The Blood of Kings

by John Michael Curlovich

  I smirked. “How do you think?”

  “Are you sorry you weren’t home?”

  “What kind of stupid question is that?”

  “Justin Hollis was a homosexual. Were you and he lovers?”

  “No. He was my best friend.”

  The reporter was suspicious. “You mean to say you were best friends with a homosexual?”

  “Yes, I mean to say that.”

  “And you were not lovers?”

  “We were friends. If we were lovers, I’d say so.”

  This seemed to confuse him.

  It went on for a few minutes more. I quite deliberately made myself into a bad interview, and they finally went away.

  There was a guest bedroom in Danilo’s house. He had made it over for me while I was unconscious. My favorite colors, a wonderful soft bed, even a spinet, for when I wanted to practice in privacy. On the keyboard was a music manuscript, from the look of it ancient. I picked it up carefully and examined it. Yellowed, slightly torn. Twenty-four preludes for piano. At the top of the first page was the composer’s autograph: F. Chopin.

  To actually hold it, handle it and own it, thrilled me so much I started shaking. I had the best lover in the world. And I went to tell him so.

  He was in his den, writing something. I looked over his shoulder and saw that it was in hieroglyphics. He looked up at me and ginned, a bit sheepishly.. “My memoirs.”

  “Like the emperor Claudius.”

  “He was most emphatically not one of us.” He shuffled a few pages and set them aside. “Too feeble-minded.”

  “Kings have idiot cousins, remember?”

  “Not him. He was the only one of the first twelve Caesars who didn’t understand the power they held. In themselves, I mean. Even Caligula, mad as he was, seemed to grasp the truth. When he announced to a startled empire that he was a god, he was only telling them the truth, more or less.”

  “You knew them? All of them?”

  He shrugged. “Rome was where the action was, back then. Rome and China. I moved back and forth a lot.”

  I held out the Chopin manuscript and kissed him. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. It is part of your birthright, after all. Or should I say your re-birthright. It only made sense to give it to you.”

  “The Caesars themselves could have known no better lover, Danilo. Not in Athens or Byzantium or Babylon can there have been such a wonderful man.”

  “Yes, there was, Jamie.” He laughed with unusual heartiness. “And I was that man.”

  * * *

  Bubastis and I adjusted to our new home quickly and happily. But I was haunted by the image of Justin, his throat gaping, his blood covering everything in sight. There were nightmares. I pictured him reaching out to me, begging me for life. Danilo held me in the night, till I calmed down again.

  In odd moments I played. My fingers felt strange. Weak. But they responded. I thought I’d get back the full use of them. Danilo assured me I would. “You’ll play like a god.”

  I was never quite comfortable with the talk of us having that mystical blood, of us being the sons of divine kings and so on. It felt, I don’t know, presumptuous or something. There never seemed a polite way of telling him so, but I did now.

  “You were dead, Jamie, now you’re alive. What more proof could you need?”

  “If we men with ‘the blood’ are so special, how do you account for Greg?”

  “You’ve said it yourself. All kings have mentally defective blood relatives. Psychotics, morons. Read a good history of any dynasty you like.”

  “I don’t feel very royal. I just feel wasted.”

  “You haven’t begun to exercise your power yet. You don’t have your wings. Wait.”

  Waiting was all I could do. The nocturnes had never felt so right to me.

  * * *

  Justin’s funeral was at a Catholic church in Zelienople on a dark, cloudy, windy day. Danilo went with me. There was quite a crowd of people. His diving coach and most of the team. Representatives of the administration and a party of faculty members. Roland was among them. Justin’s parents were there of course; it was the first time I had met them.

  We arrived a bit late; the requiem Mass was just beginning when we got there. There was a choir, singing sad hymns. There were candles and flowers everywhere. Jus had been a bit of a hometown hero.

  Afterward, we went to the cemetery. It was high autumn, and the ground was thick with dead leaves. Now and then the wind brought a slight spray of rain, but it never really developed into a steady shower. The campus chaplain said prayers over the grave. When everyone else joined him, I stayed silent. Jus had never been religious in the time I knew him.

  His mother was a grey-haired woman in middle age. She wore a black suit and veil and looked like a stern nun. Her husband was a bit shorter than her, quite trim and even a bit handsome. I forced myself not to think that. Older men. It wouldn’t do well for that to develop into a habit. I remembered Jus telling me once that his father had been a diver too.

  After the service Danilo joined several other faculty members and started chatting. Mrs. Hollis, a seeing me alone, came over to me. “You are Jamie Dunn?”

  I told her yes.

  “Justin liked you.”

  “I liked him, ma’am. He was the best friend I’ve ever had.” Quite against my will I felt tears welling up. I fought them back.

  “You weren’t praying, Jamie. Why not? Don’t you think you could have prayed for him? Justin liked you.”

  It caught me completely by surprise. Why had she been watching me instead of the funeral rites? “I pray my own way, Mrs. Hollis. And to my own god.”

  “You should have prayed with the rest of us. And why are you telling people he was a homosexual?”

  I was even more off balance. I couldn’t think of a thing to say.

  “He was a good boy. He was not a deviant.”

  Jus had told the police about himself and Greg. I never would have. At least I didn’t think I would. And I was grateful I had never had to make the decision.

  Her husband joined us. He smiled and shook my hand. “Jamie. Thank you for coming.”

  But she was not to be distracted from what she’d been saying. “Justin was a Christian, a Catholic. He was not a sex pervert.”

  I was completely out of my depth. I thought I remembered him telling me once his parents knew about him and Grant. And I was still weak from what I had been through; I felt myself becoming light-headed.

  Roland stepped out of another knot of faculty people. He had been watching all this from a few feet away. It was the first time I had seen him since the killings. He crossed quickly to us, put a hand on my back and interrupted her. “Jamie, it’s so good to see you. Are you all right?”

  I nodded and smiled at him, and mouthed the word “thanks,” then introduced them.

  Mrs. Hollis glared at him. “You are a friend of this… this…”

  “This fine young man. Yes, Mrs. Hollis. I’m Jamie’s teacher, advisor and friend.”

  It felt good to hear him say it.

  “Then why are you permitting this kind of indecent talk?”

  Roland smiled, ignored her and turned to me. “Greg’s still at large. Are the police protecting you?”

  They weren’t. Their best guess was that Greg had left the area. What they based that on, I had no idea.

  “They should be. Let me see your hands.”

  I held them out. He took them in his and carefully worked them, to feel how they had healed. “I thought you’d stop by the department when the casts came off.”

  “It was the day Greg escaped. I—since the murders I’ve been—”

  “No need to explain. Have you played at all?”

  “A bit.”

  “You’ll have to let me hear.”

  “Sure. I’m living at Danilo’s for now.” I told him the address. “Stop by any time.”

  Mrs. Hollis, obviously unhappy at being ignored, stepped away fro
m us. She walked to the open grave and began to cry. “My boy. My baby.”

  Her husband followed her and put an arm around her.

  Danilo joined Roland and me. “The mother,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  He and Roland somewhat knew each other. They shook hands, and I told Danilo I had invited Roland to come to the house to hear me play. That afternoon was Mrs. Kolarik’s funeral. I had to go. We arranged for Roland to come by that evening.

  * * *

  I took him to the parlor and sat down at the grand. Danilo left us to ourselves. The c minor nocturne, sad and lyrical, had always been my favorite. I played.

  Roland listened without comment. I could tell he was pleased. When I finished, I didn’t give him the chance to say anything. I launched into the finale of the second sonata. Furiously I played. And fumbled. Shamefaced, I couldn’t look at him. “I’ll never get it, now.”

  “You played beautifully. Nearly as well as before. And with even more feeling. With some good physical therapy…” He put an arm around me. “You’re good. You’ll be better. There can’t be many players who’d do that well after having their hands smashed. Anyway, I wanted to let you know, there’s absolutely no problem with you taking the rest of the semester off. And as much more as you might need. I’ve got administration approval.”

  “Thanks. I feel… I think it’s been worse on me emotionally than physically.”

  “Do you need me to arrange for some counseling?”

  “No, thanks. I’m seeing someone privately.” It was a convenient lie.

  Danilo joined us and offered us some wine. Roland refused. He seemed to stiffen a bit when Danilo came into the room. But he smiled cordially. “Jamie’s been telling me how well you’ve taken care of him.”

  “Anyone would.”

  “Hardly. I never see you at faculty meetings.”

  Danilo shrugged. “I always seem to have a class when they’re scheduled.”

  “Good planning.” Roland laughed. “I’ll have to remember that for next semester.”

  I was happy the tension between them seemed to be easing. Roland had never quite approved of my relationship with Danilo. They chatted for a few moments, mostly faculty gossip. Danilo seemed bored with it, but he listened politely; he knew how important Roland was to me. After a few minutes he left us alone again.

  I played a bit more, one of the Dvorak humoresques. But I was overdoing it. The joints in my fingers began to feel sore. “I guess I’ll have to ease back into this.”

  “Don’t overdo it, Jamie. Play what you can, when you can.”

  Bubastis came in. She had never seen Roland before, and she sniffed his cuffs and shoes curiously. I picked her up and nuzzled her. “I thought I had lost her. She ran away when Greg… the night he…”

  Roland shifted uneasily.

  “Danilo found her and brought her here.”

  “Danilo’s quite something.”

  I laughed. “I needle him all the time.”

  “That’s all right. We older men have to be kept on our toes. Have you ever met Geoff?” Geoff was his boyfriend.

  I told him I hadn’t.

  “He’s ten years younger than me.”

  “So that would make him, what, 70?”

  He laughed and poked me in the ribs playfully. “If you’re back to being a smartass bitch again, I know you’ll be all right.”

  My fingers were aching. I rubbed them.

  “We’ll arrange for that physical therapist and get you playing again. You come and see me. As soon as you feel up to it, you hear? I promise, you’ll be better than you were before.”

  I promised him I would. I wanted to believe it.

  “The department will support you any way we can. You have my word on it.”

  “You can speak for the department?”

  He nodded smugly. “I haven’t told anyone but Geoff, but… I’m to be chairman starting next term. Baxter’s retiring, and my colleagues elected me.”

  “Roland, that’s great!”

  “We’ve discussed you. What you’ve been through, I mean. And the entire music faculty’s behind you. Anything you need, anything the school can do for you to help you get over this… you only have to ask.”

  It was wonderful news. Not quite wonderful enough to offset the sadness of seeing Justin and Mrs. Kolarik buried, but it helped.

  After he left, I tried the finale of the sonata again. And muffed it again. There was power in my fingers. I could feel it. But how could I ever master it?

  * * *

  Next afternoon I went to the museum. I was still weak and had to rest a lot, but I managed to make it and sat down in Danilo’s office. He was teaching; he should be back in a few minutes.

  A moment later Peter Borzage stuck his head in. “Jamie. Are you all right? I mean, should you be here? I heard you were taking the semester off.”

  “I’m still weak, Peter, but I’m on solid food.”

  “You were on a liquid diet?”

  “Joke. How are you, Peter?”

  “Never mind me. How are you? When I heard about your roommate and your landlady… I was afraid something might have happened to you, too.”

  “I’m okay. Shaken but okay. It was pure luck, but thanks.”

  “I’m glad.” He smiled at me in a more than friendly way. What would his frat brothers think?

  “I was looking for Danilo.”

  I looked around, then picked up the desk blotter and peered under it. “I don’t think he’s here.”

  He was puzzled. What makes some people so literal-minded? He held out a sheet of paper. “Memo from Feld.”

  “I’ll give it to him.”

  He started to go, then hesitated. “I really am glad to see you.”

  “Uh, thanks.” It was my turn to be baffled. “You too.”

  “Thanks. Can I—can I—” He turned the most alarming shade of red.

  “Can you what, Peter?”

  “Can I give you a hug?”

  “Sure.” Why the hell not? He put his arms around me, squeezed, and then left without saying another word. I looked after him, wondering what to make of it. At least he wasn’t as crazy as Greg or didn’t seem to be.

  When Danilo got back to the office he was in a breezy mood. “You should be home, resting.”

  “It’s just the gypsy in my soul.”

  He ignored it. “I like saying ‘home’ for the place where you and I live.”

  “I like hearing it.”

  “Good.” He sat down and put his lecture notes in a drawer. “Do you have a passport?”

  “Me? A passport? What for?”

  “They’re for travel. I thought you knew.”

  “I’m having a bad influence on you, Danilo.”

  “I’m serious. Do you have one?”

  “No. For heaven’s sake, you don’t need a passport to travel from Ebensburg to Altoona.”

  “We’ll have to get you one, then.” He put his feet up on the desk and folded his hands behind his head.

  “I’ve never been farther away than the Poconos.”

  He got up, poured himself a cup of coffee, offered me one, then sat down again. “That relief you found is generating a lot of interest. Word’s getting around about it. I think we can use it as an excuse to travel, with the university footing the bill.”

  “Travel where?”

  He grinned like a fox. “Why, to Egypt, of course.”

  “You’re kidding. Danilo, that would be so fantastic!”

  “With, I think, stops in London, Paris and Berlin on the way. “

  A thought cut through my mood. “You planned this.”

  He became a sphinx.

  “Danilo, answer me.”

  “You didn’t ask a question.”

  “Did you plan all this? Is it all your doing?”

  His face might have been made of stone.

  “It always seemed so odd that I found the relief the way I did. So odd that no one else had ever noticed it.”


  “Hundreds of people, dozens of archaeologists had walked directly over the entrance to the tomb of my brother, Tutankhamen. It took Howard Carter to find it.”

  “And he was one of us.” I spoke the by-now predictable words.

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t evade my question.”

  “I thought I had answered it.”

  “You know perfectly well that you didn’t. When I found that relief… it was your doing, wasn’t it?”

  He nodded slightly. I had the impression he was a bit ashamed. Was it at pulling such a pointless trick, or because he had been caught out? “It accomplished so many things so neatly.”

  “You should have told me the truth. You’ve never played with me that way before.”

  “It was a step in your education, Jamie. And it will lead to many more.”

  “Even so.”

  “To live the life you have ahead of you requires depth and resiliency. You have both. Realizing what you just realized is one more indication of it.”

  I wasn’t at all certain I liked being tested in that way. But once I was over the jolt of realizing my “luck” had been manufactured by Danilo, I started feeling better. London. Paris. Egypt.

  That night in bed I was still excited. Danilo and I made small talk, then he rolled over and went to sleep. I was restless. There had been too many new things to think about. I switched on a little lamp and opened the book I had been reading.

  He opened his eyes and yawned.

  “I didn’t think I’d wake you. Sorry.”

  “It’s all right.”

  “Danilo?” It was a foolish question, but I had to ask. “All those men you’ve known, all the emperors and poets… you’ve slept with them, right?”

  The question seemed to catch him unawares. “Some of them.”

  “Many?”

  “Jamie, I’ve been alive for more than 3,000 years.”

  That was that. But I couldn’t make myself stop. “And now?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  It was difficult to ask. After 3,000 years, could one man possibly satisfy him? “Will you be faithful to me?”

  He looked at me, apparently surprised at the question.

  “Will you, Danilo?” I had been without love for so long. The thought that the love I had now might be conditional was too sad for me to want to face.