Greek music started playing. They stood in a line on the stage, with Kardia at the end of the line to the right, linking himself with the next dancer with a handkerchief they both held. They started tapping their feet to the music, invoking a rhythm, before the line started to move as one, their footwork synchronised, and though the steps were basic, there was something impossibly agile about all of them, labour men who were accustomed to heavy work. Suddenly, the music beat faster, and Kardia started to leave the line, showing off skilful twists. As he jumped, the man turned so that his hand touched his feet, and landed immediately after, moving to the rhythm again. Then he started spinning, a triumphant grin on his features, and for a split second, he appeared to fly free of gravity in his mid-air spin, his bound hair flying and his countenance glowing with delight, before landing again, still holding onto the kerchief. Dégel found his breath caught in his throat as he gazed at the display of skill; for how long that was that the dance lasted, his eyes riveted themselves on the god-like man upon the stage, and not for the first time, he wondered if he was the only who could see the Greek gods in their glorious magnificence in that one man whose eyes were darker than night and whose smile brighter than sun. The music slowed, and after an eternity, the dance came to a close. In the wild cheering from the 'audience', Dégel stood up without being able to control himself, because a pair of impossibly blue eyes were directing themselves at him, and he was hopelessly lost in the smile that followed.
'You should not have exerted yourself, Kardia.'
As the dancers descended from the stage, Dégel welcomed the man back to his table with a smile, raising his tankard. Sweat was running down his face, but Kardia had never appeared more handsome, with his boyish grin and life radiating from him as a halo. He cocked his head, his eyes narrowed, yet the mischief never left his features.
'Oh, but you did like it, my dear Dégel. Such triviality cannot be called exertion – it was my congratulations to you.'
'You spoke as though you this is not a regularity for you.'
'Indeed not; I stopped doing the syrtos a long time ago, I'll have you know.'
Then it clicked, as the pieces of a puzzle fitting together. They clanked their tankards, but spoke not another word of the matter, for there were admiring eyes on the both of them as well as a fresh wave of conversations. Much later, Dégel could not recall any time when he had spoken as much or had that much to drink. Above all, he felt light and so very contented, because even as he lost himself to the flow, there was always a solid presence at his side, anchoring him to safety.
Much later into the night, when the light had waned and the crowd had parted, they stumbled out of the public house in a haze. Cold air hit his face, sobering him up after the rounds after rounds of cheap beer. Looking to his side, he saw the other man shuddering at the sudden cold, despite his squaring his shoulders and acting masculine.
'Come, then, I should walk you to the estate. The night streets are dangerous.'
'You are treating me as a damsel. I will be fine. You, on the other hand, are quite drunk. Will you not come back with me? I can have the servants arrange for a guest room.'
'Nonsense; I have been through worse.' Here his eyes softened as he gazed at Dégel, before shaking his head, 'I worry about you, Dégel. Even if you are no damsel, it cannot be helped, for I am not rational. Do not refuse me this offer, because then I shall be stalking you to the threshold of your door, whether you agree to it or not.'
Dégel could only sigh at the stubbornness of the the other man. Yet, somehow, the corners of his mouth pulled up into a discrete smile, one which he was not even certain he had. Silently, they walked the long way to his family's estate, an ocean of stars over their heads and the dance of the night gale their companion.
It took a long time for them to arrive, yet at last, to Dégel's dismay, they were already standing in front of the iron gate. They stood facing each other, not really knowing what to say. In the quiet of the early hours of morning, Dégel could feel himself being pulled into the starry depths of the other's eyes, because they were the only thing he needed to look at in order to see the stars twinkling within. There was something awkward between them, but right then Dégel could not care less, whether it was he who stepped closer or Kardia who raised a hand to gently touch his chilling face. It was soundless, but so very natural, almost irresistible, that they inched closer. Then it happened. Later on, when he would recall the moment, Dégel put it down to their being drunk and not in the best control of their desires, or only that the drinks had served to embolden the both of them, because after so long of dancing around in that nameless courtship, why should it be that particular night? He was certain that something happened that day, though he had no idea what, for Kardia was strange. More affectionate, perhaps. Before he closed his own eyes, Dégel fancied he saw sadness, and so much passion in the other's. The kiss was sweet, much more chaste than he imagined; they lingered for what seemed like an eternity, a pair of chapped lips upon another, softer and smooth as silk, uncertain and painfully bashful. The hand on his cheek shook, before they parted. Something passed between them, a look, a quiver of the skin, quiet moving lips; Dégel was uncertain what it was, but with great care, as if he was afraid to break the moment, he lifted his own hand to thread his fingers into the cascade of midnight coloured hair. Heat was trapped between their bodies despite the biting cold that surrounded them, and as they closed the distance again, Dégel thought he tasted cheap beer, and a lot of blood, but underlying it all, there was something so very hot that reminded him of the Greek summer, white washed walls and the green, green sea in the distance. Without knowing who it was that initiated, their tongues moved against each other in a sensual waltz, slowly, but heatedly, shyly on Dégel's part, and desperately on the other's. His hand in the other's hair tightened into a grip, while his whole body was pulled towards Kardia's by the waist, a strong arm around his back. For however long it was that it lasted, Dégel found himself falling more and more, until he could but melt against the other's flame.
'If this is but a dream conjured up by my alcohol-induced mind, I don't want to wake up come tomorrow.'
When they parted at last, Kardia had buried his head into Dégel's own sea of green hair. His other arm came around his body, tightening in a vice-like grip. They swayed on the spot as one, dancing to the tuneless harmony only they could hear, and it was that crisp autumn morning not so long ago all over again.
'It takes time, but I was afraid.' With difficulty, Dégel opened his mouth to reply, while busy inhaling lungfuls of the musky scent from the other's mane of hair, feeling a tingle travelling down his spine as his knees shook. He, too, found it hard to believe, yet did not dare to question, terrified it all might evaporate if he did then.
'As was I. But if I can hear that you were, then this must be the truth.'
Loosening his embrace, Kardia lifted his face to look at Dégel. The smirk was back upon his countenance again, playful and so very insolent, yet before Dégel had a chance to respond, his lips were again captured in a kiss, this time soft and drawn out as a dream of the flutter of the wings of a butterfly.
''Tis hard to let go.' The look he received afterwards was sad, and as the arms around him fell away, there was a look of utmost restraint in the other's eyes. Dégel let his own arm fall to his side, knowing it was time they parted ways, yet utterly unable to bring himself to break the moment. Cold air rushed up to envelop him in its icy embrace, and Dégel could already feel a void carving at his chest.
'Will you really not come in for the night?' Dégel knew the look he was sending Kardia's way was almost desperate, his words bold and much too suggestive for this liking, and that his face was almost burning despite the chill, but perhaps the alcohol was still running rampage in his system, for Dégel found himself unable to care. Something bright flashed up in the other's eyes, and Dégel imagined he saw a maelstrom of desire, before Kardia turned, hiding his expression with the fall of his hair. He took Dégel's hand, kissed it, and turned back before answering.
'I do not want you to regret it, Dégel. My control is slipping, and I will very likely embarrass you in front of your family, or worse. Perhaps another day, when I am sober, and you know what you are doing. The devil confound it; perhaps I am leading your life astray, after all…'
With that, Kardia left, never seeing the stunned look he left behind.
To be continued.
