A Hyacinth for His Hideousness

by Tharah Meester

  The next problem was the oven. Somewhat tentatively, he threw a few logs inside and lit a piece of paper to place on the wood. While he gaped at the flames like an oaf, he was startled by a knock on the door. His vision had to adjust to the darkness before he recognised Perkovic outside on the street. The man waved wildly at him and signalled him to open up.

  Hyacinth hesitated. Gavrila had instructed him to allow no one in, but that surely didn’t extend to his friends. So he hurried to get the good fellow out of the cold.

  “Evening, youngster. Where’s Gavrii?” Perkovic asked irritated. His voice sounded almost sober.

  “I haven’t the slightest idea,” he stated hoarsely and had to acknowledge how unhappy he was not knowing where his husband was. “It’s good that you came. I really could use some help here.”

  “With what?” Perkovic cast some curious glances at the empty pans and his stomach announced that he was as hungry as Hyacinth.

  He was about to assign him a task when he cast a glance at the man’s dirty fingers in torn gloves. “Just have a seat. As soon as Gavrila comes back, you can eat with us.”

  “What is there to eat?” Perkovic asked while he warmed himself at the hearth. He loosened the strikingly red shawl he always wore but didn’t remove.

  “That remains to be seen,” Hyacinth murmured and looked to see if, in the meantime, the wood in the oven had caught fire. To his satisfaction it had. He filled a pan with water and pulled it onto the iron plate. Overwhelmed by a multitude of spice jars, he shook a little of each into the water which then took on a pleasant aroma, the powdery layer dancing on the surface. “Have you seen Gavrila already today? Have you been looking into things?”

  “Haven’t seen his face yet.”

  “What did you do before to get information about the pendant?”

  “Gavrii asked jewellers and clock makers about the origin of the ‘good piece’, but nobody could tell him a thing.”

  “Were you with him when he questioned these people?”

  “No. Urly went with him. A fine man, indeed, our Bartie. He’s better suited to such undertakings. Could be that genteel gentlemen would have felt uncomfortable by my miserable appearance and wouldn’t have wanted to say anything,” was his bitter response. “Yeah, people wouldn’t say a word even in front of Bartie. They couldn’t learn a thing.”

  “It definitely seems strange that nobody here in the city has a clue what that pendant means.”

  ”Nobody said that, boy. It only means that nobody wants to talk,” Perkovic corrected him before he sat at the table. “Do you have anything strong in the house? I could use a drink.”

  Hyacinth glanced at him under a furrowed brow. “On an empty stomach? Is that a good idea?”

  “Do you have something or not?”

  With a muted exhalation he poured the man a glass of whisky and brought it to him, together with another place setting. When he had arranged everything on the table and started to return to his pans, Perkovic grabbed him by a wrist and pulled him back gently. The homeless man scrutinised him through close-set eyes and caused Hyacinth’s heart to race unpleasantly.

  “Gavrila picked out a really fair little thing,” Perkovic declared in a coarse voice imbued with a peculiar undertone.

  Hyacinth cautiously twisted himself from the grasp and was released. He cleared his throat and rushed over to the kitchen to toss the vegetables into the boiling water. Uncertain, he cast a glance over a shoulder. Perkovic showed no further interest in him, instead stared into his well-filled glass. Hyacinth breathed a sigh of relief and struggled for composure which he could, but must not lose. He again experienced the anxiety which had so often overcome him when he met a suitor in the streets. A terrible feeling as if stone hands would wring out his guts. He forced back the nausea by swigging a mouthful of water.

  “Surely you’ve already sold the necklace, hmm?” he asked with feigned ease to break the grim silence.

  Perkovic emitted a hoarse chuckle to himself. “Gavrila would tear my head off, if I disposed of this thing.” He pulled the trinket from a pocket and threw it on the table. “Although it could easily provide me with a full stomach for a few weeks if not even months.”

  Rather a hard-working liver. So as not to provoke the man, he bit back the comment. He examined the pendant from afar because he didn’t have the courage to approach Perkovic again. By Hell! What a wretched coward he was!

  But there was something about the man which made him uncomfortable, especially after that unexpected and unwanted contact and the penetrating look that gave him shivers.

  “You said the secret society took nothing from you,” he finally muttered, and Perkovic shrugged his shoulders before he allowed himself another sip of whisky. “Nevertheless you joined the circle. More than that, you appear to be devoted to the matter if it means helping Gavrila.”

  “I’m simply a kind person.” With a smirk, Perkovic showed him his fangs, one of which was missing on the right side.

  “That’s all there is to it?”

  “That’s all,” the other one repeated unconvincingly.

  Shortly after he had turned his back to Perkovic, the latter turned the sword on him: “As I’ve heard, there’s nothing very nice about your family. Did your parents beat you?”

  “Yes,” he replied curtly and cut the meat into slices, seasoning it with plenty of salt then slid it into the hot grease. It crackled loudly, and he flinched when some splattered on his lower arms.

  “Did you go looking for love or money on the streets?” Perkovic asked quite directly, and again there was that peculiar undertone which Hyacinth couldn’t abide.

  Snorting, he exhaled and cleaned his arms with a wet cloth. “As if anyone could find anything resembling affection down there.”

  “Quite right. Stupid question.”

  They enveloped themselves in silence which he hoped would last a while.

  Hyacinth mulled over his thoughts and busied himself with the meal which had in the meantime taken on a rather unique odour. He hoped that was a good thing and didn’t taste like it smelled.

  Eventually the door opened, and Hyacinth emitted a grateful breath even before he turned to see Gavrila. His husband didn’t appear thrilled when he noticed Perkovic who faintly nodded at him. He removed his frock and hung it up before he came into the kitchen. “I did tell you not to allow anyone in,” he growled while he poured a glass of water and took a drink.

  “It’s only Perkovic.”

  “Precisely, the one you shouldn’t let in,” Gavrila countered angrily, but so quietly that Perkovic didn’t hear him. Bewildered, he then glanced into the pan and crinkled his overly-long nose. “What’s that? What are you making there?”

  “Dinner,” Hyacinth responded meekly, and with head lowered, stirred the vegetables covered in spices.

  Gavrila surveyed the chaos on the sideboard and heaved a muted sigh. “You don’t have the slightest idea how to cook, do you?”

  No, I don’t! “But it looks ... interesting,” he defended himself and initiated a counter-offensive. “Where in the world were you? Why didn’t you even leave a message? I was worried!“

  Surprisingly, his husband drew back, and his thin lips parted slightly. His demeanour brightened momentarily before he made an effort to return to his usual gloomy mien. “There was no time for that. Petticoa, the morgue worker, was here to tell me the drowned man had been identified.”

  “Oh, indeed?“ Perkovic interjected. “Who was the good fellow?”

  “No time to scribble a few words on paper, hmm?” Hyacinth objected tersely and ladled vegetables over the lightly burnt slices of ham he had already bedded on plates.

  “I had to hurry if I intended to question the man’s son. It wasn’t a pleasant endeavour, and then I come home and see my husband cooking for that drunkard over there.” Gavrila regarded Hyacinth with a heated glare, and the fire in his eyes was something completely new to him.

  For those words, he jabbed him soft
ly in one side with a fist. “It’s you, who I cooked for, you idiot,” he hissed, hostility in his voice and disappointment rising inside of him, all without knowing why. “For us,” he added reticently and avoided looking up.

  He tasted a bite, only to instantly spit it out in disgust. He was horrified by the calamity he had hoped to call dinner. Heavens, what had happened?

  Gavrila speared a piece on a fork. Sampling it, he grimaced then politely spat it into a napkin. He said nothing. Instead, he took the plates and emptied their contents into a pail.

  Dazed, Hyacinth watched him and asked himself if his husband was going to remove his belt to teach him a lesson again. “I’m sorry,” he whispered in a gravelly tone as he saw the costly food disappear into the bucket. He was responsible for all that waste and could understand if Gavrila meant to punish him.

  “I’ll prepare something else,” his husband said and disappeared for a short time into the cupboard then returned with fresh ingredients.

  Hyacinth wanted to lend him a hand and clean the pans he had dirtied. He’d wanted to spare Gavrila some work, at best please him, and now that. When he stared into the dishwater, he felt a warm droplet run down his cheek. Wishing to avoid the risk of drawing Gavrila’s attention to it, he didn’t want to wipe the tear away. Perhaps it wouldn’t be noticed if he ignored it.

  A cold fingertip suddenly brushed his cheek. “That’s absolutely unnecessary,” Gavrila gruffly reprimanded him. “Sit down; I’ll take care of it.”

  With a trembling breath, Hyacinth’s shoulders quivered, and he hesitated.

  “Go and sit down,” his spouse repeated in an unaccustomed soft voice.

  He did what he was told and joined Perkovic.

  “What’s with the drowned man?” the latter asked once again, more insistently now.

  Furtively, Hyacinth glanced over to Gavrila, who showed him his profile including his much too long, slender nose. His hair fell into his pale face, and he smoothed the strands behind his ears. With rapid movements, he chopped something on a board. “Florin Genwood. A simple, unemployed baker. His son informed me his father had been missing for several days already.”

  Perkovic gnashed his teeth. “Suggests the miscreants trapped him and did something or other with him before they disposed of him in the Meln.”

  “Could be,” Gavrila agreed with a weak nod.

  Something was sizzling in a fresh pan, and Hyacinth heard a knife slicing through a loaf of bread. God, he was so hungry.

  “Did the old man live with his son?” Perkovic enquired further while rotating his empty whisky glass on the table.

  “With his son and the son’s wife. Allegedly he had been acting strange recently until one night when he left the house without a word, even left without his shoes or anyone noticing.”

  “Sounds very strange. A baker, hmm. Did he have enemies?“

  “As far as the son knew, no one was hostile toward his father.”

  “Doesn’t mean anything. The man doesn’t necessarily know about everything just because daddy slept in his house.”

  “Of course not. Especially since this arrangement was still fairly new. They hadn’t lived together for even a year.” Gavrila rapped something against the edge of the pan. The kitchen smelled wonderfully of onions and fresh pastries.

  Perkovic pursed his lips, moving his mouth as if deep in thought. “Why didn’t he have a job?”

  “He was kicked out because his eyes were steadily getting worse, and he seemed to have caused some incidents.”

  “Incidents? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Incorrectly paired-up baskets of orders, incorrect invoices, missing bills and receipts. That’s to say, a few minor adversities.”

  “All that sounds very flimsy and somehow... I don’t know.”

  Gavrila said nothing in response but stirred in the pan until he distributed its contents on plates and brought them to the table.

  Hyacinth’s stomach growled. When he saw the scrambled eggs on bread, his mouth watered. Hungrily he attacked the late dinner, closed his eyes for a moment and had to suppress a delightful groan. It not only looked damn good but also tasted damn good. The bread was warm and the eggs perfectly spiced with the right choice of fresh herbs, salt and pepper.

  “Delicious,” he whispered to himself and chewed ravenously. When he noticed Gavrila was watching him, he fleetingly turned to face him. To his amazement, those lips formed a more or less undetectable smile, and the stern folds around his eyes had become softer. When their gazes met, Gavrila glanced away while coughing then concentrated on his meal.

  Hyacinth did the same just as hastily and felt his heartbeat accelerate. Wherever did it come from? Perhaps it was caused by the realisation that no one had yet ever looked at him in that way. So tolerantly and even tenderly. He hadn’t expected to be regarded in that way by the very man who had characterised himself as cold-hearted. Admittedly, it disconcerted him a bit.

  He was almost grateful when Perkovic diverted his thoughts: “Did young Genwood report his father as missing to the inspector?”

  “As far as I know, nothing was known. It was never mentioned, but I assume the old man’s identity wouldn’t have remained unknown for so long, had there been a missing person’s report hanging in the morgue.”

  Hyacinth thought about his own family, though one could hardly characterise it as such. “Then there’s also the possibility that he didn’t disappear at all, but instead the son kept him in the house.”

  “Why should he have done that?” Squinting, Perkovic shoved another bite into his mouth and chewed.

  A shrug of the shoulders had to serve as a response. Who really knew what the man had planned with his father? Perhaps the old gentleman had taken advantage of him a few times too many and the son wanted retribution. It didn’t seem absurd to him that it could have happened that way.

  Or everything had just been an accident. There were a thousand possibilities which excluded a murder by a secret society.

  “I don’t think the son had anything to do with it. Perhaps he reported it, and nothing was done because he was a simple baker. As we know, Hathaway often doesn’t act judiciously,” Gavrila said. “Anyhow, Genwood has now arranged to have his father’s corpse examined. Had he done the old man harm, he might fear that evidence could be found.”

  Well, naturally that was an argument against Hyacinth’s theory. Apparently he was too biased to judge this case objectively.

  “Have you seen to it that we’ll get a look at the reports?” Perkovic enquired with raised eyebrows.

  “Petticoa will personally copy them and bring me the transcripts without delay. I allowed a few coins to wander into his pockets.”

  “I hope the file can satisfy our curiosity.” The homeless man nodded with a fitful movement and consumed the last crumbs of his meal.

  *

  After Sergei had left, Gavrila locked the door with his accustomed distrust and all possible diligence and drew the curtain over it.

  Hyacinth carried the dishes into the kitchen and prepared to wash them.

  Gavrila waved him away. “Leave it. I can do that tomorrow morning. It’s late and you look tired.”

  Hyacinth hesitated. As always, whenever he gave him an order. That seemed to have become a habit. Finally he reached for a dry cloth and wiped his fingers. “Mr Wiplay allowed for very few breaks. However, he praised me a lot and said I’m very smart for a lad of my class.”

  “I don’t doubt that at all.” He pulled something from an interior pocket of his frock coat which was hanging on a hook next to the door. “I promised you something,” he mumbled and examined the small pistol before he handed Hyacinth the gift.

  A whisper of astonishment escaped his husband as he appraised the weapon. It was a snub-nose pistol with an ivory grip. The barrel was polished and decorated with fine engravings, leaving little more than a millimetre untouched.

  Gavrila had noticed the handgun and immediately knew it had to be that
one. He’d spent much more on the unique item than planned, but the delicate object had strongly reminded him of Hyacinth, so much so that he had desperately wanted to purchase it for him. In all its daintiness and beauty, it looked like it wasn’t supposed to be used as a weapon, rather for something quite different. Just like Hyacinth, who should have grown up to be a prince instead of a guttersnipe, if there was such a thing as divine justice.

  “It looks much too beautiful to be a weapon,” the lad said in a hushed tone and fingered the metal while Gavrila was amazed that his husband had harboured the same thoughts as he only a second before.

  Was that good or bad? Did he like it or not? He was inexperienced in giving anyone a gift. A nervous anxiety began to surface which he vehemently suppressed. No emotions, he admonished himself. He opened his mouth to tell Hyacinth he could exchange the pistol if he didn’t like it.

  At once the lad raised his head and beamed. “I like it very much. Thank you.”

  “Glad to do it,” Gavrila sputtered, making every effort to ignore the rasping in his throat though it caused his voice to crack. When he noticed the gleam in Hyacinth’s green eyes, a strange wrenching began in his gut, and he wondered whether he had upset his stomach. He felt uneasy. Just as uneasy as that remarkable feeling which overcame him when he had seen Hyacinth’s tear. He couldn’t pigeonhole the emotion. Only the realisation that he couldn’t bear to see his husband unhappy had become evident to him in an almost painful way. The recognition that it hurt him to the core when Hyacinth failed to do well had more than surprised him. Perhaps because he was all too accustomed to his apathy than to have expected to feel anything at all. Strictly speaking it would have been fine with him had it remained that way forever – this emptiness and coldness within him. The thought that anything could change frightened him, because he didn’t believe he could come to terms with it.

  “Gavrila?” His name uttered from the mouth of his spouse tore him from his introspection. Hyacinth was standing in the doorway of the bedroom, regarding him with irritation. “I’m speaking to you. Have you been listening at all? I thought we wanted to go to sleep?”