“And I know how his career ended,” Sergei added with a whisper.
Hyacinth directed a challenging look at the man beside him. He wanted to hear the story – had to hear it!
“There was a major battle in the vicinity of Leznijek. Gavrii’s unit was drawn into it. They were unprepared, fatigued by the atrocities of war and ended up being ambushed by enemy troops.” Perkovic paused and exhaled audibly. As willing as he was to tell it, obviously the story affected him powerfully. “Gavrii’s troop suffered a bloody battering even though the enemy didn’t fare much better. Gavrila was seriously wounded, should have been cared for, but the few men who were still alive, decided the doctor wasn’t of use to them anymore. They left him lying there and retreated.”
A shudder surged through Hyacinth’s body, and he wrapped himself more tightly in his coat while his eyes remained glued to his husband. “Left him lying there?”
The notion was difficult to bear. His Vrila, injured, pale with pain, shivering with cold and completely alone out there on a field among all of those fallen soldiers… left behind to die.
“Why did they do that?” he angrily demanded from Sergei who held his head bowed, looking at the flagstones on which the snow was settling.
“The Staks have nothing but contempt for the likes of us. What’s normal here is punishable by long prison terms, if not outright execution by hanging, in the Stakreich.”
“What do you mean?”
“Men with men and women with women is what I mean. Love is what I mean.”
“Did Vrila have someone?” he asked after he drew in a long breath.
“No, he didn’t. But a few of the soldiers recognised him. They knew of his nature. On top of that, he wasn’t especially popular, they…”
“Will you finally shut your fucking mouth!?” Vrila interjected angrily. Apparently he had been listening, and it had become too much for him. Hyacinth cringed from the force and level of his voice. “By the devil! Don’t tell any more horrific stories about things you weren’t even there to witness!”
Sergei shrugged his shoulders and pressed his lips together as if to indicate he’d not say another word.
Depressed, Hyacinth caught up to be closer to Vrila. He watched the seam of his coat being fanned out by the wind and wildly flapping around his legs.
How could someone have done such a thing to him? How must he have felt there in Leznijek, abandoned by God and the world?
Hyacinth trembled as he breathed, well aware that his husband could have been dead now…
*
Helpless and perplexed, he watched Vrila disappearing into the bathroom soon after they entered their narrow row house.
During the remainder of the walk home, Gavrila hadn’t spoken another word. Neither with Sergei nor with him although they both had tried to draw him out with harmless questions about the terrible weather and dinner.
A few blocks before, Perkovic had taken his leave to go find Haggard and inform him about the new findings which actually weren’t – and probably to distance himself from Vrila’s horrible mood.
With a sigh, Hyacinth fell onto the sofa after he’d started a fire in the hearth. He wondered if perhaps Mr Wiplay expected them to come by and give him a report, but the old man would have to be patient until tomorrow. He plainly had no strength left to go out again. The past night had been a horrible dream lasting into the following day.
A persistent vision of Vrila lying near the river in Leznijek plagued him. Tears came to his eyes then an unrelenting cramp seized his chest.
Groaning, he cupped his hands over his face, hiding himself in the darkness, away from gazes that didn’t exist because he was alone in the room.
He heard Vrila drawing bathwater. Should he get up and offer to help him tend to his injuries? No, Vrila was an experienced doctor – surely he didn’t need a stupid lad botching things up for him.
As his cheeks became wet, he pulled a cover up to his chin and stared dully into the flames lightly crackling before him while they enveloped the logs. That sound and his wildly swirling thoughts brought an oppressive weariness over him. He had almost no resistance left and nodded off at some time or other.
The sleep he found was not refreshing. Nightmares about his husband haunted him. Vrila covered in blood, his face contorted in agony, pleading for help that would never come. Hyacinth wanted to reach him, rescue him, but powerful, invisible hands held him back, held him away. With all his might, he resisted and yelled at them to let go, but wasn’t released. Screaming and crying, he thrashed about. Nothing helped. Before his eyes, Vrila writhed with pain that would kill him if Hyacinth didn’t free him. He heard himself calling out his husband’s name, a chilly breeze blowing against his tear-stained cheeks…
Suddenly, he was gently shaken on a shoulder. “Hyacinth, wake up.”
With a breathless exclamation, his eyes flew open and looked into dark ones scrutinising him with concern. “Vrila!” He gasped for air, threw his arms around his husband’s neck and pulled his upper body down to him.
Vrila emitted a muffled, surprised ‘Oh’, but nonetheless did put his arms around his waist. “You were having a bad dream. I’ll take you to bed.” He lifted him. It appeared to cost him no effort at all.
Hyacinth clung drowsily with his legs to Vrila’s narrow hips, and with his arms on his shoulders, nestled his face against his neck. His fingers played with the strands of Vrila’s hair. He smelled like bathwater, and, for the first time since they knew each other, his smooth skin was warm.
How nice it was to be carried by someone, to be allowed to lean on someone’s shoulder, but it didn’t chase away his sadness. “Why did they leave you all alone? They shouldn’t have been permitted to do that.”
“Keep your pity to yourself. I don’t want it,” Vrila replied almost inaudibly and kicked open the door to the bedroom.
“Not pity, just disgust with the filthy scum who left you to die,” Hyacinth corrected, although it wasn’t exactly true, because he did feel pity from knowing, from imagining what Vrila had endured.
“That’s not necessary. I came to terms with it.”
The tender and frank tone of voice only served to increase his pain instead of relieving it.
He was carefully laid on the bed; the eiderdown quilts rustled beneath him.
“I don’t doubt that at all, but you never should have been forced to come to terms with it alone.”
His husband released his hold and shook his head while he covered him with unaccustomed care. “Enough of that now; it was a long time ago. It isn’t worth talking or thinking about.”
Why did he say that? How could he remain so cold about having been treated like dirt?
Silently he observed Vrila who fell into bed fully clothed and exhaled quietly. “We’re going to a tailor tomorrow to have a new wardrobe made for you.” He wanted to change the subject.
“Thank you,” Hyacinth said but was primarily grateful Vrila wouldn’t force him to go back to his father and beg for his old clothes. That would have been like a pilgrimage of penitence with his trousers down and his neck and wrists in a pillory. He sighed with relief that this was spared him and hoped he’d never see those degenerate people again. They hadn’t deserved him, for even though he certainly wasn’t perfect, at least he was good-hearted and tried hard.
At least he believed as much, but was that the truth? Maybe in reality he was the worst person who’d ever lived, and his parents had every right in the world to hate him. Maybe that was the reality, and he just didn’t recognise it. Such a peculiar thought brought on an overwhelming fatigue in him and also caused a twinge of anxiety.
He observed Vrila, who was lying on his back beside him and had his eyes closed, although he wasn’t sleeping. His breathing sounded much too unsteady and his expression still looked tense, his forehead deeply creased.
“Do you actually like me?” Hyacinth enquired in a barely discernible voice.
Vrila tensed even more and stared s
tubbornly at the ceiling after he had opened his eyes in apparent fright. The rosy tip of his tongue darted out and moistened his lips. “Of course,” he replied softly.
Those two words had the power to accelerate Hyacinth’s pulse. He had hoped for that answer but hadn’t expected it. He knew Vrila was telling the truth – he would never have said such a thing if it weren’t so.
“I like you too. You’re only half as bad as people say.” He teased his husband to downplay his embarrassing confession.
With apparent horror, Vrila held his breath for a moment then released it as a gentle laugh. “Thanks for the compliment.”
Astonished, Hyacinth noticed that all his attention to Vrila’s nose, normally dominating his profile, was now diverted to his lips. They exhibited a surprisingly lovely upward sweep when he showed a smile. The rare expression lent a totally different effect to his face – much less grotesque. Instead it made him intensely more attractive, as Hyacinth discovered with a wildly pounding heart and a strange tingling in his stomach.
Confused, he directed his look away and concentrated on the white pillow which presented a stark contrast to the jet-black strands spread out on it.
When this sight as well aroused strange feelings in him, he shut his eyes. His head was so evidently exhausted he couldn’t form a clear or at least halfway reasonable thought that evening.
Weariness overcame him quickly, and he fell into a refreshing slumber, this time without nightmares.
Chapter 8
Early the next morning Hyacinth struggled out of bed to go and receive instruction from Mr Wiplay. He moved stealthily so as not to awaken Vrila, but his husband surprised him by addressing him in a clear voice: “Don’t forget the tailor. I’ll be waiting for you with breakfast; after that we’ll be on our way.”
Hyacinth paused for a second while combing his hair with his fingers. “You sound like you didn’t get any sleep,” he deduced from the fact that he’d never hard any morning hoarseness in Vrila’s voice before.
“I find it difficult to sleep. Don’t worry about it.” He slowly sat up and remained sitting faced away from him on the edge of the bed.
“I find it difficult,” Hyacinth quoted him with a mocking undertone meant to conceal his concern. “What do you mean? Don’t you sleep at all?”
“Rarely,” came an impassive reply, and Vrila turned his face toward him. His expression attested to overwhelming fatigue, along with a hint of despair. His eyes rested in disturbingly deep, dark sockets and offered a distressing sight. His cheeks looked gaunt, their bones protruded. “Don’t worry about it,” he repeated and blinked, his eyes partly downcast, before facing away again.
“Isn’t there any kind of medicine that could help you?”
“My body is resistant to that kind of medication. Go on now. Tell Seymour I’ll come visit him later. He’ll want to speak with me.”
Obediently Hyacinth stood up and reached for his jacket, held it in a hand and wrapped his fingers around the fabric while stopping in the doorway and staring at his husband’s back. Vrila’s tension couldn’t be overlooked; his shoulders were hunched and every muscle appeared to be in use. It wasn’t difficult to guess how much the problem affected his mood. “We ought to do something to treat your insomnia. We’ll talk about it when I return.”
“No, we won’t,” Vrila affirmed stubbornly and expressed in his voice – no doubt intentionally – the usual coldness he employed to intimidate others.
“We’ll see about that,” Hyacinth responded unimpressed and after an additional glance at the black hair that fell onto narrow shoulders, angrily marched into the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face before leaving the house.
*
Despite having paced several times up and down the filthy, narrow street to cool his temper, he was still indignant – and mainly worried – when he went inside then mounted the stairs to Mr Wiplay’s living quarters.
The latter was just coming out of the kitchen with two cups in his hands. “There you are, my boy.” The elderly man gestured to him to sit down on the carpet in front of the hearth.
“Good morning.” Hyacinth attempted a smile, obeyed and received a cup pressed into his cold fingers. Accepting it with thanks, he sipped the steaming tea. While doing so, he kept his gaze on the end table. There stood the small statue which he had last seen in the kitchen and had inspected more thoroughly earlier. Mr Wiplay must have been amusing himself with it.
His teacher sat in the high-backed armchair and examined him. “What has you so upset to make you tread ruts in the pavement during the grey light of morning?”
The man had observed him. Self-conscious, Hyacinth drooped his head and breathed in deeply. “It’s because of Vrila. I’m afraid he hardly ever sleeps. He admitted it himself.”
”The horrors of war certainly keep many a man and woman from sleeping,” came a feeble reply as if it were some kind of solace.
“Let them continue as long as they leave mine in peace,” he responded a bit too passionately and excused himself with a mumble for having spoken so rudely. ”It’s just… for the most part, he looks unhealthy. Not sleeping is bad for his health. The past two days have been a nightmare. Right now he’s trying to recover but he doesn’t seem to be getting any better.”
“You’re genuinely concerned,” Mr Wiplay noted with feeling in his scratchy voice and smiled at him. “Well, maybe you are capable of providing him some sleep.”
“What can I do?” he demanded and hoped for a sage piece of advice from the wise old man. If somebody could give him such a thing, then surely it was Mr Wiplay. He knew Vrila. Longer and better than Hyacinth did.
“Even insomnia can be defeated with restored health to the spirit.”
That sentence, which resembled a riddle more than a piece of advice, helped him very little. “What is that supposed to mean? Do you mean Dimitri’s murder? Do we need to solve it before he can find healing for his spirit?”
At the sound of that name, the old man reacted with a slight flinch, and his smile disappeared briefly before returning.
“Forget his vexatious brother.” Mr Wiplay shook his head then, with trembling fingers, raised the cup to his mouth. His unsteady grip made it rattle on the saucer.
His vexatious brother? That was a strange title for the man whom Vrila had considered his protector and educator.
“What do you mean?” he enquired further and tried to subdue his impatience so as not to let Wiplay become mum out of spite.
His teacher seemed to look inwardly and finally dropped his gaze to the porcelain in his hands. “I’ve known your husband since he was a small boy.” A sadness which touched him ineloquently crept into his voice. “I was his teacher. He was very shy from his first day on. The other children excluded and made fun of him. They wouldn’t make friends with him. Because of his looks, his taciturn manner and the fact that he came from the Stakreich. They yelled disgusting things at him that no child should have to hear. They often lay in wait for him to mock him with plague masks on their faces and sometimes to beat him up.”
Hyacinth clenched his fists. Were he able to get hold of those bastards, he’d turn the spear – even if he’d never yet beat up anyone and likely would come out on the short end of such a confrontation.
“He hardly ever laughed and when he did, he had an affectation about him that I found rather disconcerting.”
“What was it?” Hyacinth asked when the old man paused too long for his taste, though it was merely seconds.
Wiplay didn’t reprimand him but responded to his look and smiled with a mixture of melancholy and pain. “He covers his mouth with a hand so as not to show his teeth. He still does it today, on the rare occasions he laughs at all.”
Hyacinth swallowed and felt how tight his throat had become. When he started to speak, his words came out in a croaking voice: “What could ever make him laugh?” He had to know, since he thought he understood what was meant by restored health to the spirit. Vrila needed
once more to regain his ability to laugh. Then he’d be able to sleep again. At least, he hoped so.
”Not much, truly,” Mr Wiplay sighed with little encouragement.
It appeared Hyacinth would have to find something that would amuse his husband himself.
”Dimitri was Vrila’s guardian. What did he have to say about those brats treating him so?”
Again his interlocutor’s expression darkened. “I called him to come see me. I wanted to inform him about the ugly events on the school grounds. He told me to stay out of the matter. It would make a man of Gavrila to face those humiliations.”
He couldn’t believe what he heard. Why did Vrila speak so lovingly about a brother who uttered such words?
“I told him I feared it would break him instead of make a man of him. But Dimitri didn’t want to hear that. In the end, I was destined to be right, though I wished for nothing more than to be proven wrong.”
“You didn’t protect him?” Too late he realised that he sounded hostile.
“What are you trying to say?” Mr Wiplay parried and seemed disappointed that Hyacinth suspected him of such infamous conduct. “Of course I put him under my protection. I made him my personal assistant in the library and shielded him from the other children as much as I could. Gavrila was very proficient, and your thirst for knowledge reminds me of him. I encouraged him to study medicine, although Dimitri wanted to make a soldier of him. The Stak military was his major passion; he bequeathed his entire estate to it. Well, in the end it was one and the same. And the war did the rest to destroy a man’s soul,” he added bitterly, and his lips pursed tightly.
After that, both maintained a silence which was broken only by the crackling of the fire in the hearth. Hyacinth was totally absorbed in thought and held so firmly to the textbook in his lap that his fingers began to ache. What all had Vrila suffered? So much more than he’d suspected...
A Hyacinth for His Hideousness Page 14