A Hyacinth for His Hideousness

by Tharah Meester

  Vrila interrupted him sharply. “What? Why these gestures?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” He tried to avoid the embarrassing matter, but Vrila, to his discomfort, wouldn’t relent.

  “Come on now, spit it out! What happened? What did he do?”

  “Swimming is what he did, if you must know,” he exclaimed in an irritable voice, because he didn’t like his husband trying to embarrass him. “And I… saw him naked. So what? What’s the harm?”

  “You... What... I...“ Vrila stuttered in bewilderment and measured him with a fiery glare. One he’d already used before. Previously in the kitchen when Hyacinth had tried to cook. In that particular situation as well, Perkovic had been the focus. “And you couldn’t take your eyes off him?! Why was the man going swimming at all in this kind of weather?!” With each word he became louder and more enraged.

  “I don’t know why you’re so upset! It’s not as if I were a blank slate, as we both know!” It pained him to mention that, but no one could deny the truth of his own background.

  “I don’t want to hear about it!” Vrila thundered. He was beside himself. His hands were balled into fists. “You’re my husband now, and I don’t want you to fucking stare at other men!”

  Normally the man knew how to express himself elegantly, but in his rage not much sense of elegance remained.

  “I didn’t stare at him, damn it! I averted my gaze immediately. You endured hours in a prison, were beaten and questioned, and the only thing occupying your mind now is how I saw Sergei naked for a split-second?!” Truly he didn’t understand what went on inside his husband. This argument was ridiculous!

  “Apparently so!”

  “I didn’t plan to see him without clothes! I had other worries!”

  “Which would be?” the crazed man demanded and rattled him with that absurd question.

  He gasped for air. “Perhaps the fact that you’d been arrested!”

  “I can’t imagine why that should have stirred you up so much!”

  This reproach robbed him of his remaining self-control. With a dart he was standing on his legs. To his amazement they were trembling. “Yes I’m slowly beginning to ask myself why I ran all night long through snow and rain and worried about you when you’re, for the most part, so ghastly cold to me!” With those harsh words, which he’d regret after a few minutes, he took to his heels and using all the strength he could muster, slammed the door to their bedroom behind him.

  *

  A sturdy fist pounding against the glass caused Gavrila to awaken with a start. He must have passed out from exhaustion because the wall clock told him several hours had passed. The fire in the hearth had gone out, and the pains from his wounds had doubled. It took effort but he rose to open up for the guy who stood out on the street knocking like a madman.

  “Yes, yes, I’m coming already!” he shouted bruskly then, after he’d thrown open the door, stared into dark brown eyes. The eyes of the morgue worker Petticoa which stood out under blond eyebrows.

  “Good day, Mr Ardenovic.” Petticoa waved an envelope. “I believe this pertains to you. Reports from the morgue.”

  Gavrila took the papers and dropped a coin into a demanding hand.

  Petticoa took his leave, and Vrila watched him until he had disappeared around a corner. Only then did he close the door.

  He’d barely turned the key when he heard Hyacinth’s hoarse voice behind him: “Who was that?”

  He turned to stone ans didn’t dare to face the young man. “The morgue worker. These must be the papers about Florin Genwood,” he finally replied and stood at the kitchen counter to tear open the flap and remove the envelope’s contents.

  It was transcriptions dealing with the death of the baker. Curious and hopeful, he skimmed over the few lines and analysed the drawings of the corpse. Disappointed, he threw the sheets down and snarled quietly.

  “What is it? What does it say?”

  “They couldn’t find any evidence of a struggle. Everything points to suicide. His body, for the most part, was unscathed.”

  “For the most part?”

  “A few scratches which just as easily could be from old injuries. A baker handles a lot of heavy metal sheets. Nothing unusual for many of them to exhibit cuts or burns on their arms.”

  “Hmm,” Hyacinth murmured and began to set the table for breakfast – only, according to the clock, more likely time for lunch.

  Vrila felt reassured since the lad apparently had no intention of bearing resentment but would dine with him.

  “And if someone murdered him in such a way to make it look like suicide?” his husband suggested while setting out the cups.

  “What are you hinting at?” he asked as he went about warming up the soup and pancakes.

  “It could be they chased him and left him no other choice but to leap into the Meln. Maybe they pursued him onto the bridge and forced him to jump.”

  “That doesn’t sound absurd at all,” Gavrila agreed and risked a glance at the delicate young man who was pouring juice for them. His locks were tousled, and he had dark circles around his eyes.

  “Maybe someone threatened to harm his son. Perhaps the relationship between them was good, and Genwood wouldn’t have wanted to risk letting his family be hurt.”

  “That’s also a possibility.” Once more Gavrila agreed, since Hyacinth’s explanations seemed much more plausible than the theories about suicide. The secret society was behind the baker’s death; that he was sure of. Otherwise, why would the old man have had that damn necklace on him?

  As if Hyacinth had read his embittered thoughts, he asked faintly: “Sergei told me you hadn’t found out what the necklace signifies, but aside from its meaning, I wonder what it is supposed to be used for.”

  Their looks met, and Gavrila’s neck tightened as his bad conscience upset his stomach. “What are you suggesting?”

  “The members of the secret society can hardly wear it openly without risking someone understanding its meaning.”

  “Certainly not, no,” he slowly shook his head and ladled soup into the bowls after he’d tossed strips of pancakes into them. ”We thought they might possibly be some kind of warning.”

  “Because you occasionally find them on corpses,” Hyacinth concluded, but immediately cast doubt on that theory: “But wouldn’t you find them on a lot more dead men? Those few people are unlikely to be the only victims.”

  Gavrila joined him and handed him his bowl. “Well, surely they leave the necklace behind only with certain murders.”

  “But what is so exceptional about Florin Genwood, who passed relatively unnoticed from our midst, that he, of all people, had a necklace clutched in his hands?” the lad offered for consideration then filled his spoon with a hefty portion to put into his mouth.

  Good counter argument. “Maybe it’s something akin to a mark of identification. For particular occasions.”

  Hyacinth scrutinised him, and Vrila sensed his cheeks growing warm. Quickly he lowered his gaze and devoted himself to his meal.

  “Perhaps people wear it certain days to meetings? Would be possible. Maybe it’s some sort of ticket. A kind of key.”

  “We’d already thought about that too, but why should my brother have such a tag on him? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Then it’s completely out of the question that Dimitri joined the secret society?” Hyacinth probed very cautiously.

  “Of course that’s out of the question,” Vrila replied more trenchantly than he’d intended. “Dimitri had nothing to do with such people. My brother was a man of honour and most surely not one of those bastards.”

  “He was very important to you,” his husband said faintly, and a shadow fell over his exceptional face. “Did you two have a lot in common?”

  “The only thing I had in common with my brother was the colour of my hair. But he raised me and looked out for me.” That was only half true, but after the boy had already cast doubts on Dimitri’s sense of honour, he
meant to keep certain things to himself. The memory of his brother must not be defiled.

  “So he was older than you?”

  “Ten years.” He nodded and noticed he’d lost what little appetite he had. Conversations about Dimitri constantly affected his mood, which by nature wasn’t the brightest anyhow.

  “Your parents died early on?”

  His spouse had a talent for hitting his sore spots.

  “Yes,” he replied tersely and hoped there would be no further questions.

  To his relief and simultaneous amazement, Hyacinth allowed the matter to rest. Apparently he had sensed Vrila’s reluctance and quietly spooned his soup while staring at the white tablecloth.

  Gavrila needed a while to gather his courage. “I’m sorry we argued earlier. I’m grateful for your dedication.”

  He encountered a confused look. Hyacinth hadn’t, by all appearances, expected any thanks – which only attested to what a terrible person Vrila was. The young man quickly recovered. “Not worth mentioning.”

  “To me it most certainly isn’t not worth mentioning when my husband wanders at night through dangerous streets and horrible weather,” he contradicted impatiently.

  “I only wanted to say that I was glad to do it.”

  Odd sensations crept over him. “You’re probably already regretting having me at home again.” He attempted to make an ironic joke that did conceal a kernel of truth.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Does your chivalry move you to put up with me so you can do what seems to be the right thing?” he replied with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

  Hyacinth wrinkled his pretty forehead and started to say something when their conversation was interrupted by another knock at the door.

  “Who is it now?” Gavrila grumbled instinctively and turned around to see Perkovic.

  “I’ll open up, Sir,” Hyacinth muttered coolly and rose to let in the man who immediately stormed into the room.

  “Are you doing well, Gavrii? You were very quiet earlier.” Sergei sat down on a chair next to him and intensely scrutinized him.

  “I’m doing just fine.” To steer the subject away from his imprisonment, he told Perkovic about the insights they had gained concerning Genwood’s death.

  Hyacinth brought a bowl of soup to the homeless man. To Vrila’s complete astonishment, a surge of jealousy came over him when he observed how his young man was not taking care of him exclusively.

  After clearing his throat, he continued: “Hyacinth thinks they might have driven him to it, and he didn’t jump into the river of his own free will.”

  “If they chased him onto the Elwood Bridge and were bearing down on him from both directions, they would have had an easy time with him. Like two cats after a poor mouse,” his husband interjected, facing Sergei. “No one would have seen or heard anything.”

  Perkovic nodded in agreement and replied with a full mouth: “Indeed, out there, Elwood is like a small ghost town inside the city.”

  Gesturing solemnly, Hyacinth also inclined his head. “The ideal place to carry out a plan like that. The Meln would have washed him to exactly the place where they fished him out. Everything points to it.”

  “Dimitri was found in Elwood as well,” Vrila muttered almost inaudibly, though they’d obviously heard him because they became silent.

  “A very interesting co-incidence, don’t you think?” Sergei broke through the silence then enthusiastically spooned his soup.

  “If I’m actually right,” Hyacinth offered for consideration.

  “When Hathaway interrogated me, he mentioned they recently had something to do with the secret society. He was also aware that one of his men was behind my activities.”

  Hyacinth wrinkled his forehead again. “However, Howard didn’t say a thing about any new developments.”

  “He just wanted to know if we had discovered anything,” Vrila wearily explained.

  Sergei concurred: “That’s always been his way. He baits someone with something or other that’s of no interest to Hathaway, but is of great significance to others. What was it this time?”

  Vrila swallowed hard before he weakly tilted his head in Hyacinth’s direction. “The lad. Howard told me what Hathaway thought of our union. Not much.” Like the rest of the world.

  A grumble followed that, and for a second time they cloaked themselves in silence as each became absorbed in his own thoughts.

  Once more it was Sergei who dispelled it: “We should go and dig around in Elwood. What do you think?”

  “Without a doubt,” Hyacinth nodded vigorously, and his eyes sparkled at the prospects of adventure. “Somebody might have seen or heard something.”

  Vrila turned to Sergei. “Let’s do so,” he said softly then turned to his spouse: “But you are staying here! It’s too dangerous in Elwood.”

  “Surely not!” the stubborn young man contradicted him and got up to slip on his overcoat.

  “Hyacinth, you’ll do what I say,” Gavrila bellowed and noticed Sergei grinning furtively while getting up.

  “Leave the lad alone,” the homeless man said, though he had no damn business meddling!

  Vrila ignored Perkovic, jumped to his feet and glared into Hyacinth’s eyes. “Take off your overcoat.” Again he attempted to put on the angriest face he could muster.

  And again his husband showed himself unimpressed. “Do you want me to go to Elwood without a coat? Because I will be going there, no matter what you say.” With a curt nod meant to underscore his words, he disappeared through the doorway.

  “Hyacinth!” Vrila called out indignantly and hurried out onto the street after him. His heart pounded wildly. Elwood was a dangerous place. Especially for someone who was much too handsome and gentle to be spending time there.

  Sergei smiled as they ran after the young man who had already rounded the corner. “I’d never have thought the youngster would dare talk to you like that.”

  “That amuses you, does it?” Gavrila snapped back, then wrapped himself more snuggly in his outerwear because the cold wind was bothering him.

  “Very much. Mainly because I can see the shock and helplessness about it in your face.” Perkovic laughed heartily then shook his head. “I believe the boy does you some good.”

  Vrila didn’t know what to say; embarrassed and moved, he merely shrugged his shoulders. In silence they caught up with his run-away husband and strode together toward that ugly, small ghost town.

  *

  They stopped in front of the Elwood Bridge. Apparently each of them had misgivings about crossing it and entering the part of the city that stood under a curse. At least superstitious people maintained as much, and Hyacinth experienced a peculiar sense of trepidation when he thought about the place.s

  Before them stretched the bridge of massive dark stones; behind it lay a neglected suburb – the ghost town. Elwood was a small island with many warehouses and abandoned factories. There were only a few dwellings, distinguishable by their pointed roofs in contrast to the flatter ones of the commercial buildings. Their façades were not whitewashed, showing exposed stone and wood beams.

  All of the chimneys were cold. Nowhere could smoke be seen. Everything suggested they would be completely alone as soon as they crossed the bridge. However, if you gave credence to the rumours, gangs of thieves roved around to hatch their plans and undertake all sorts of nefarious activities.

  In Elwood there were no longer any patrols, and Hyacinth doubted the police gave a damn about what happened here. Apparently the bastards were afraid. Of what could be lurking in Elwood. Those damn cowards.

  However, no one needed to know that at the moment, his own legs were shaking.

  “Why didn’t people return and rebuild after the fire?” he asked without bothering to look at his husband beside him. Instead, he stubbornly fixed his gaze in front of them on a factory now reduced to ruins.

  “Ordinary people are frightened by the horror stories,” Vrila replied with a gentle shake of his
head. “They believe the devil himself set the factory on fire. Some workers claim to have seen Lucifer’s face in the flames.”

  Sergei laughed cheerlessly then clicked disapprovingly with his tongue. “What a piece of nonsense.”

  ”The old people say that several centuries ago a forest stood here where the Devil and his subordinates danced in a nearby clearing.”

  “Well, Hathaway isn’t so old that he could have danced here several centuries ago,” Sergei scoffed, but he apparently felt uncomfortable.

  “People will believe all sorts of feeble-minded nonsense.” Vrila brushed the sentiment aside and seemed not the least bit intimidated. Of course he was still irritable because Hyacinth had defied him but he displayed no trace of fear. In his face resided the same icy sobriety he’d demonstrated when they had broken into Ferdill’s house.

  The notion struck Hyacinth at how lucky he was to have a husband so unafraid. And above all, one who obviously cared about him. Discretely he observed Vrila from the side, followed the hard lines of his thin lips and long nose and watched the mild breeze blow his hair around. A strangely childish and foolish pride befell him unexpectedly. As if he were a young girl arguing with others as to which admirer was the most handsome – or one of those boys quarrelling about whose crush was the strongest…

  What pure lunacy! Although strong, Vrila was certainly not the strongest man he’d ever met and most certainly not the prettiest. To the contrary.

  Hyacinth was still peeved with his authoritarian spouse. With time he needed to disabuse Mr Ardenovic of the idea that made the man believe he could dictate and decree to him as he wished.

  To him this seemed a formidable task – formidable but not unachievable.

  “Then let’s get to it,” Sergei stated after expressing his unease by softly sighing, though he didn’t move an inch.

  At last Vrila took the first step, and the two followed – both obviously happy to let someone else take the lead. Nevertheless, behind Vrila’s back they directed worried looks at one another.