MJD: Chapter three

November, 1887

In the universe, there are things that are known, and things that are unknown, and in between, there are doors.

~William Blake

Somebody once said to me, that human heart contained more mysteries than the holy books. I was young then, a boy of eleven, and I could not comprehend the depth of the concept. It took me more than two hundred years to realize how true that was. Monty's heart, however open it was, still had darkness deep inside, and it seeped out sometimes, drop by drop, casting shadows on his face.

'I am certain, Lawrence ' he said once, while playing chess with me, 'that the worst possible fate for a man is to run mad'.

'What an odd thing to say, Monty' I replied 'I wonder why you even think of it '.

He looked it me. Attentively, sadly, as if weighing the answer. Then, making a move with his bishop,  he said:

'My grandmother. She tried to end her life twice.  Last time she succeeded - I was fifteen, and I remember the day still. The doctor was adamant she was unwell, and advised treatment, but my father disagreed. He said, it was temporary,  and that bouts of melancholy were habitual in older women. He said she would come round, eventually. The very same night, we heard her crying, then she had a nervous collapse, I think. My father forbade my mother to go, although she wanted to calm grandmother down herself, a desire most logical in a daughter. But he just sent her off to bed, like you would a servant. When she didn't come down for breakfast, mother went up with a tray for her, thinking perhaps she was too weak. We heard the door creak, than the tray crashed on the floor, and my mother screamed. Father rushed there, and we - we just froze at the table.  We all were there, and little Ethel was asleep at the nursery- being but 10 months of age. Poor Arthur was so frightened, his face went green. Edward grabbed my hand,  and I winced, and Georgiana tried to wrestle him off me, he kicked her. William did his best to comfort Edith,  who started sobbing almost immediately. He always loved her more than the others. Somehow we managed to calm them, and Jane led the children to the library. The chaos settled down, for a moment. Georgiana, bless her, was my rock - If not for her, I'd have punched William in the nose. Shaken as we were, we both noticed how unfazed he was. He remarked that, obviously there would be no Christmas that year, and that he could have spent the time wiser.

Georgiana called him a heartless idiot, and he said something even more foolish. His behaviour then made me realise I didn't like him at all.'

'What did he say?'

'To quote, we hardly knew the old bat,  why should we pretend to care?'

I couldn't hide my disgust. William was the direct opposite of Monty, a pompous,  cruel and uncaring cad. Such people, as far as I was concerned, never changed, displaying even more heartlessness in later years. Monty looked at me, understanding glinting in his eyes.

'I suppose he took after father. A very respected man, mind you. But a much feared one, too. He always said I was a dreamer, useless and too soft to attain something of worth or value. I took up cricket to prove him wrong. I led the debates,  I excelled at sport and logic, I became a barrister - but it wasn't enough. He still thought me worse than William. He left me nothing in his will, except for several paintings and a table clock. Mother tried to soften that, assuring me she'd leave me something. But, Lawrence- I was never after money. Anyway, when father came back, he was composed and calm,  and it surprised me that he never did anything to console mother, who clung to his arm. That Christmas was a black one for us. Since then, I have an utmost abhorrence for the day, and the mere thought of visiting Wimbourne for the season sends shivers down my spine.

Apparently, grandmother used her embroidery scissors to cut her hands. At the wake, my aunt, unhinged and almost hysterical, blamed my father for his cruelty. She kept shouting at him, and nothing could appease her. I can see my father, giving her laudanum - his hands trembled,  when he mixed the solution. As he was passing the coffin, mother gasped- I was told later on by the local woman, who came to help, that grandmother's wrists started bleeding precisely then.  Oh Lawrence... deep in my heart, I know my aunt was right. Had it not been for his obstinate character, she would have lived longer. Knowing him, however, I do not thing he ever felt guilty about that incident. He felt wronged, but never wrong. Jane said, my grandmother was against my mother's marriage, but she couldn't contradict her husband. Perhaps, that's what makes me think women need more rights, more freedom to decide for themselves. Mother was so traumatized afterwards, she refused to let father sleep in the same room as her.  He would visit her, but after the mourning was done. And even before,  I believe he did it only when it was medically...right, you know. To ensure she would fall pregnant. '

I shuddered.

,'The more I hear about the man,  the less I like him'  I confessed 'Was Jane that woman, who came to assist with the wake?'

Monty frowned. 

'No, no. Jane is her daughter,  her eldest, I believe. She's but three years younger than me, Jane. My brother took her in as a cook after he became a solicitor. Her niece works for him too, I think. Will suffers from occasional generosity of spirit, when he feels it to be...right.  I used to call him Scrooge, you know. We never got along, and he's grown even more unbearable lately, since father died. '

Monty's voice trembled slightly, but he was quick to master himself. Making another move, he concluded,

'I pity him, Lawrence.  He's desperately lonely, my brother. His character would never suffer anyone, so he remains there, in his dusty office, buried under papers,  never seeing what the world has to offer. He tried to be...normal, you know. Once...' Monty chuckled softly 'he dared me to a cricket game.'

That was surprising.  I couldn't imagine a man like William playing cricket or even venturing out in broad daylight. For a moment, it seemed to me be was more of a vampire than I was, strict, weirdly unemotional, distanced, cold and calculating. And, as Monty put it, buttoned up to his forehead.

'William? Dared you to a game?'

'Oh yes, he did. Edward was still in the country, and Father was still alive. William was in a vicious mood that morning,  and spat venom everywhere he went. He almost tortured me with cricket remarks, and then had the most absurd idea. He thought I was too scared to lose. Edward who always took my side in arguments against William, suggested we play. William was so elated at the prospect, he almost tore up his necktie while dressing for the game. And so, we went outside, we organized a match. We played, against one another. '

'And?'

Monty noticed my interest and smiled.

'He lost. Naturally. And did that splendidly, declaring cricket a childish folly,  a game to be enjoyed only by imbeciles. And existed the field, looking as a steamtrain about to explode. Edward taunted him with impressions and impersonations for months on end after that. But I swear to you, he never forgave me for playing him. I remember him saying, that a day would come when my marvellous hit wouldn't save me, when my strength would be useless. He hates me, my own brother detests me and revels in it. That's the sort of family I have to put up with. Tell me about yours, for a change'.

He caught me off guard there. To tell you the truth, I wasn't ready for this sort of conversation yet. I wanted to be honest with him, I wanted to repay him for his truthfulness, and be entirely open, but imagine yourself in my place - what would you do, if you were me? Imagine, for a moment, that you are a 230 year old immortal creature, desperately in love with a mortal. Imagine being so irrevocably lost that a simple request turns everything upside down. What would you do? I thought. Then I thought some more, and, not to lengthen the pause that was already long  enough, I said:

'You do not want to know'.

'Oh but I do!'  Monty exclaimed, his eyes widening. 'I do. I won't force you to tell me, of course, but I would love to know more. That is, if you do not mind'.

Immediately, I felt guilty. He had that look of a schoolboy about to be thrashed by a headmaster. Undoubtedly, he's seen it many times, being a schoolmaster himself. I couldn't resist, but I had to be careful.

'I don't remember my parents' I began 'You see...my mother died giving birth to me, and my father...I doubt he ever knew i existed. My life, as I can remember it, was a far cry from a happy one, Monty.  Back then, in Italy, orphanages...'

'Italy? I would never presume... I mean...you grew up there?'

'Yes. I cannot remember much, save for bleak streets, squalor and other orphans like me, frightened, hungry and scared.  Nuns and priests, prayers and meagre food. Please don't ask me to dwell on it. I came to London when I was eighteen,  a runaway, who had to learn on the streets, and learn fast. I had help of course - people took me in, taught me things. That's how I became the man you see now. My last teacher was a solicitor,  who taught me to trust my instincts.  I used his counsel,  and now I am quite well-off.  It seems , all that was so petty and insignificant when compared to you. With you, I live again. For years, I merely existed. London is a harsh teacher,  Monty - it can be generous, but it is also treacherous and merciless to those who are too slow or weak. Once, I was both. But I've never known friendship or love in a way I do know. One day, God willing, I will tell you everything. But this day is not yet come, and please do not try to hasten its arrival. I am happy where I'm at, and I would hate it to end.'

Silence fell, as does the theatre curtain, slowly enveloping us both. For a time, Monty was pensive, and his eyes looked darker than before, his face grew ashen. Then, suddenly, a smile ran across his lips, lighting him up.

'Then, I believe, it makes two of us. My life was never happier, Lawrence. Perhaps to some, it would be a simple acquaintance,  but to me, it's unimaginable.  It's what I've never dreamed of having, these talks, these hours with  you...' 

He fell silent again, a bit flushed,  indecisive,  but he looked heavenly.  I've never seen this sort of beauty in a man before, the type of innocence and purity only children possess.  But there was Monty, exuding it, like a freshly opened pearl shell,  all golden shimmer, champagne and sunlight. Renaissance would be head over heels in love with him, I thought.

I admired him. I loved him so much- and every other vampire would have used this opportunity to drink him up, to obtain this fairy dust glow. I, however, could not do this. I knew how fragile the human beauty was, I knew this glow was merely the glow of a young life- and it would diminish and become marble, steel and shadows in my presence. He would glow and shimmer,  true, but this would be the dimly glowing candle in the dark of the cloister,  not the radiant hours of young spring or sunrise. In other words, I would steal Persephone, instead of conquering Eos.  And I didn't want that. For the first time in my long life. I didn't want to be a killer - and I would be exactly that if I ever dared touch him.

That's the moral dilemma all of us face. To preserve what we love, we must kill it - and nothing can ever change that. Preserve by killing means substituting light for darkness, beating heart for abyss, and life for existence. 

I could never do that to him. But oh how I wish I'd have been more decisive!  The future would prove me wrong, soon enough.