A Hyacinth for His Hideousness

by Tharah Meester

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Gavrila does the same with Dimitri. The man had an impure heart, but as I see it, Gavrii can’t stop putting his brother on a pedestal.”

  An impure heart, Hyacinth could only agree with that particular characterisation since he now knew the filthy swine had beaten Vrila.

  His husband’s scars had disturbed him deeply. Each one told a painful story, and even if he didn’t know any of them, he certainly felt the pain behind them.

  “Then you don’t believe Mr Fletcher is lying to us on purpose?”

  ”Not at all, why should he? In his mind, the past has been transfigured a bit… romanticised. You mustn’t blame him for that.”

  Hyacinth didn’t want to believe it completely. He couldn’t shake off the feeling Fletcher was deceiving them to some extent – quite consciously and not due to a romanticised transfiguration. Only, the question was, what was he hiding and how could Hyacinth find out without Fletcher becoming aware of his scepticism?

  Mr Wiplay continued: “I mean, I hardly know the man. When Molly and he still ran the store, I looked in on them every now and then. They had by far and wide the best fabrics. But Pierce Fletcher doesn’t strike me as the kind who’d lie on purpose to hoodwink someone. He’s an honourable individual, was always friendly to his customers and to his wife who wasn’t quite as friendly to him. I can’t imagine him having wicked intentions.”

  “I didn’t mean to suggest anything like that. It’s only… He’s strange.”

  “He’s lost the love of his life. Some people do become strange then.” Mr Wiplay sighed and gazed into the distance. Suddenly he looked sad. The many wrinkles on his face deepened and darkened. Hyacinth was about to ask if something was wrong when his teacher spoke up again: “What kind of necklace are they repeatedly talking about here? I don’t know a thing about it.”

  “You don’t know a thing about it? Hasn’t Vrila told you?”

  “Gavrila wanted to keep me out of the affair because he knows I don’t approve of his inability to let go of the matter.”

  “I’m sorry for drawing you into it.” Hyacinth felt remorse about his heedlessness.

  “You don’t need to apologise. I wanted to hear it, because I’m slowly beginning to fear that Gavrila won’t stop until he’s found what he’s searching for. Therefore, I might as well help.”

  “Thank you.” He made an effort to smile for the good-natured, old man. “Now, the necklace is our most important piece of evidence.” As briefly as possible, he summarised where and how that piece of jewellery had turned up. Around Dimitri’s hand, in Florin Genwood’s clenched fist, as well as in the fingers of Gina and her daughter Helen.

  Mr Wiplay listened attentively. “Can you draw it for me?”

  Nodding eagerly, Hyacinth began to sketch it and succeeded rather well. Wiplay pensively examined the drawing, holding the notebook close to his face.

  “Do you recognise it?”

  “Somewhere, once before, I’ve seen something similar to it but I can’t for the life of me say where.”

  “Please, Sir, think on it. It’s very important for us to finally find out what that symbol signifies,” he implored the man who had brought a glimmer of hope into the gloomy affair.

  “I’m sorry; I only remember a book, but whether it was the history of antiquity in Levona or perhaps a volume about politics in the Stakreich, I just don’t know anymore. It could be anything at all. I’ve searched through thousands of books in my life. How could I remember each one of them?” For the first time, he raised his voice.

  “I didn’t mean to reproach you.” As politeness required, Hyacinth excused himself since he’d upset the man.

  Mr Wiplay made a dismissive gesture. “Let me sleep on it for a night. Perhaps it’ll occur to me again. Surely it will.“ He didn’t sound as convinced as he wanted to seem, but Hyacinth nodded.

  Again Mr Wiplay turned to the notebook and shook his head. “I can’t make any more sense of it than you. None of you knew this baker or Mr Fowler personally?”

  “Not that I know of.” For a moment his thoughts wandered back to the events in Elwood and centred on Tornwauld and his demand for a kiss from Vrila. He clenched his teeth. His husband had known how to cut a charming figure with that lunatic, but with him…

  “You suspect Mr Genwood jumped in the Meln on his own?”

  “Initially I was the one who doubted that, but now I have to admit that the old man probably killed himself. Of course, the necklace in his fingers indicates he had something to do with the secret society. Maybe he was a member and was thrown out shortly after the bakery fired him.” That was the story that made the most sense. Only, it didn’t bring them a step closer. “I’d thought about looking around inside that bakery then had my misgivings. I don’t want to attract the secret society’s attention to Vrila… or to me.”

  “That’s definitely the smarter decision. You mustn’t get yourself all too deeply involved in this affair. By the end of it all, you’d likely wind up in danger.” Mr Wiplay seemed honestly worried and scrutinised him intently as if he were trying to adjure him not to commit some folly. “Then Mrs Fletcher was the only one not found with a chain on her?”

  “Seems so.” Which once more indicated that Fletcher was lying. Or simply didn’t know any better. In any event, most of the time he was fairly confused. Perhaps he was too worn-out to recognise he was on the wrong track concerning the society.

  Mr Wiplay clapped the book shut and returned it to him. “I’ll mull these things over in my head; I promise. But don’t expect too much from your poor, old teacher.” He smiled.

  Hyacinth couldn’t even bring himself to grin. In any case, he wouldn’t be learning anything today; that much was certain. And he could hardly think clearly when such contention still existed between Vrila and himself. Taking a deep breath, he gathered up all his courage and burst out with it: “We wanted to sleep with each other. But he couldn’t. Then he ran away and spent the night in our bathtub to avoid me.”

  His teacher stared at him wide-eyed, amazed indeed by so much frankness and such an addle-headed way of explaining the situation.

  Hyacinth turned red and lowered his head then played with the carpet fibres. “What should I do?”

  “Speak with him about it,” Mr Wiplay murmured.

  “But he doesn’t want to speak with me!,” he retorted bitterly. “He ignores me to punish me. And I don’t even know what I’ve done!”

  “He most surely doesn’t ignore you to punish you. He’s ashamed of himself, feels his manly pride has been wounded.”

  God, he’d imagined it to be less awkward when he’d broached the subject.

  “Why? It’s not exactly like the world is going to end because of it,” Hyacinth replied in an affectedly indifferent tone of voice and kept silent about his fear that it had been his fault. An attempt not to conjure up even more embarrassment. What should he even say? That last night Vrila had seen him naked for the first time, and his desire had suddenly disappeared? No, no thanks… Chagrined, he shrugged. He felt like a little girl who knew nothing about the functioning of the male body. Anyway, it was clear to him that someone’s manhood occasionally refused to do what its owner wanted. On top of that, Vrila wasn’t eighteen any longer. This… occurrence could have had a thousand reasons, and nevertheless, he was more upset over the possibility of not having been able to please his husband as well as he’d believed he could.

  “What depresses you the most about it, Hyacinth?”

  “That we could have been close in a hundred other ways, but he still preferred to leave me lying there and shut me out.” It left him feeling just as worthless to Vrila as he had been to the suitors in the gutters. For those men he was nothing more than a piece of trash they satisfied their desires with and discarded afterwards.

  “Perhaps he believed you would want to do it only that one way, and he would have disappointed you. It’s probably very important to him to represent a good
lover in your eyes,” Mr Wiplay suggested, apparently finding the discussion now even more discomfiting than Hyacinth. He pressed his fingers to his temples, looking as if he wanted to help but didn’t quite know how.

  “I…,” Hyacinth began weakly then stopped. At the moment he couldn’t bear discussing the matter further. However, Mr Wiplay’s words made an impression on him. It’s probably very important to him to represent a good lover in your eyes. They affected him because they could be true. In any event, he knew what the score was concerning his husband’s self-image. Maybe he had the feeling of having failed, even if it wasn’t so for Hyacinth.

  Of course, it was going a bit too far to discuss that with his teacher, who was for Vrila and also for himself more of a friend than a neighbour.

  “We ought to be studying. I have a lot to catch up on, as you said, Sir.”

  “Yes, yes, let’s do that.” The old man nodded eagerly and gave the impression of being equally relieved and despondent.

  Hyacinth felt completely devastated but didn’t wish to think about the matter any longer.

  *

  In a restless state of mind, Vrila walked back and forth in the parlour. After he’d spent the night in the cold bathtub, his whole body ached. Of course, at the moment he couldn’t be too concerned with that. Now it was essential to somehow make amends for having performed so inadequately in bed. And for having hurt the young man’s feelings with his repellent conduct. Hyacinth had left no doubt concerning that.

  He experienced a dizzy spell as he paced the same circle in front of the hearth for the hundredth time and had clenched his hands to fists so tightly that his fingernails dug into his skin. He’d worked himself into a fit, now breathed heavily, attempting to suppress his nausea, and feared losing consciousness at any moment. Would Hyacinth leave him? Now that he knew Vrila wasn’t useful for anything. They’d had an agreement – without actually saying as much, Vrila had promised to satisfy Hyacinth sufficiently. But he’d proven himself incapable of doing so then had acted like Ascot’s worst idiot afterwards. Hyacinth couldn’t possibly be pleased with him. Would he draw the obvious conclusion and leave?

  His knees gave way under him and had he not fallen onto the fireside chair, he’d have wound up on the floor. He shivered as if he had the chills, and his revolting teeth clattered loudly.

  Lord God, he could have offered himself to the young man or used his mouth or hand on him; instead, he simply ran away!

  “What. Kind of. Miserable. Failure. Are you then?!“ he asked himself in anger and struck his forehead with each pause between words.

  His experience with sexual matters was limited to his rare visits to those gutters he so vehemently wished to keep Hyacinth away from.

  On those afternoons every six months, when he went to collect his veteran’s pension and saw his old comrades again, he most often went down there. To the rent-boys. Of course, he had no longer slept with anyone since he’d met Hyacinth… And naturally, down there he hadn’t learned how to treat someone who meant something to him, who had needs, who expected something from him.

  Lord almighty! Despite all of his insufficiencies, he nevertheless asked himself how he could have mucked that up so thoroughly! The lad had wanted him, and Vrila had wanted Hyacinth, but he hadn’t been man enough to satisfy his husband! He was a terrible, dreadful failure…

  His thoughts revolved around what he’d said, what he’d done and what he’d felt.

  Oh, please, will you finally kiss me! That unexpected request, which had taken his breath away, had absolutely been the most beautiful words he’d ever heard.

  That’s a lie, he reprimanded himself, since as much as those words had moved him, the moment when Hyacinth said he liked him couldn’t be comparable to anything.

  A gentle knocking sounded, causing him to start, and he saw a tall, slender figure unfamiliar to him at the door.

  With agitated movements, he stood up, though he actually didn’t want to receive anyone. In his condition, he simply wanted to be alone.

  Nevertheless, he opened the door for his uninvited guest.

  A young man with well-proportioned features and dark hair, on which snowflakes had settled, stood there in the snowstorm, smiled at him and coughed weakly before speaking: “Mr Ardenovic? Erin Foster. Our friend, Bartholomew, has sent me.” He extended his hand to Gavrila.

  Vrila ignored the gesture, though he knew the impression it would give. “What do you want?”

  Foster appeared irritated by his rudeness but didn’t let himself be deterred. “Your… husband would like to attend the École de Supériorité, as Bartie has informed me. I, well, I thought of a possibility as to how that eventually...“

  “Come in,” Vrila interrupted him. All of a sudden, his heart was beating in his throat. The École could easily put him back in favour with Hyacinth, and he’d do anything to achieve that. Anything. To make his young husband happy, he’d leap from the damn Pecan Bridge. And that was no empty phrase, but bitter sincerity.

  *

  With a queasy feeling in his stomach, Hyacinth stepped across the threshold from the cold into the warmth of their home. To his surprise, Vrila wasn’t alone. He was sitting at the table with a stranger. Their glances met briefly. His husband looked pale and ill. Dark rings had formed under his eyes. His expression looked hounded, almost panic-stricken.

  “Good day,“ Hyacinth said with an irritated intonation and hung up his overcoat.

  The stranger nodded in reply then stared unabashedly at him. The gleam in the man’s eyes perplexed him. Did the bugger know him from somewhere or why did he gawk so?

  “Sit down,” Vrila mumbled with a raw voice that projected something disquieting. He stood up and pointed to his now vacant chair.

  Hyacinth hesitated. “Why? Who is this?“ He noticed his throat becoming parched and constricted. Had he done something?

  “Pardon me, I haven’t introduced myself,” the dark-haired fellow said then stood up and bowed. He extended a hand to Hyacinth.

  Only with reluctance did Hyacinth took it. From a sideways glance he noticed how Vrila cringed when their hands touched. Who was this guy, dammit?

  “My name is Erin Foster; Bartie sent me. I have a proposal to make to you.”

  What in Hell was happening? Tentatively he took the seat where Vrila had been shortly before. His husband was standing diagonally behind him with arms folded across his chest, as Hyacinth could see with a glimpse over his shoulder.

  “I was told, you’d like to attend the École de Supériorité, Mr Black.”

  “Ardenovic,” he corrected almost automatically. Strangely enough, that was more significant for his sub-conscious. Instead of being happy at the mention of the École, he corrected the other man so he’d be addressed by his correct name.

  Foster didn’t respond to that. “My brother is the director, you should know.”

  “I… I’m not far enough along. Mr Wiplay, my teacher, says we need about three years to get me prepared.”

  A slender hand with manicured nails waved that off. “Forget that. I’m personally acquainted with a tutor who knows exactly what the École values the most. In the least time possible, he’ll make sure you learn everything you need to know.”

  An uncertain smile flitted over Hyacinth’s lips. “But I already have a teacher,” he insisted with a shake of his head.

  “I don’t care to be mean-spirited, but Mr Wiplay was an ordinary teacher at an ordinary school. I’m sure he’s a very nice man, but if you are trying to attain higher goals, you need to avail yourself of more advanced methods, Mr Black.”

  “Ardenovic,” he corrected him anew, this time with somewhat more tenacity. He didn’t like letting this Foster address him with the name Black and he also didn’t like him speaking so disparagingly about Mr Wiplay. Seymour was their friend.

  His imploring gaze was directed at Vrila who was, however, staring at his feet and grimacing as though the end of the world were approaching.

  “
You want to attend the École, isn’t that so?” Foster asked him directly as if trying to put an end to this beating about the bush.

  “Yes,” Hyacinth replied truthfully.

  The man seemed satisfied and smiled at him. His straight, white, flawless teeth glistened. “Wonderful! I can make it possible. You just need to... be willing.“

  Hyacinth was seized with excitement by hearing the prospect stated so openly. He’d waited his whole life for this opportunity. Could it actually be possible? Could he attend the École and hold his own there?

  However, he experienced a sobering moment when he wondered what the price might be. Likely it was even more than no longer having Mr Wiplay as his mentor. With a light cough, he chased the scratchiness in his throat. “Be willing in what way?”

  “Become my husband, and I’ll do everything to get you into the École. I swear by my honour. You’ll have your tutor and everything you need!” Foster replied, sputtering with enthusiasm.

  Become my husband… Hyacinth laughed softly. Was that supposed to be a joke? A stupid, stupid joke? No one laughed with him, and he could tell his heart was palpitating. “I’m already married, as you should have noticed.”

  Vrila finally intervened, but what he said took Hyacinth’s breath away: “We could solve this problem, Mr Foster says. You’d only need to request an annulment in court. I would confirm that I pressured you into agreeing to a marriage, and that you were incapable of making such a decision that night.”

  Stunned, Hyacinth glared up at the man beside him. “Problem?” he choked out involuntarily and felt his lips quivering.

  Vrila didn’t answer but stared downwards. Their marriage was for him… a problem? Nothing could have hurt him more. He felt as if he’d been betrayed and sold. Vrila was getting rid of him.

  “I’d be a good husband to you, as I’ve explained for the past hour to Mr Ardenovic. You’d lack nothing, Hyacinth, I can…”