A Hyacinth for His Hideousness

by Tharah Meester

  “By the way, kissing in the classrooms is strictly forbidden. I’m not aware, Gavrila, of ever having to scold you even once for anything of the sort.”

  They both looked up simultaneously and met the amused regard of an elderly, somewhat plump lady. Her grey hair was bound into a tight bun on the back of her head, and on her ears she wore ostentatiously sparkling gold jewellery. The lady seemed familiar to Hyacinth, but where had he seen her before?

  “Mrs Deckler,” Vrila exclaimed, embarrassed but moved, then nervously cleared his throat. “This is my husband, Mr Hyacinth Ardenovic. Hyacinth, this is my old teacher, Mrs Deckler.”

  “He can see for himself that I’m old. You didn’t need to inform him so loudly,” she jokingly scolded him.

  “I meant former, of course,” Vrila corrected himself hastily and made not only Hyacinth laugh.

  “Would you two like to sit with my husband and me?” As she extended the friendly invitation, Hyacinth remembered where he’d seen the woman before – at Seymour’s funeral.

  He prepared himself to have to compel Vrila to keep company with the lady and gentleman, but his husband surprised him: “Certainly, thank you for the offer.”

  After they had properly filled their plates, and Mrs Deckler had also scooped up everything for herself and her spouse, they went to one of the long tables where the guests had congregated.

  “There you are, ma petite. My stomach is already growling,” Mr Deckler called out happily. It moved his wife to make a face and roll her eyes. “Oh, you’re bringing someone along to chat with?” He scrutinised them with curiosity while they took seats opposite the elderly married couple.

  “As you can see, dear. So, behave yourself,” she admonished him teasingly and introduced them to her husband.

  “I always behave myself. Unfortunately, Honora sees it differently,” Mr Deckler explained cheerfully and nodded at his wife.

  “That’s often the case with the better half,” Hyacinth agreed with a grin and reached for a fork while ignoring Vrila’s enquiring glance.

  “The young man understands me.” Mr Deckler smiled broadly and bit into a roll he’d amply covered with a white spread and chives. “Mm, tasty.”

  The lady hesitantly tried a bite of her steaming hot roast beef. “I would have expressed my condolences to you, Gavrila, had I not felt certain you preferred not to participate in conversations that day.”

  “I thank you for your consideration,” Vrila muttered and lowered his eyes to his untouched food.

  Hyacinth resorted to his usual poke to Vrila’s side and when his husband turned his attention to him, tilting his head toward the plate.

  Vrila sighed and obediently began to eat. Remarkable how that tactic always produced the desired result.

  When Hyacinth turned to Mrs Deckler, he realised she’d observed their wordless exchange and acknowledged her perception with a gentle smile.

  Interested, he asked the lady, “Did you know Mr Wiplay well?”

  “In recent times we’d had considerably less contact. After he left the school, he lived fairly withdrawn.”

  Seymour had once casually mentioned how it had upset him to be pensioned out. Then he’d opened the store full-time after only devoting mild attention to it previously. The antiques helped to divert his mind from any dejection he might feel.

  “He always kept in contact with Vrila,” Hyacinth commented. “Did you know that we live in the house next to Mr Wiplay’s? He encouraged Vrila to buy the house when it became available.”

  “No, that’s news to me. How nice. That’s just like Seymour, to keep Gavrila close. He was like a son to him.”

  ”True. He said as much to me.” Hyacinth nodded thoughtfully and rubbed Vrila across a thigh. “In fact, as he assured me, I was as well. He became my teacher, and we became friends.” To his surprise and joy, Vrila grasped his hand with his left one and held it. We belong together. That remarkable thought coursed through his head as their fingers entwined.

  Mrs Deckler considered them with a grandmotherly regard. “I’m very glad to hear that. Seymour was such a kind-hearted man.”

  “It really hurts that he’s no longer here,” Hyacinth confessed.

  “I know what it’s like to lose family. Our daughter and our son-in-law died in a terrible accident,” Mrs Deckler replied and a shadow passed across her friendly visage. Immediately afterward, her expression cheered up once more, and she forced a smile. “Since then, our grandson lives with us. He’s our sunshine.”

  “He truly is,” her husband confirmed. He put down his glass and emitted a strange sound as though he’d just remembered something. “Ardenovic. Isn’t that the little fellow who always put flowers on your desk and had to endure being teased by the other children?”

  “By the Almighty, I knew it would get uncomfortable,” Vrila muttered after a groan and quickly put his hands in front of his eyes.

  “Flowers?” Hyacinth grinned inwardly. His husband actually did have a romantic vein? How interesting and useful to know.

  “Yes, he’s the one, Erasmus.” Mrs Deckler nodded amused. “He brought Seymour and me bouquets once a week. Usually violets.”

  “What a pity they weren’t hyacinths.” Hyacinth looked delighted and leaned forward so he could kiss Vrila’s bright red cheeks.

  “I prefer a hyacinth to any other flower, I just didn’t know it back then,” he replied almost in a whisper and regarded him so tenderly it took his breath away. This words meant more than they alleged. It wasn’t really an issue of Vrila’s favourite kind of flower, but of their feelings for one another. That realisation caused his pulse to quicken.

  To conceal his emotions from the unfamiliar lady and gentleman, Hyacinth tried to make light of the situation: “Who’s the lick-spittle here now?”

  For that playfulness, Vrila rewarded him with a laugh which surprised some of the people sitting around them – including the Decklers – and gave Hyacinth a warm, pleasant feeling in his chest. Damned be the people around him. He reached for Vrila’s chin and kissed him on the mouth.

  Not quickly or furtively, rather with all the submission and tenderness he felt for that man. His stomach tingled intensely when their lips touched, and it was difficult to release Vrila again.

  Their eyes met when he pulled away and remained fixed on one another for what seemed like ages. Only then could they turn away and act as though they weren’t on the verge of falling upon one another.

  Mr Deckler found his composure quicker than his wife did. “What wouldn’t I give if you still looked at me like that, ma petite,” he teased Mrs Deckler, who laughed and leaned her head against her husband’s shoulder.

  Embarrassed, Vrila cast his eyes downward and devoted himself to his meal, without releasing Hyacinth’s hand.

  He could barely contain his happiness.

  *

  Outside the high windows, the moon hung brightly in the sky. Hours had passed since they had sat down. Time had flown by. They’d had an enjoyable evening – to Hyacinth’s disappointment, Mrs Deckler had declined to tell any further anecdotes about Vrila’s childhood. He’d have been only too happy to learn more but had to resign himself to hoping Vrila himself would someday talk about those days.

  A short time before, the woman had withdrawn to freshen up a bit. Therefore, only the men were sitting at the table.

  Mr Deckler was a senior lecturer at the University of Ascot, and somehow they started speaking about the École. A subject Hyacinth, to his own amazement, no longer found particularly interesting. Presently there were more important things in his life than some ludicrous dream of attending such an exclusive school. He now relished the sensation of having found his place. He had Vrila. He didn’t need anything more. Wishing for more would have been presumptuous.

  “I wanted to convince my grandson to attend the École. He refused and asserted that he’d not be able to stand even one day among those snotty lords and ladies.” Erasmus Deckler grinned and dangled a whiskey glass in
his right hand while holding a cigar in his left.

  “My husband wants to study there,” Vrila interjected in a tone that made Hyacinth realise to his surprise how much the matter depressed Vrila. Why? Because he couldn’t make it possible?

  “Wanted to,” Hyacinth corrected him. “You don’t need to waste another thought on it. That’s over with.”

  Vrila examined him, a confused glance on his face. He opened his lips as if to reply, but remained silent. He looked so enchanting with his uniquely curved nose and jet-black hair, which framed his pale, distinctive face. The dark hue in his eyes projected the impression of aloofness and inscrutability, though Hyacinth knew better.

  “Seymour told me my intellect would be wasted if I didn’t go to a university. But when we discussed it further, he thought it wasn’t as important where I studied as long as I did. Plus, you promised to teach me everything you know. That’s good enough for me.” He smiled at his husband who looked relentlessly irritated. And at the same time quite happy, as Hyacinth could read in his soft facial lines.

  “In any event, the École doesn’t accept rats,” intoned a voice familiar to him.

  At the same time as Vrila, Hyacinth raised his head. And Mr Deckler turned around, his eyes narrowed.

  To Hyacinth’s chagrin, at the next table sat a man whom he’d dealt with often in the past. It was one of the men who attended the balls looking for someone to marry. Hyacinth had been invited a few times to dance with him, however he’d never felt comfortable about it. He had the impression this fine lord wasn’t quite so fine on the inside. Now the gentleman was grinning at him while puffing on a cigarette and enveloping himself in a cloud of smoke.

  Vrila was the first to speak, bitingly and coldly. “Nobody asked for your opinion, Abney.” His body language betrayed a tension that didn’t seem appropriate to the situation.

  “Let him talk; that’s all he can do. It doesn’t bother me,” Hyacinth quietly dismissed it and hoped Vrila would calm down. He put his hand on his thigh, though Vrila hardly seemed to notice.

  “Yes, ignore people like that,” Mr Deckler added rationally and dismissed the claptrap with the wave of a hand.

  Vrila paid him no heed and fixed a sharp glare on Abney.

  For his part, Abney ignored the admonitions of his table companions who looked embarrassed. Who could blame them? “Does something not suit you, Your Hideousness? Don’t you like it when I call your husband a stupid rat?”

  With that he struck Hyacinth where it hurt. Not with the stupid rat, but with Your Hideousness. “Watch your tongue, arsehole!”

  No one paid attention to him.

  “I’m warning you,” Vrila growled across the table. “I’m on the brink of losing self-control. I really don’t think you want that to happen.”

  Abney reacted with a mirthless laugh. “Oh, how afraid I am. I tremble in your presence.”

  “You definitely should.” Vrila’s hands had clenched so tightly into fists his knuckles turned noticeably white.

  Obviously, Abney didn’t understand how near to an escalation the situation had come. “But I don’t and I’ll call this street urchin whatever I wish.”

  Vrila leapt up and pounded his hands on the table. “Shut the fuck up!”

  All at once the massive room became completely silent, and everyone’s attention diverted to the heated altercation. Hyacinth’s parents also gawked with curiosity. It was then, Hyacinth felt proud his husband had defended him, although it was unnecessary.

  “Vrila, calm down. The guy isn’t worth your anger.” He tugged on his jacket and vehemently hoped his husband would sit down again.

  “Oh, leave him alone. I’m beginning to think Mr Abney has earned a good thrashing,” was Deckler’s unhelpful remark.

  Abney leapt to his feet. “I won’t allow you to tell me to shut my mouth, you obnoxious piece of shit! And your husband is nothing but a dirty little whore, which the whole city knows.”

  Hyacinth had but a fraction of a second to flinche back and perceive a horrified murmur spreading through the crowd. Then, to his shock, with one bound Vrila jumped over the table and violently threw Abney to the floor. His jacket fluttered behind him like the cape of an avenger, and the growl that escaped from his throat triggered something within Hyacinth.

  A memory flashed through him, causing the world around to become indistinct and drew him back to a past that seemed like a dream. It was barely tangible. There were no more than a few images, barely a coherent whole. Fitfully, he tried to hold on to them because they appeared to be so meaningful. His heart beat loud and hard.

  He saw before him the man in the soldier’s red uniform, how he grabbed hold of another man and threw him against a wall of dark stone. Each of them roared at the other, but he barely understood what they were saying. Only a single sentence hammered itself into his head: “Put your hands on him again and you’re a dead man!”

  Unconsciously he gasped and retreated from his own thoughts. In the blink of an eye he was flung back into the present.

  He heard glasses breaking and people yelling as they jumped up from their chairs.

  For a second Hyacinth felt crippled.

  When he was able to free himself from the numbness, he hurried to his husband, wrapped his arms around his waist and yanked him off of Abney. “Vrila, that’s enough!”

  To his surprise, his panting husband, whose closeness in that situation touched a nerve in him, allowed himself to be restrained. Satisfied, Hyacinth noted his accursed father’s incredulous look and the bleeding nose of his slanderer who only slowly managed to rise to his feet again and appeared dazed. Was it a sin to be happy about that after the man had called him a whore? He didn’t know and also didn’t care.

  “You really deserved that,” Erasmus Deckler stated and nodded in grim delight.

  Abney’s friends rushed to brace him and grabbed him under the arms. The fine gentleman gruffly shook them off and called them filthy rabble before he turned to Vrila: “Damned scum!” He then spit on the toes of his adversary’s boots, turned on his heels and staggered out of the room.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” Hyacinth muttered although it took a conscious effort to restrain a smile while he felt his cheeks flush. He released his hold on Vrila.

  “I know,” he grumbled and straightened his collar before tidying his hair with his right hand.

  Mr Deckler grimaced and shook his head. “There will be no repercussions. Abney knows he should have kept his mouth shut. He provoked you like no one should ever provoke a man.”

  “Even so, I think it’s better if we go now,” Hyacinth replied softly. Vrila needed to calm down; his entire body was quaking which distressed Hyacinth.

  After a short exchange of words, they took leave of Mr Deckler and asked him to convey cordial greetings to his wife. They turned their backs on the scene and started homeward. In silence.

  *

  As Vrila opened the door, a white envelope slid to his feet. Someone must have shoved it through the mail slot.

  Relieved to have an excuse to avoid an immediate discussion with Hyacinth about his behaviour, he grabbed and opened it.

  “Who’s it from?” his lad asked softly, clear curiosity in his voice. He then moved closer to peer over his shoulder.

  “I don’t know.” He pulled out the letter and scanned its few lines composed in a clumsily scrawled handwriting.

  It wasn’t my intention to go off like that. The business with Wiplay also unnerved me terribly. It was a shock to see the old man that way. He didn’t deserve such a fate. Nobody does, but he least of all.

  You should know I’d never try anything with your husband. And Hyacinth also knows why. You can ask him. He knows.

  I’m sorry. I hope we can soon stand each other’s presence again. The past several days without you both have been shitty.

  Your loyal friend, Sergei

  Vrila shook his head over Perkovic, that idiot. As if he actually were so unforgiving. And so dumb
as to not realise the man only wanted to help. He’d already been worried about the fool, who’d never before allowed so many days to pass without turning up at his place. He inhaled deeply. “What does he mean with you’d know why?”

  “He had a sweetheart. Laurent des Carnasses,” Hyacinth replied after gulping. “He believes the society abducted him. He told me when I sought his advice after our argument over Foster.” The young man told him Perkovic’s story and about the picture he’d discovered.

  “I had no idea,” Vrila confessed gruffly, although that was evident. A sigh emanated from his parched throat, and he placed the letter on the counter then leaned on it. He was overcome with empathy.

  Indecisively, Hyacinth stood a few steps away and scrutinised him. He seemed anxious to say something. At last he brushed through his blond locks with his right hand and turned away.

  “I’m sorry I lost self-control,” Vrila exclaimed hoarsely because he knew he needed to express remorse. “I acted in a notably uncultivated manner.”

  “You don’t need to feel sorry. I found the sentiment rather nice,” Hyacinth replied, and an unexpected smile flitted across his mouth. “I only wonder, why that blabbering managed to upset you so profoundly. You were already primed to do something even before Abney used that word.”

  How could Hyacinth see through him so well? Vrila nervously licked his lips and shrugged. “Maybe,” he said in a non-committal tone to ward off an unpleasant conversation.

  In the usual, hard-bitten stubbornness Vrila found so adorable in spite of himself, Hyacinth didn’t let up. “Maybe what?”

  “Maybe I was still jealous,” he responded as imperturbably as he could manage and felt his cheeks redden.

  “Jealous? Of Abney?”

  Vrila had to clear his throat with a forceful cough. He felt his pulse throbbing in his neck. ”I saw you dancing with him. Didn’t like it, even though I had no right to be jealous.”

  For a moment they were enveloped in a peculiar silence.

  “You already… liked me earlier and were watching me?” was Hyacinth’s incredulous reaction, and his eyes opened wide in amazement.