Summer's lease hath all too short a date...
     And yet summer is only beginning, a time of late rising and early bedtimes for the creatures of the night. The villa is quiet, always quiet, so removed as it is from what most would call civilization; it is a different place. The wind of the sea still promises salt - the fields of the farms still promise grain.
     Summer will always end in a harvest, of one sort or another...
     The sun has finally set and the master of the house quietly goes through his usual rituals - his usual obeisances to a God which he knows must not hear him. But that is no excuse for unfaithfulness; Samuel lights the candles with the same steady hand, recites the kaddish with the same steady voice. "Baruch a'tai adonai, elohaynu meloch ha'olam..."
     God is great, blessed be our God, the God of Abraham and Moses...
     The reading of the Torah is done; the sacraments observed. And, oddly, he finds himself at loose ends, as sometimes happens after the strict regimen has been fulfilled. Research? Study? Gardening? It is a pleasant evening, though there is the promise or threat of summer storms later. Perhaps the solarium, never used for its named purpose...

     Charles has set down his refreshed tray, leaving a complement of small flowers on a side table. Likely he'll go about, freshening up the bud vases that have gone tired during the day. He sighs softly then looks at the front door for a moment, not sure if he's heard something.

     There are so many little tasks with which one can busy oneself, when one is immortal - rituals in their own right, small but significant ways to master the days. Samuel is aware of it. It keeps unlife from becoming maddening, these rituals - keeps himself free of an older risk even than damnation.
     And, after all, is he not damned...
     He has studied the question for centuries...
     "Charles." Samuel calls evenly, stopped in the hall en route to the solarium. "I do not believe that we are expecting company. Did something slip by?"

     Crap. Charles rises from his bend and looks dutifully to his teacher. "No, Sir," he notes, blinking as he tries to remember the calendar. "I do not believe so." The tray is set aside, and Charles shuffles to the front door, his robe dusting across the stone floor. He takes a pause before grasping the handle to see what is going on outside.

     "Caution, then," Samuel murmurs, senses sharpening even as he nods. "A stray, perhaps, tourists who have lost their way."
     There is no reason to suspect trouble. There is no reason to expect trouble. But when one is a Jew and a vampire, one keeps a weather eye out nonetheless.
     Samuel steps back a pace, then turns to draw closed the doors to the study for the nonce. Then he turns his senses forward. Unexpected visitors...

     At the door, a young man turns to the door from looking into the distance. He's well-dressed, and in the style and tailoring of someone very familiar to this house. Giancarlo stands ramrod stiff, his hands open at his sides.
     "I shall apologize now," Giancarlo begins, "...for the lateness of my visit and my lack of forewarning." Despite his uncarded announcement of a few nights earlier.
     Perhaps you may recall him. He has been here once, a few short years ago now. He smiles faintly at Charles, but his eyes look past into the room, seeking the master of the house.

     Charles blinks, recalling the face. "Good evening, sir." Charles glances to see what his master would like to do, but then decides it's better not to take his eyes from the man at the door. For lack of anything else, Charles asks, "Appointment?"

     Carefully, Samuel comes forward from the corridor, ancient memory being searched for the match of a voice. He has heard that voice. The words are ... not suggestive of hostility, but that is not to say that this shall end in peace. So many things do not.
     "I am here, Charles." The magister makes his appearance, clad in his usual uniform. White shirt. Charcoal trousers. Long coat, almost a smock, as he was about to head out of doors, and on his head, the yarmuka to cover his head in the presence of the Almighty. He comes forth, and he sketches a slight nodding bow. "Signor."
     He greets you, but he does not add to it. He leaves it to you to say why you are here, if something has gone wrong, or - if you come in the intent of extracting some believed owed restitution, reparation. They are all possibilities. And if there is a risk - let it not be Charles who must take it, under such muddied circumstance's aegis...

     The young man smiles at Charles' question. "No, I am afraid that I do not have an appointment. I can come back another time, if that is preferable..."
     But Samuel's appearance and voice stops him. "You do me an honor by calling me signor," Giancarlo offers, "...but I have done nothing in this life to earn such a thing. Any such honor given in the past is long over its use date. I am just Giancarlo, if you like, or Cesare, as most commonly called."

     Charles looks visibly relieved at his master's approach and stands aside. Guess there wasn't an appointment. But he'll not go so far, in case there is trouble. Standing aside also lets the visitor enter, if so allowed.

     "You may enter freely," Samuel answers, voice as calm as ever. "And I do no honours; I grant you courtesy as befits a guest." He turns his back slowly, moving away from the door.
     "It is said to be a mark of civilizations, how well a guest is treated, whether or not expected. Every civilization of note has some ritual to mark it. For my people, it is the expectation of the return of the Prophet - that provides the open door. But I am old," he looks back, smiling slightly, "and will take every excuse to lecture. Come in, sir. Charles, we will have tea - in the rear garden, overlooking the ocean."
     He had planned on going out of doors anyway...

     Well, that's worked out. Charles looks shyly at the guest, then closes the door behind his entrance. With that done, he locks it and goes to see about making tea.

     Cesare only grins at Charles' departure, taking quiet steps to follow where Samuel leads. Eyes wander the house, the books, the stairs. Doors going here and there. The decor. Cesare doesn't comment, but dutifully follows as his host directs.

     Samuel leads the way through the house with its quiet, understated decor. Flowers - there are flowers. There are occasional paintings of landscapes - occasional statuary or ceramics. But they are spaced out, far apart, with open spaces prevailing.
     "I hope that your journey was not arduous," Samuel says civilly, opening the doors which lead to the back terrace. Red flagstones are set into the earth beneath the tall, gnarled trees. In the distance the ground slopes away to cliffs, and then there is the endless night of ocean. But there is also a table and several chairs.
     "Please, join me." Samuel draws a chair for himself, but does not yet sit. "And if you require refreshment, I will make what arrangements I can."

     "The tea will be fine, thank you Samuel," Cesare says. A gentleman in all things. In the old days, they would say that could only be bred. A virtue of station - something that Michele de Montrachet of Epernay had in spades.
     "The journey was fine," Cesare explains, "...Alire and I are back in France now, so it was not so difficult, thank you." Cesare moves around the seats, but does not take one until his host and elder has been seated. "I trust that you are well, along with Charles?"

     "We are well." Samuel says it simply, as if it is apparent, as if it is as it always is. There is no Charles had the sniffles, but he is quite well now, thank you for asking. "I hope that you and Alire have both been well?"
     And that would seem to be coming down to the crux of the matter, wouldn't it? You are here. Unannounced, uninvited, unexpected. And Alire is not.

     "We are, thank you," Cesare says for the record. But the point is here, and Charles is not. "Samuel, I will make this quick." The familiarity there. Hands fold familiarly over the back of one of the chairs.
     "I thank you," Cesare says, his hazel eyes fastened upon you, as he's always done when he speaks genuinely, fiercely, "...more than I can ever begin to say." Difficult words, it seems. What knight is used to giving thanks and showing debt? "You kept your word to me, a promise made under duress: my enemies upon me, and then me upon you. My Alire is here, he is as well as can be expected. He has learned, changed, grown. Yet his soul, his tenderness that caused me to love him is still there. And for that," Cesare rises slightly, "...I am eternally in your debt."
     "I am surprised to see you...I was surprised," Cesare confesses. "But I am glad for you too: you survived and you brought my Alire with you. I hope you continue to prosper...cousin."
     Cesare's hazel gaze drifts a bit and he grins roguishly - that cannot be something of the young Italian man, the studious one. "It's a different time," Cesare says, as if that should explain it all.

     He listens, quietly. His eyes are dark, stoic and perhaps sad. His memory is good...
     "You owe me nothing," Samuel says gently. "I did what I could to keep my promise to you - but I cannot say that Alire was unharmed by it, or by me. It is a different time, yes. For you, you seem to have found your way out of the darkness of it."
     He transfers his gaze to the house, listening as if for Charles' footsteps. "There may yet come a time when your memories will tax you again, in light of this ... difference. Do not honour me too greatly; you have struggled out of the darkness, but I placed Alire in a greater darkness, in the name of preservation - in the name of pride. As you must surely know."

     Cesare quirks, brown hair falling over his ears. "Pride?" Well, no, that hadn't come up. His shoulders shrug slightly. "Preservation, certainly. I understand what has happened to him," he believes, "...and I also know that mortal bodies fail."
     "As for finding my way out," Cesare smiles skeptically, "...I am...learning. Daily. Nightly."

     "Mortal bodies fail," Samuel agrees. "And I in my hubris, chose for him - in my effort to preserve him. You do seem ... more yourself than when last we spoke."
     A politic response. You seem more yourself...
     And yet, less your other self...

      "We all make choices," Cesare murmurs. "I think Alire has lived with the choice you made and has chosen to turn his existence into something that has meaning for him. At least I hope," he smiles.
     "Myself is of two parts, slowly finding a common voice," Cesare explains simply. A brow arches, and he lets the chair go, allowing his hands to loosen. "Alire knows my heart - it has remained the same in this life as in the last. That is what is important."

     "He has done well." Samuel folds a hand over his chin, stroking his beard absently. "And the two of you have found your way to one another. A mystery and a blessing. You are finding your voice. What will you do, other than be with him?"

     On time, Charles arrives. He carefully steps out onto the cliffside with a tray, walking gingerly down to where his master and his guest converse.

     Ah, a more difficult question. Cesare looks to the arriving Charles, contemplating upon his motions. "There's nothing else right now," Cesare explains softly. He looks down to the stone beneath his feet. "But we have time. We will figure out what our future goes, what is ahead for us..." he admits freely.
     "I...wanted you to know...my real thoughts," Cesare notes, seeming done. "Not the things I may have done or said when I saw you last...first."

     "Your words to me were not the harshest that have ever reached my ears. You were lost in your memories - and you have had no reason to trust me."
     Samuel nods to Charles, indicating the table with one slow motion of a hand. "Thank you, Charles. I believe that will be all for now." A rise of eyebrows to Cesare, to be certain in his dismissal, even as he has dismissed the man.
     "I ... will not dwell on your memories. I will resist the urge to elaborate and be the teacher." Samuel smiles, that faint purse of thick lips beneath the salt and pepper beard. "But you must surely know by now that no matter how different the age, we both are familiar with a very different age's view of such matters as truth and justice."

     Charles does as directed, the contents of the tray rattling as he sets it down. Immediately, he turns about and heads within once more.

     "We are," Cesare says, looking at you from an angle. Two curious things said now. "I must ask why do you say that? Is there something cryptic I should understand in this? You speak of pride before...is there something I am missing in all of this?" Ah, quick to temper, but strangely polite.

     "I am aiming no veiled barbs at you, signor. What I say, I say." Samuel regards you from over the tea tray, reaching for the pot and tipping it to pour its contents. "I speak from my beliefs - that I continue to exist is a point of pride with me; pride not in the sense of accomplishment, though I confess to my vanity there as well, but pride in the sense of hubris. For me to decide for another's existence, it is the same."
     The tea is poured; the pot, set aside, and a long-fingered hand reaches for the honey. "Does that explain my belief better? That I chose for your Alire, perhaps it has worked for the best. But these things must always be weighed."

     "They must," Cesare adds simply. But he was not there, he cannot say. Instead, he takes a step back. "I hope that the arrangement of flowers arrived successfully." His teleportation skills are improving. "I hope they bring some brightness to the house."

     "They did, yes. Once Charles satisfied himself that there was no threat, their brightness was enjoyed." Samuel's lips twitch, very gently, and then the rabbi looks up, indicating the cups. "You are not remaining, then?"

     Cesare gives a considering look down to the cups, then smiles. "No, I think I should go. Alire is perhaps wondering where I am at this time. Please forgive that and convey my apologies to Charles. Perhaps another time Alire and I should both visit, and then we'll have tea with you."
     "And please, enjoy yours," Cesare's hand comes out to forestall any long departures. "Your evening is early on and so, you should relax. I can show myself out."

     "As you wish." Samuel regards Cesare steadily, then nods. "Give my greetings to Alire, if you would be so kind. Until next time, perhaps."
     He rises. Even if he is not to see Cesare to the door, it is impolite to remain seated as a guest departs...

     "I shall," Cesare smiles, nodding as he turns away. The smile is much like Italian sunlight. Sparkling and warm. A pat of the chair and Cesare heads back up to the house.
     "Thanks again," Cesare twists to say once more before disappearing into the house and out of the front door.

     Samuel remains where he is for the moment, watching the Italian's departure. Greying dark eyebrows cant upwards slightly, and then, slowly, one hand lifts to stroke his beard.
     "If I were an American," Samuel murmurs to himself and the uncaring sea, "I believe the proper phrase would be 'what the hell?'"

Posted by rowan at May 17, 2005 09:15 PM