He set the glass down with a thump, almost missing the table. He looked at the glass, leaning precariously in his hand, the bottom resting half on and half off the table. Through the haze of too many drinks-- he had lost count some time ago--he stared for a long moment, then realized with a soft ‘Ahhhh’ that by exercising great skill he could slowly slide the glass backward and thus obtain a level foundation on which to rest it. He meticulously slid the glass in slow motion. There, he thought with great satisfaction, I did it. The glass remained, anchored surely by gravity, on the table.
With a deep sigh, he let his eyes roam aimlessly around the nearly empty barge. They came to rest at last on the collection of pictures on his lap. He flipped briefly through them, coming after a moment to an 8 and a half by 11 of Darius. Tessa had snapped it outside the rectory one sunny day in June, to the sound of Darius’ protestations; and yet he was smiling, while holding one hand up, ostensibly fending her off. Tessa did have a way with him, Duncan thought. She could charm the spots off a leopard, Tessa could, with her beguiling smile and that tempting, mischievous look from the corner of her lovely blue eyes. The brief smile faded from Duncan’s mouth, as he balanced the portrait of Darius carefully against the nearly empty bottle of scotch. He studied it, weaving a bit as he sat in his overstuffed black leather chair.
The light in Darius’ eyes was there, making the hazel eyes look almost translucent. And the smile was so warm and kind, embodying the whole of Darius’ demeanor in the last years of his life. Indeed, kindness was so much a part of Darius personality throughout all of the 300 or so years Duncan had known him that Duncan found it difficult to imagine him any other way, certainly not as a relentless, ruthless leader of marauding armies. Yet at times, remnants of the steely core that lay secreted deep within his friend would surface, for moments only, and only with regard to some issue Darius felt was of great significance.
“So you’re smiling, old friend. You always smiled at Tessa. And sometimes you would chuckle at my jokes, though not so much lately,” Duncan’s speech was slightly slurred.
Well, you must remember, I had a lot on my mind.
The words echoed in Duncan’s mind. He blinked and stared at the photo. He finally ran a hand over his face, then found his eyes fixed on the picture once again. It was his imagination, naturally. He sat quietly, drifting back into the scotch induced fog. Then he heard the words, “Well, so did I. I mean, there was Tessa’s new job. And Richie…”he sighed again and shook his head, “…such a kid!”
The words hung in the air. Duncan frowned. Did I say that, or just think I said it? He rubbed his right temple.
Come now, Duncan, you were glad Tessa took that job. You were glad to be back in Paris. You told me so yourself. And why don’t you admit it, you were more than glad to have Richie around.
“Of course I was glad for Tessa! She deserved that position more than anyone I can think of…and yes, I enjoy Paris, especially with Tessa. Without her, it’s….” he shook his head, waving his hand dismissively. “And Richie…Richie is….was…” he paused, looked out the porthole and caught a glimpse of Notre Dame just edging into sight as the barge moved slightly in the river’s current. He pushed irritably at the glass and mumbled, “Great! Now I’m talking to myself.” He glanced at the picture of Darius, who smiled at him from the slender frame. The eyes were so light, his face so animated, he looked as if he might step out of the frame and sit with Duncan before the fire.
Not to yourself, Duncan, not at all.
Duncan felt a chill run over his forearms, then again up the back of his neck and over his scalp. He held his breath for a long moment. The sound in his mind was that of Darius’ voice, of that he was sure. It was unmistakable. But Duncan knew it could not possibly be his old friend actually speaking. Duncan himself had poured out the ashes of his friend’s body into the Seine, commending him onward, to continue his long awaited journey to the sea.
At last Duncan exhaled as all he heard was the soft lapping of the river against the barge and the cry of a single gull winging its way eastward in the shadows of nightfall. He relaxed into the soft leather of his chair, his mind groggy with scotch, but some part of him still acutely aware, listening. The silence was unbroken.
The fire burned slowly down to coals, yet Duncan did not move to build it up. The barge darkened as the last rays of the sun completely disappeared, yet Duncan left the lights off. Still silence.
At last he moved restlessly, unable to bear thinking of his friends any longer. He thought he should get up and go to bed and made as if to rise when it came again.
I heard you, Duncan. I always heard you, though sometimes you thought I didn’t, or perhaps you thought I didn’t understand completely. But, I did. Remember… I told you, To deny what I was is to deny what I am. I heard you, Duncan. And I understood your questions. I understood how you struggled with who and what you are and what you do, and yes, what you have done. It was not too hard for me to understand. Me least of all.
Duncan sat frozen in the chair. His eyes ached.
And Duncan, I always will hear you. And I always will understand, as long as you keep me alive in your heart. That’s what you’ve told others, isn’t it?
Silence.
Duncan.
Duncan nodded slowly and said softly, “Yes.” He ran his hands through his hair, stood and said, more loudly, “Yes!”
He turned and stumbled, eyes filled with tears, toward the bed, then fell across it and groaned into the coverlet, head and heart pounding. He rolled over, clutching a pillow to his chest for long moments, struggling to swallow the sob that rose repeatedly in his throat. He caught a breath , then another, and finally he could breathe again, aware of the gentle movement of the barge, hearing only the sounds of the night. At last he drifted into deep dreamless sleep, his chest rising and falling in slow rhythm, the pillow thrown aside.
Standing at the foot of the bed, unseen by Duncan, the spirit of Darius made a small sign of the cross and said, “Sleep well, my young friend. There is much ahead of you yet. But you will come through it. You will come through it. That I do promise you.”
