18 - Mephisto, continued

       “David, my darling young Orpheus, how you charm us all!”
       He laughs, shaking his head, refusing to meet my admiring gaze. “No, no... my Greek is so poor! Little wonder I hardly passed my exams, I do hope I didn't embarrass you too badly – but I could not help but try to sing something. Such a lovely song! So bright and exuberant, so haunting in its pure simplicity.” He sings the first two lines, approximating the sounds of the Greek, though he bungles the words badly.
       When he sings, the sun appears from behind the deep clouds hanging over all my days. When he is silent, the music of his eyes and motions pacifies me. When he is away... it is as an eclipse, the sun that grants all light and life stolen away from the entire world. It takes all of my strength (which is not always enough!) to maintain my composure around the boy, for he holds my heart, and no lifeblood moves through my veins without some touch of his hand.
       A laughing faun darts up and grabs David's hand, yanking him into a line of dancers weaving through the crowd. Horrified by the abrupt interruption, I grab at David's other hand--- but I have been made weak in my raptures over him, and cannot seem to hold my ground, and we are both drawn into the wild dance.
       He is laughing, struggling helplessly to get his hand away from the faun's, clinging tightly to mine, that he might not lose me in the rapid spirals and turns of the line, which whips across the floor with surprising speed. The faun whoops in abandon, darting back and forth from one side to the other, whipping us helplessly after him. I hold David's hand so tightly in my own, half-frantic at the thought of losing him, particularly in this moment when I have been so greatly moved by him.
       The music shifts, and the aulos flares in volume, its eerie buzzing melodies reaching into the crowd as a wind among sharp rocks, the notes caught and tattered and torn by the quick turns and rough corners. The strings become rougher as well, the musicians strumming fast jagged swathes across the strings, and the tempo soon quickens. The dancers are running now, and it is all we can do to hold onto each other as the line whips us around in such fast turns. We are all breathless, but the feel of air flying past our faces is so exhilarating, our lungs burn with exertion and the rapid motion of the atmosphere around us. All the crowd is a blur, falling away in drunken waves, as we fly past them as birds flying low over the ocean, as a wind rushing over fields... David laughs, and then--- oh, my darling, you sing! You sing with words and you sing with no words, throwing strange melodies out into the air, a high descant, the notes chiming as bells in mountain air, falling as starlit raindrops, scattering the light as they fall and casting a thousand colors onto the world below... You sing as the stars sing, of that pure joy in sheer existence, in mere existence and all existence, for the very act of being, of sensation and expression which brings such fulfillment to your soul, that all your heart can bear to do is let it fly out in pure beautiful rapture.

       “Hoson zes, phainou... shine as the stars above, as the stars below, with the stars surrounding in the circle of the dance... the dance, with our hands, the dance that binds us with the stars your brothers, phainou... the stars above and all around... shine, as the stars, while you live...”

       And I have no words, I have eyes for nothing but you, it is all I can do to clasp your soft hand within mine, and not let it go... never will I let it go.
       But I am shaken from my dream of happiness, jarred back by another hand, which grabs at my free hand and tugs me just that littlest bit away from you. I whip my gaze around in a rage, and it is Claude, that pretentious painter-boy of Meres'. He laughs lightly, his feet flitting over the ground as he keeps time with the wild dance, and he says something to me but I cannot hear him, for the line moves near the musicians and all is lost in the ecstatic chaos of their sound. And David... oh, my David, still you sing, and I have ears only for you...
       “His Greek! Do make him stop, it is awful!”
       My heart ceases, my body stops in a dead halt, and Claude crashes into me, taken by surprise. David cries out as his hand slips from mine, pulled away in the inexorable dance, the faun still refusing to release him. My heart crashes at the sudden loss, but even this is hardly to be noticed, so fierce is my sudden rage. I yank my hand free of Claude's, and slap his face sharply, snarling.
       “You. It is not your place to say such things. You are too presumptuous.”
       He holds a hand to his reddening cheek, still stunned by the action, his eyes wide and bewildered. But he recovers himself quickly, and retorts back. “It was only true! It is too embarrassing, to hear him.”
       “You are in no place to make such judgments. Meres may have patience with your rude narcissism, but I have not.”
       Claude laughs derisively, straightening his jacket. “Meres has less patience for you than for me!”
       I pause at this, for it strikes me that it might well be true. Still! It does not matter. What matters is the crudeness of this boy's manner. “You will not speak so freely with us. You will show due respect, or you will cease to be admitted to such company.”
       He barks a laugh, his face twisted in a derisive sneer. “You so threaten me? Meres will not let you cast me out. Nor will Luce, or several of the others, I think. You have only Veri on your side, and he is not strong enough even to leave his house.”
       “You presume too much. You do not know all that you believe you know.”
       “What does it matter? I shall learn what I need to know, soon enough. I hardly care for your so mysterious past – what does it matter to me? I shall gain power and influence through these associations, and my work will be seen by so many more people, thanks to all of you. That is what matters.”
       And it is my turn to laugh derisively, though there is exhaustion rather than exultation in my tone, as I put a hand to my face, closing my eyes. “Oh, you dear young boy... how little you know of the world and its truths. You expect to be more than the amusement of a season? Go. Do not trouble me. You have caused me annoyance enough for an evening.”
       He starts to retort something, but stops. I open my eyes, and see Meres standing behind him, a firm hand on the boy's shoulder. Claude's face is flushed with passion, but he bites his tongue. Meres says nothing, but looks into my eyes for a long time, as I look back into his. The exchange would not translate to words. But Meres walks off with Claude, speaking softly to him, and I turn away from them, no longer caring.
       I step slowly, a little shakily, toward a marble pillar, which I lean against for support. I lift my eyes to the swirling crowd around me, and feel more tired than ever. My David... where have you gone? A dryad passes by, and offers me a drink from her tray. I lift two shining goblets, draining one absently and replacing it on her tray before she has had a chance even to step away. The second glass, I hold in reserve, as an archer retains his final arrow in case of extreme need. My eyes are lost in the ceaseless motion of those around me – my still frame, and the pillar which supports it, are the only constants in this ever-spinning world. The musicians move with the sounds their instruments send forth into the air, the dancers race about in endless circles, and those few who do not dance are caught up in still wilder motion, their bodies moving in tandem and in opposition. I alone do not move, my body frozen in weariness, muscles carved of ancient stone, as the cold marble beside me. My eyes slow, I drink slowly of the wine, my arm slowly dropping away with the glass empty in my hand, my fingers slowly uncurl and the goblet falls to the floor, the moment of its falling a weary eternity, before it clatters and rolls across the stone floor.
       A maenad stumbles into me, her eyes wild and lips frantic, her body made desperate by the heat of the room and the heat of the wine and the heat of her own blood. She moves over me, but I am motionless, I am as the cold marble pillar, for I see no thing in this world that would move me... David, my David, your memory will pass so soon from me... for I am as the stone, and will not change, and will not move, and your entire life will run so quickly from my sight...

       Cold fingers touch my cheek, and my eyes open again, tired, so tired...
       “Mephisto? Do, come with me. You are too weary for this room, I think.”
       “Veri? I did not think... you are here?”
       He laughs softly, and the sound is so heartbreakingly weary. “Such an absurd question. Let us move to a quieter room.” He offers me a hand, and though he often seems so weak, he seems in this moment to have far more strength than I, as he helps me to stand. The body of a young woman falls away from me as I rise, as do the hands of a young man, but their eyes are so dusky with the haze of too much wine, that I do not think they have seen me at all.
       We move carefully through the room, searching out the elusive paths between the many bodies still in motion... how can they do so still? I am so weary. But Veri leads me from the room, and down a short corridor, and into a large atrium, where no roof stands to block our view of the cold, distant stars. A haunting melody floats through the air... the hydraulis, I had nearly forgotten it. At the far end of the atrium, just beneath an arched doorway which captures and amplifies the sound, two young men are poised at a small organ. One kneels on the ground, his body moving in calm clockwork as he moves the arm of a water pump. The soft rhythmic snick of the pump's motion is a calm heartbeat, barely heard. The other man stands behind the intricately carved wooden podium, half-hidden behind reed-shaped tubes of bronze. Though I cannot see his hands, I hear the sounds produced by his fingers moving over the keys... a breathy, haunting sound, as a wind passing over empty bottles, as an ancient flute heard at a great distance. Each note has the slightest hesitation before it sounds, a gentle exhale, and the slight waver of water fluctuating against the air lends a tenuous delicacy to the tone. I am soothed by the very sound of the instrument, for though it is not exactly quiet, its tone lends calm and peace.
       Veri seats himself on a low stone bench, and I do the same, letting the cold stone soak into my skin. A few large urns, set on pedestals and overflowing with exotic flowers, somewhat obscure us from the entry we passed through. Veri rises again for a moment, catching sight of a servant passing a doorway, and waves him over. Low words, a dismissive wave, and a scarce moment later, there are cushions for the bench, a bottle of pale golden wine and two delicate glasses. Veri waves the servant away again, and pours us each a glass of the wine. “Do, drink. This will refresh, rather than befuddle you.”
       I take a slow sip, and find the light sparkling quality of the champagne to indeed be refreshing. I nod appreciatively, and smile faintly at Veri. “It seems you are playing a better host than I, this evening.”
       “Ah, but it has been so long since I played host... I could use the practice, my dear.”
       I sip calmly at the wine, letting it wash away the dull tensions within me, as the tiny bubbles mirror the ethereal sounds of the hydraulis, all gently burbling as a solitary forest stream. Veri is silent as well, sipping his wine and gazing idly at the marble arches surrounding the atrium. He lightly fingers the small white blossoms of a miniature tree in the nearest urn, smiling wryly to himself.
       “Citron. I can rarely be bothered to recall the names of plants, but Meres is always pointing this one out to me, for it means 'ill-natured beauty'. Apparently he believes I should thus feel an affinity toward it.”
       I smile weakly in return, my strength slowly returning, as though the soft notes in the air are breathing life back into my weary body. “There are times I suspect he invents such meanings on the instant. They are always far too apt.”
       Veri laughs at this – and there is some mirth to the sound, alongside the pain one always hears in his voice. “He plants his gardens according to such meanings, you know. He makes no arrangement purely for aesthetic reasons, but always considers the meaning and compounded meanings of the flowers he places together. So the strange coincidences are never really so, for he plans them all.”
       I cannot help but laugh. “So this is what we have come to! All the grand schemes of all the long centuries, kings and emperors, court intrigues and military coups, the plots which altered the very growth of mankind... and now we arrange flowers with the same subtle intrigue.”
       Veri laughs as well, but soon sobers, refilling his glass. “Ah, but I no longer have the strength for such grandiose plans, have you?”
       I need not answer – the state in which Veri found me not a quarter of an hour earlier grants him reply enough.
       “I suppose this is why Claude tires me so – he does nothing that we have not done a thousand times before, though typically with loftier goals in mind.”
       Claude. David! “Have you seen David? We were seperated in the crowd, and---”
       Veri lays a hand on my arm, and I realize I have jumped up in my momentary panic. I sit down again, forcing myself to calm.
       “David is in safety, do calm yourself. I saw him dozing peacefully, on a chair set among the musicians. How he can rest in all that noise, I do not know, but they will watch over him well enough.”
       My heart gradually slows itself, and I find myself almost embarrassed to have shown such passion before Veri. I sigh heavily, and pour another glass of champagne. “My mind is ill at ease this evening, I am afraid... But you spoke of Claude, and that is what called David to mind, for the painter gave such crude insults to me earlier. He believes – I know not how – that he could supplant me among our group, that Meres holds him in higher esteem than myself. The presumption of that boy! It is intolerable.”
       Veri raises an eyebrow at my outburst, then nods solemnly. “He has implied similar to me. He is not to be believed, of course. And yet...” He trails off, his eyes losing focus, and a deep cloud seems to settle over him. I feel as though a heavy weight has fallen over the both of us, each breath filling our lungs with some terrible mixture of sorrow, forlornness, yearning and exhaustion.
       “...and yet you fear he is right,” I murmur softly, curling my hand around Veri's. Our skin is so cold, colder than the stone beneath us.
       He sighs deeply, biting at his lip, his fingers curling and uncurling around the stem of his glass. He glances into my face for just a moment before looking away, but in that moment... I see fear in his eyes. Fear, and even panic, of the loneliness and abandonment that threatens him. Though I spend little time with Veri, for rarely do any of us wish to be near such clear reminder of the weaknesses that grow among us, I know how deeply he relies upon Meres. It could, I fear, even kill him, were Meres to ignore him for long.