Hyacinth stood up with such a jolt he nearly knocked the chair over.
“Don’t you dare say my name, arsehole!”
“Hyacinth,” Vrila reprimanded him sharply.
“You either!” he thundered and concealed all his pain behind a fervent rage he now proffered in excess. “Are you trying to sell me away to this bugger?”
“Mr Foster would be good to you! You could pursue your studies, didn’t you hear?!”
“What is he giving you for that?! How much is it going to cost him to have me in his bed like a rent boy, what you forbade me to be anymore?!”
Foster also stood up suddenly. “It’s not that way at all! My intentions are of a pure and honourable nature!”
“He’s not giving me a thing!” Vrila roared. “You shouldn’t let your intellect go to waste just because I can’t afford to send you to the university!”
“As if you really cared about that, you damn hypocrite!” With brute force he knocked the chair to the floor to express the degree of his distress. “You want to get rid of me because things aren’t going the way you imagined they would! And this fop is giving you the excuse of being an honourable man!”
“That’s so typical of you, believing you can see through everything but still can’t comprehend a damn thing!”
“Then tell me what it’s really about!”
“It’s about you getting what you’ve always wished for!”
”But it’s not that damn school!” he yelled and noticed he was sobbing. What he wished for most of all in this world was, by far, no longer the École… Rudely he grabbed Vrila by his shirt collar and threw him so violently against the wall that his head hit it with a bang. “I don’t want it, do you hear?! I don’t want it!”
By then he just wanted to run away, but Foster grabbed his arm. In a panic, Hyacinth reared back and punched the man in the face. “Don’t touch me!”
Foster turned, gaped at him stunned as he released his grip then took hold of his bleeding nose.
Without turning to Vrila again, Hyacinth ran out into the snowstorm without his overcoat. He gasped for air. His tears burned on his cheeks, stung in the cold surrounding him.
Only for a moment did he think about where he ought to go, but he made the decision quickly. He’d confront Bartholomew! What had the bastard been thinking when he sent that dandy and offered Vrila this excuse to dissolve their marriage?!
His heart beat so painfully as though it had a fissure and wouldn’t be able to withstand much more before it splintered.
He’d believed that with Vrila he’d found a home and… so much more, but it took just one major quarrel erupting for the man to try to get rid of him!
Now he was wed, but everything was as before. A rent boy like him would never be worth a thing in anyone’s eyes. Those few gruesome nights had marked and destroyed him.
Hyacinth had made the mistake of shutting himself off from those realities, but now what he was had been heralded before his very eyes. Of all things, by the man for whom he’d developed such strong feelings. Feelings he hadn’t believed himself capable of…
And suddenly his life was lying in shards at his feet.
Chapter 12
“Seymour!” Out of breath, he rushed into his friend’s antique shop.
The old man stood behind the counter examining a small wooden statue. When Vrila stormed in, he lay his magnifying glass aside and stared at him. “Gavrila, what’s happened?”
“Hyacinth! Is he here?” he demanded in a wheezing voice although he already knew the answer.
“He went home right after our lessons were over. What has happened?”
Vrila had to grip the top of a table to avoid losing his balance. “He’s run away. I… I…” He tried hard to hold back his tears, but couldn’t contain them any longer, as they began to roll down his cheeks. “I’ve lost him.”
Almighty God, when had he last cried? He couldn’t even remember. He also couldn’t remember when he’d ever been so despaired.
“For Heaven’s sake, what happened?” Seymour came out from behind the counter and shoved him into an antique chair, causing billows of dust to rise.
“A man came to me; I wanted to throw him out. No, I wanted to beat him when he said he had eyes for Hyacinth,” Vrila began to tell in a brittle voice and covered his face with a hand. “But he swore to me he’d be a good husband to Hyacinth. And I… I know that I can’t. He talked about the École Hyacinth yearns to attend. He… promised the lad could attend this school, and I…” A sob escaped his throat, but his pain was stronger than his shame. “I only want him to be happy.” Instead of making him happy, he’d hurt him and pushed him away…
With fingers tremoring, Seymour patted the hand holding on to the armrest. “I’d really like to comfort you, but that was the most foolish thing you’ve done in your entire life.”
“I know!” he exclaimed and continued to cry, feeling a fresh surge of tears coat his skin. “I know that all too well.” Now he’d destroyed everything he’d ever had. He’d thrown away what he cared about most.
“What can I do? I don’t know where he is. I’m afraid he’ll never come back,“ he whispered in an unfamiliar tone. “I can’t be without him.”
“Oh Gavrila, my poor boy,” Seymour muttered on the verge of tears himself then bent down to clasp his arm.
Vrila allowed the gesture and hid his face on the old man’s shoulder, the man who’d been so important to him for so many years. There he cried without restraint as his entire body trembled.
A bony hand brushed through his hair, noticed the injury ringed by dried blood and avoided it to spare him pain. “Surely he’ll come back. Most surely.“
Vrila didn’t believe him. He was certain he’d lost Hyacinth. And he knew he deserved nothing better. He was unworthy of having that lovable young man in his life. He was unworthy of Hyacinth.
*
The servant led him into Bartholomew’s parlour where Hyacinth erupted into hysterical screaming: “What in Hell were you thinking?!”
The grey-haired gentleman leapt up from his armchair and straightened the collar of his floor-length dressing gown. “Wh-what?”
“How could you send that fop to us?! What were you thinking, getting yourself involved in our affairs?!”
“If you’re talking about Erin, I only meant well by it. The fellow’s brother is the director of the École. Gavrila himself asked me to arrange contacts to get you into the school. I don’t know why that would make you so angry with me.”
“Contacts? Did Vrila also ask you to send someone who’d tempt me away from him?! No, no, not tempt, rather to relieve him of this burden!”
Bushy eyebrows tightened in confusion, and Bartholomew suddenly seemed disconcerted. “What are you talking about?”
“That conceited bugger assumed I’d want to marry him! I have absolutely no interest in such a thing, just so you know! You don’t need to send anyone else! If Vrila wants me off his back, then he should think of some better way to do it!” He fought against tears and, to his relief, managed to hold them back.
“Hyacinth, calm down. I didn’t know a thing about those ludicrous plans.” Bartholomew shook his head. “If I’d had the faintest idea about that, I’d have sent Erin to the devil instead of to Gavrila. Believe me.” In his eyes flashed an expression Hyacinth couldn’t interpret, and he clenched his jaw for a moment. “I’ll go to Gavrila and straighten things out.”
As if thunderstruck, Hyacinth was now standing in the large parlour of the man responsible for his misery – who, it seemed, wasn’t after all – and had vented his rage on him. It hadn’t helped. What remained was despair. Helplessly, he threw his hands in the air. “How do you intend to straighten things out? The man doesn’t want me!” he uttered fiercely and ran away once more. But this time, he wasn’t sure where to go.
*
Staring at the clock, Vrila paced back and forth in front of the cold hearth. Seymour had advised him to go home and wait t
here for Hyacinth. That way he wouldn’t have to return to an empty house. However, with each minute, with each second, he was less able to believe the young man had any intention of coming home.
In his hands he held the small notebook where he’d written something, where he’d formulated his apology so he wouldn’t have to say it out loud. It was too difficult for him to express his emotions in spoken words. As he’d noticed on previous occasions, it was easier to express himself with ink on paper. Now he could only hope Hyacinth would give him the chance to hand him the notebook containing his expressions of remorse. But what could he do should that not happen?
A chill ran down his back making him shiver. Breathing heavily, he paused and stared for a moment at the glass of water he’d served Foster. At that point during the man’s visit, he hadn’t yet known the arsehole’s intentions... With a jerk he grabbed the beaker and threw it against the wall where it shattered. Directly next to the patch of blood he’d left behind when, with unaccustomed strength, Hyacinth had thrown him against the wall. That had caused the sutured wound on the back of his head to open, and he’d had to stitch it once more despite his trembling fingers. Doctoring himself had become second-nature since no one else had ever done so for him.
With impatience he glanced again at the clock and drummed on the notebook’s leather binding.
No, he could no longer stand around and idly hope for a miracle! He needed to search for Hyacinth! Find him! The little fool had gone out into the icy winter without his overcoat, and Vrila was deeply worried about him.
He snatched the jet-black overcoat from the wardrobe cabinet and stormed out the door. In doing so, he bumped into someone apparently on the way to see him. They both gasped before looking one another in the face. Vrila found himself staring at Bartholomew’s enraged countenance.
“I have something serious to say to you!” the old man announced, forcing him back into the house then closed the door behind them and assailed him verbally. Like an angry father intent on giving his son a reprimand. “What in Hell was this business with Foster about?”
“You’re the one who sent the scumbag to me!”
“But not for you to give Hyacinth away to him! You need to keep the young fellow! You need to learn how to sustain a relationship, dammit!”
Vrila shook his head in bewilderment. What did all this madness mean? Bartholomew didn’t have the right to roar at him as if he were his ward! Fundamentally they were barely more than acquaintances extending one another mutual support on a quite specific matter. Why was he now acting like a strict legal guardian? Why was the relationship between Hyacinth and himself so important to Bartholomew?
“I wasn’t planning to marry Hyacinth off to Foster. I meant to throw him out; then the boy returned home, and I had no other choice but to let him hear the proposal!”
“You still could have thrown that love-sick ape out!”
“And risk Hyacinth finding out what I possibly ruined for him? So he’d know that for selfish reasons I’d prevented the fulfilment of his greatest dream?! So he might become even more convinced that I’m bound and determined to ruin his life?!”
“You’re talking nonsense! I told you once before you need to pull yourself together! The boy doesn’t seem unwilling to continue his marriage with you! You just need to make more of an effort! Don’t you see what you have in him? I can tell you’re in love with him! Why are you putting all of it at risk?!”
“Of course I see that!” Vrila shouted indignantly and tugged at his hair. And I’m most definitely in love with him! “Dammit, I wanted to make him happy! Is that really so hard to understand?!“
“In love and war you have to be selfish, Gavrila. Otherwise you’ll never win but just stand on the side-lines and see how others win the battles that you didn’t dare fight yourself. So, go out there and look for the boy and reconcile with him!”
“I was just about to do that, Bartholomew! The only thing standing in my way at the moment is you!” Vrila sharply countered and cast a narrow glare at the old man - who’d taken too many liberties - before storming past him.
*
With relief, Hyacinth caught sight of Sergei leaning against a pylon supporting the massive structure of the bridge. His knees were bent and he was holding in his hands the picture that Hyacinth had seen before. It depicted the young man who’d written so tenderly to him.
Without a word he sat down next to his friend with the brownish- grey locks. Hyacinth attracted a startled glimpse from him as he hastily hid the portrait. He then cleared his throat and stated gruffly: “You’re not wearing a coat.”
As indifferently as possible Hyacinth shrugged his shoulders though they shivered from the cold. “I needed to get away faster than I wanted to. So I left it behind.”
Sergei scrutinised him with curiosity and obvious concern. “What happened?”
With concise words Hyacinth told him what had transpired. At least the matter with Foster. Of course, he remained silent about things as they stood – or didn’t stand – last night.
As he spoke, his throat tightened, noticing to his chagrin he might again burst into tears.
“Oh, heavens, what a pure-bred idiot.” Sergei shook his head then sighed. He covered his forehead with his hands while massaging his temples with his thumbs.
“Well, tell me about it.”
“Believe me, Gavrii would never allow anyone else to have you. I know him.” Perkovic grinned broadly. “I suppose Foster caught him at a weak moment, and Gavrii was vehemently intent on doing what he thought was the right thing. He wants to see you happy.”
“Maybe I am with him,” Hyacinth replied and, with a cheeky intonation, played down how serious the issue was to him.
“That’s a possibility he’s not likely considered yet. I know that seems absurd to you, but maybe you can see it as a compliment that he believes he can give you up for the sake of your happiness.”
“That he believes he can do it?”
“I’m sure he’d be absolutely primed to bash open the office door of any magistrate who tried to marry you to someone else and abduct you if necessary rather than lose you.”
“That’s a heap of nonsense, Sergei,” he objected strongly because he didn’t believe it. Despite that, his stupid heart reacted with a skipped beat.
Perkovic shrugged, and his facial expression changed. The dejection in it, when Hyacinth had surprised him, returned. “Could you ever imagine that I once had someone very dear to me?” he asked abruptly, and Hyacinth pricked his ears. “His name was Laurent. Laurent des Carnasses. We hadn’t been together very long but we knew we were meant for each other. I promised to marry him. I knew I needed him, that I wanted him, that I loved him. From the first time I saw him. He was everything to me. They took him from me.”
Well, that was it – the story he’d told no one, but which had driven him to pursue the society. “What happened?”
“We had gone out, had a bit too much to drink. We kissed in the rain in front of the tavern; he felt cold and was shivering. I instructed him to wait for me inside in the warmth while I went to find us a coach. I looked into his sweet, gentle face, and his blue eyes glistened at me like nothing ever had before. One last time I brushed over his lips with mine; one last time I heard his ‘I love you.’” Sergei’s voice failed him, and he had to take a deep breath. “When I returned, he was gone. Someone must have abducted him. He... he was never found. I work in the morgue hoping someday I’d be able to see him one last time. Other than this picture, the only thing I have left from him is this.” He grasped tenderly at the narrow, worn-looking red shawl. Then he pulled out the portrait and, after a brief hesitation, handed it to Hyacinth.
He took it with jittery fingers and stared at it, although he’d already seen it. His heart beat heavily. What had those people done to him? And had it actually been the secret society, or did it merely serve as a scapegoat for Sergei? Any crazy person might have abducted and murdered Laurent. “I’m so sorry, Sergei.
Truly.“
Perkovic pressed his lips into a narrow line. He nodded in earnest to thank him for the words which were surely no solace to him. “I’ll never love anyone again. He was the only true one for me, and I allowed someone to steal him from me. I’ll never forgive myself for that. Don’t ever let yourself feel this kind of loss someday. It’s horrible. More biting than cold winter air, more penetrating than a dagger in the heart and more painful than feeling your insides being ripped out by someone's bare hands.”
Hyacinth’s breath caught. Not merely because Sergei pronounced those words so intensely, as if his life depended on it, but because he heard someone calling for Perkovic. Someone who sounded suspiciously like Vrila. Acute racing of the heart…
Sergei heard it as well and turned quietly to him: “Hide yourself and listen to what he has to say.”
Nodding, he stood up with Sergei and hid behind the broad pylon.
“Down here!”
Agitated, Hyacinth awaited Vrila’s descent down the stairs. Vrila was in a hurry, his soles tapping against the stone. “You have to help me,” he said and sounded despondent. “Hyacinth is gone. I have to find him.”
“For Heaven’s sake, what’s happened?” Sergei was a damn good actor, Hyacinth thought. Had he not known Perkovic had been already informed about everything, he’d have believed him completely in the dark.
“I did something terribly stupid and… God, I… please help me find him.” Vrila’s tone had something imploring in it, something completely unlike him.
“What did you do, Gavrii? Tell me!”
“There’s no time for that. I have to find him!”
So, the man wasn’t quite ready to admit what he’d done. That enraged Hyacinth! The damn bugger could have said something endearing or romantic or broken out in tears; instead, he remained silent to avoid admitting he was an arsehole!
A Hyacinth for His Hideousness Page 26
