Realistic or Modern The Lazarus Heart

[HouseplantSimon]

The man did his best to distance his mind as he helped the other off his horse. To not connect himself to much to the brief physical contact he had with Anthony. Though he couldn’t help but to note the tingling on his skin as they departed. It took him a bit to shake it off, staring off at the bags on the side of his horse. The man’s words awoke him from his trance. “I’d like to think I will use this spot to get away from the maids...” It slipped before he could catch it. Though it still rang true.

He took off the bags on the side of the horse. He laid the bags off to the side, taking out a blanket. Then laying the blanket down on the grass, despite Anthony already laying down. “I’d advise you to lay on the cloth sir. The maids will riot if you further stain your clothes...” He commented before going back to the bags.

From the bags he revealed cucumber sandwiches, tomatoes sandwiches, and marmalade sandwiches. Along with a bottle of white wine, and a glass. Looks as if another glass wasn’t packed for him. He chuckled to himself at the thought of drinking straight from the bottle.

He brought back the food to the cloth, displaying what was packed. Along with some grapes, apples, and peaches. “May I feed the horses some apples..?” Svaan knew better then to just take. Some masters would deny there horses of care. But he hoped Anthony would think differently. Waiting for the others answer he picked up the bottle of wine and analyzed it. A soft huff came from him as he critiqued the quality. It wasn’t a bad white wine. It was decent. It was from France, which disturbed him to no end. But he digressed.

His brow knitted together as he looked over the bottle. Then frowned a bit turning the bottle over in his hands.

 

[Alleluia]

"You're right, you're right" Anthony acknowledged and got up while the other man spread the blanket. When it was laid out, he sprawled on it, this time stretching before he did. He combined his fingers under his head and resumed staring at the sky through the ever dancing visage of leaves. "Go ahead and give them the apples" he replied to Svaan's question. It was kind of him to think of Marquis and Hopper. Anthony did not take it for granted. The lives of the serving class was such that it rarely encouraged them to think beyond their immediate duties. Svaan was not in charge of the horses, and was only on this trip for lack of any other male attendant. His only duty was to Anthony. The fact he took good care of the animals spoke volumes of his character.

Turning on his side and leaning on his elbow, Anthony watched the redhead as he went back to the animals and fed them a couple of apples each. He seemed so at ease, so comfortable with himself, Anthony thought. He wondered if what he was feeling was jealousy at the other man's peace of mind, or something else.

He didn't hurry him along at all, enjoying the peaceful scene far more than he expected. Did he say he'll come here to avoid the maids? His mind went idly back to that comment. Perhaps it meant he has a sweetheart somewhere. The Italians are supposed to be terribly romantic. Perhaps he's pining over someone he left back home. For some reason that made him think of Cuddy again. He'll be married by now, I suppose. A couple of children too, most likely. His old friend wasn't nearly as high in status as Anthony was, but still was of noble family. He'll be expected to marry and ensure the family name lives on. I wonder if he's happy...

When he was done with the horses, Svaan joined him on the picnic blanket, and arranged the food. "You didn't seem too pleased with the wine selection earlier" Anthony said, not noticing he was revealing how closely he'd been watching the other man. "Is this one not to your liking? What, only one glass? How utterly nearsighted of Mrs. Logan! Never mind, we can share." He picked up one of the cucumber sandwiches and popped it into his mouth as he waited to hear the other man's thoughts.

 

[HouseplantSimon]

As he sat on the cool linen he thought how he should phrase his disapproval for the wine. He opened his mouth several times to speak before shutting it. It was hard to explain criticisms he had in Italian, and then put them into English. He then sighed and pursed his lips. “The selection of a white wine to go with this was a good choice. It’s refreshing, leaves enough room to relax. Far better choice then a red wine...” He explained the good things first before moving to his critiques. He didn’t want to make it seem like Anthony’s family couldn’t afford good wine. “Personally, I prefer my regions white wine over...French wine... but that’s because I know the sweetness of our grapes. I know who cares for the grapes... there’s a... rapporto...” The word from his language slipped and he sighed. “A working relationship from the ground, to the grapes, to me... we all work together...” He used his hands as he spoke. Not looking at the man once but rather staring at a singular tree. Lost in concentration on how to explain this to the noble.

After debating whether he should explain it further, he looked over to the other. Seeing him sprawled out besides him snacking on the sandwiches. He wanted to mutter something about his hair looking like chocolate curls. But he held back. Addressing the comment about Mrs.Logan only including one glass.

“I think Mrs.Logan did that on purpose sir. I think she’d rather have me completely sober. Besides I don’t think anyone would think fondly of an immigrant sharing a glass with a noble....” He remarked letting a small laugh bubble up from within. It was a funny picture painted in his mind. A working class Englishmen would rather share a glass with a street dog, then him.

“Though I’m sure the wine isn’t that deep in flavor. The French like to limit there depths and possibilities with wine by only doing a small orchid... Where as we watch what we put into our soil... expand our orchids... and like to mix to create depth...” He continued critiquing the wine as if it was a painting. Then realized the noble probably finds very little interest in the wine, as well as how Italians produce wine. “I mean no offense to how your family picks wine, sir. I’m sure your families pallet when it comes to tasting is at a higher standard then mine...” Inside himself he sincerely doubted it. But did not dare to say it.

 

[Alleluia]

Anthony listened intently, fascinated by the man's detailed answer. Just as charming as his passionate view of an Italian winery versus the French one, was his struggle with the English language. God, that accent, he thought. I could listen to it all day. Poetry recited in that accent would be painfully beautiful. He wondered what his parents would think if he suggested taking an Italian wife. Surely they had a noble class. Perhaps I can ask Svaan about any eligible contesse or principesse.

"Now you have to try it!" Anthony declared. "You cannot give such a detailed description of the wine's supposed shortcomings and then not confirm your assumption with a proper field experiment. That simply will not do" On a whim, he set aside the glass he had been holding up, and he picked up the bottle whose cork the other man had popped for him. "And if proper decorum say we can't share a glass, then I say lets share the bottle. Saluti!" That last word he said in his best imitation of an Italian accent, before putting the bottle to his lips and taking a long drink. The wine was crisp with a slight creamy feel. Svaan was right though, it's taste was simple, and as pale as its hue.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, because he was already behaving so recklessly what's one more breech of proper etiquette. Then he handed the to the other man. Their fingers touched in the process. "Go on, tell me if it's truly as flat as you imagine it to be. Don't worry about offending me. Neither I nor my father selected this one. I profess I am quite the ignoramus when it comes to wine selection and while Lord Aldridge will never admit it, I assure you he is one too".

 

[HouseplantSimon]

He took the bottle startled a bit by there fingers touching, but allowing the feeling to fade as he moved the bottle a bit under his nose. His lids closed and picked up the delicate scents that the wine held, they were light. He assumed the wine was ether not as aged, or they didn't use mature grapes. Though he also had to account for what the wine was aged in, as well as where, and what type of grape. He moved the bottle a bit so anything he couldn't smell would rise up as he tasted the wine. To which right after swirling it he took a sip. Letting the flavor roll over his tongue, as his head moved from side to side. As if the weigh the good and bad qualities of the wine. The good is that it was refreshing, and did have a smooth texture. But that was about it.

"It tastes like a short poem from a poet who has recently picked up a pen and have yet to fall in love..." To him that made sense. "Very few flavors stand out to me, it's not from ripened grapes, and the relationship with the land and the grapes isn't present.. no Passione d'amore.. no passion...no love..." He explained and offered the bottle back to the man. "When something like wine or food is loved.. you can taste it... You can taste the effort..the energy the everything.." Svaan actually knew how to cook so he knew the difference between the taste in something that was put effort and love into than just labor. "My mother always said that you can tell if they actually love you by what there food tastes like... if you feel nothing when you eat the food..then there is nothing there.."

He stopped his rant on the wine letting his shoulders roll back he relaxed a bit. Then slowly dropping himself to the blanket, his shoulder brushing the other. Every shift or movement caused a bit of contact. The thought came to him that perhaps he should scoot away, but yet he didn't move.

 

[Alleluia]

Anthony listened intently. "Very poetic," he said, taking the bottle from Svann and indulging in another, long swig. It tasted no different now that he's heard the other man's detailed opinion. "I'm not sure if it's just the British cuisine or if it's that I've never tasted anyone's labor of love before. If you know of anywhere here or in London that serves food made with Passione d'amore , do let me know. I'd like to try that for the sake of novelty alone, if nothing else".

Taking another one of the sandwiches, one with tomatoes this time, he tried eating it more slowly, more consciously. Was Svaan's palate more refined than mine? He questioned himself. Not likely. A man in service would not enjoy Anthony's privilege in access to the finer things in life. There would have been many times in his life he ate what he could afford. Perhaps he'd even gone to bed hungry some nights in his youth. And yet the wine spoke to him in a way it didn't speak to Anthony. Were other senses more nuanced for him? Sound, sight, smell? He couldn't decide if that was good or bad. Feeling deeply had its advantages, no doubt. But there were many times in his life Anthony wished he could feel less, not more.

He laid back down, then rose again, restless. He picked up a peach and bit into it. Its golden flesh was a combination of tart and sweet. Delicious. This, at least, I can tell on my own. "A chauffeur, an equestrian and now a sommelier. You truly are a man of surprising depthes, Svaan". There was a slight edge to his voice and Anthony himself wasn't sure what it was. Jealously, bitterness or admiration? Or perhaps he was teasing? The other man seemed equally adapt at that skill, judging some of his earlier remarks. "Tell me more about your home. Tell me about Italy".

 

[HouseplantSimon]

As per usual, like clockwork. The man didn’t understand that one couldn’t buy passione d'amore. That it had to be earned, or given. It was just like love. Love cannot be bought. But he was sure the other did not know his meanings of love. The other would buy a wife. And in fact think he could buy love. So he left the topic at that, figuring there was no use in explaining it.

He wondered that his if he told him about his home, how he would react. To him his home was a beautiful paradise that could match no other. But to Anthony his home was a charming abode for a commoner. It brought back to him that Anthony was a noble, and he is a chauffeur. They have a working relationship. They can act like friends, but that is not so. Perhaps it’s societal barriers, or better yet the ways of life.

“I’m from a town called Cefalù..We’re a good sized town on the coast of Italy in Sicily... My mother is from Gibilmanna.. which is apart of the Province of Palermo in Italy ...” Svaan explained looking up into the clearing through the tree’s. He was concentrating on the sky above them. “When I lived in Italy I frequented both places... I prefer Gibilmanna... people who live near the ocean are different the inland people...” He did not tread forward with that, because he was trying not to go on an angry rant. “Gibilmanna is small... there’s maybe twenty people that live there... they all know each other... but they all share the history of the town and the recipes that go with it. It’s very rooted in keeping things old and the same... it’s about tradition there...” Dante explained purposely leaving out how they are extremely catholic.
“My mother came to Cefalù because of tiny her town was... which I don’t blame her. That’s the only part I don’t like about Gibilmanna... but..” He waved his hands about to show he was getting off topic. “Cefalù is... large but not loud.. everyone knows everyone... knows there story, there passion, there cooking... I could explore Cefalù for hours and still not uncover its secrets.. there are lots of warm napping spots... and outside of the town more inland there are plenty of orachids.. for mines there are orchids with grapes, olives, nuts...” He shook his head as if the possibilities were endless. “My father is trying to grow a garden though. With tomatoes, and cucumbers... that sort of thing.. which would be nice... but he’s competing with all the other men his age that have nothing better to do...”

 

[Alleluia]

The peach consumed, Anthony laid back down, sucking on the pit as Svaan began talking. He closed his eyes, trying to picture the places the other man was describing. Tiny Gibilmanna, boisterous Cefalù. He had traveled to Italy in his youth, but never to Sicily. Svaan's words painted a lovely picture, an beautiful, pastoral land filled with tan, strong men hard at work in their gardens. "Why on earth would you leave such a place to come to dreary old England?" he spoke the words without thinking. "If I could live in a place like that, where the weather is kind year round, and the food is made with love and passion..." his voiced trailed off.

The other man was lying next to him, tenser now that the noble had made his curious statement. What does he think of my life? He wondered. Does he imagine them carefree and happy? Unconstrained, free to do as I please? For many of Anthony's peers, he would be right to assume that. But not for him. No, not for him. His prison was translucent, elusive. Sometimes Antony thought it was a prison of his own making. Other times, he thought that he was cursed. Paying for some ancient sin of his ancestors.

Even now, he did not know, could not know, if his keen awareness of the other man was natural, or part of the obsession that plagued him. Would one of his brothers, in his place, be so very conscious of the distance between him and Svaan? Would they feel the heat emanating from the other man? Would they think of him with words such as beautiful, intriguing, alluring? Who was he trying to fool? Neither of brothers would never be caught dead in a situation like that. He'd keep proper distance, observe protocol. It's only me, in my careless nature, that I breech the limits time and again. What wife will deign to bear that? And still a wife I must choose.

 

[HouseplantSimon]

“I didn’t leave by choice sir. I made the sacrifice so my family could survive. England pays better then labor in Italy...” He sighed almost sadly as he explained himself. No, he didn’t leave by choice. He recalled the first year of working in England it felt as if he had been torn away from him family. Ripped from the very root out of the ground, and placed in soil he did not belong in.

Now, here on the linen besides the noble. He would say that his roots have grown to accept the soil. Yet he did not like the soil. Instead his roots reached out to the friends he’s made here, the lovers he’s had. That is what has kept him here. “I get paid enough here to send my sister to school sir. She’s going to be the one to get smart, and be more then just a farmers daughter.., You see the plan is to bring my families wine to England. My sister will run part of the business... and I the other...” He explained rather proudly, but as if it was far off into the distance.

“When you marry, sir... do you plan to leave England...?” All the staff knew he was to be married. And be married soon. Now, thinking about Anthony marrying someone it made him feel.. empty. But all the while happy for the other. Happy that she might be able to give him all the horse rides, and freedom he needed. For that moment he turned to Anthony. And studied his features, as if to find answers to the question why he hadn’t been married yet. Then it slipped. “Honestly sir, I would’ve thought you would have been married by now. You’ve got the looks, and all... a girl would be lucky...”

 

[Alleluia]

God, how naive I am, he thought when Svaan explained his reasons for coming to work in a foreign land. Or perhaps out of touch is more accurate of a description. Here I am thinking of how marvelous life in the country is, how blissful and happy, when reality is much different. It is hard, thankless work that requires sacrifice. Sacrifice Svaan had made for his family, for his sister. Chauffeur, equestrian, sommelier and saint. Though a more sinful looking saint is hard to imagine.

He was not surprised to hear the staff knew of his matrimonial predicament. Hearing that from Svaan though drove the reality of it home in a way it hadn't before. There was no escaping that fate. He might barter himself more time, but never freedom. "I shall never leave England," Anthony said, and there was no joy or patriotic pride in it. "I cannot. I am to become the seventh Duke of Wiltshire, father to the eighth Duke of Wiltshire, grandfather to the bloody ninth Duke of Wiltshire..." his tone had turned bitter. "Perhaps, if I am given a commission for queen and country, I shall be sent somewhere. But that is not likely. Commissions are a way for those with real talent and less prospect to raise up. I am plenty risen".

When Svaan posed him the question about the delayed timing of his nuptial, Anthony felt he needed more alcohol to properly take on that question. Though perhaps it was the wrong strategy to take, particularly on a stomach with little in the way of substantial food. Svaan had called the wine flat, he did not say anything about it being weak.

He pulled himself up to a seating position and brought the bottle back to his lips, taking a few long drinks. Drinking this way felt awfully wrong. "I am not yet married, Svaan" he intoned, gesturing with the bottle "because I do not wish to be. Left to my own devices, I'd never marry. I'd be what my friends in London have taken to calling a confirmed bachelor. By all rights I should have been allowed to do so, by god! I have two brothers who can inherit just as well as I, should I prove a disgrace. I should have been left alone.But no... George had to have been so obviously cuckold that my father can never accept any son he produces. And that damned Matthew had to go and fall in love with a Jewess. So, we're back to me." He stared intensely at Svaan, his mouth working soundlessly. Then it hit him. He must not take one more drink of that wine. He must not say one more revealing thing, or stay on that blanket one more second. Without meaning too he's been courting danger. He had to get away.

"We should go back" he said, getting up. He was a little wobbly in his hurry, but not yet so drunk it would a danger for him to ride. To be safe, he shoved two more sandwiches into his mouth, chewing and swallowing without really sensing their taste. If they had much of it to begin with. "It's getting late and we've ridden far."

 

[HouseplantSimon]

The redhead kept quiet during the man’s talk of how he could never leave. And how if it were up to Anthony he would stay single and mingling for the rest of his days. But his other brothers put him into the tight spot of having to get married. It all made Svaan almost pity the man.

But he was also left in shock of the man’s troubles. He assumed that a noble had no such thing. They just ate, drank, married and lived lives of luxury. But seeing as Anthony was notably troubled, and wanted to get away. He nodded, and began prepared to leave.

As neatly and quickly as he could he folded the blanket packed away the food, and looked at the wine. Seeing as there wasn’t much left he downed the rest in a couple of good swings. Then packed the bottle. He would use it for plants.

Then went to help Anthony mount his horse. To which when Anthony was mounted he all so more reminded to which had the higher ground here. And it wasn’t Svaan.

 

[Alleluia]

Unlike riding out, the return trip was somber and almost miserable. Even the weather seemed to concur, and changed to suit Anthony's mood. The sky turned overcast, and a cold wind began blowing. They rose in companionable silence. As they neared the stables, Anthony moved Marquis closer to Hopper so he can be heard over the wind. "Please keep what we talked about to yourself" he asked Svaan. "It would embarrass my family greatly to know I spoke so carelessly about our private affairs". He knew servants talked amongst themselves, and perhaps he was naive in thinking anything he told Svaan had been news to the man. But still...

"You are good company," he said once they had safely dismounted and their horses were being led in by the stable boy. He clapped the other man on his shoulder, glad for the perfectly wholesome opportunity to do so. "Perhaps we should do this again." He headed back to the house then, feeling the weight of what's coming pile on top of him once again.

***

The day of His brother's engagement announcement was upon them. It would commence at five in the afternoon. Anthony dreaded the event and not because it marked the door of his prison slamming shut on him. He was fond enough of his brother to wish him well, and thought Rachel was a lovely woman. He envied their love, of course, the utter indulgence of it. Matthew never expected to inherit and so early on announced he will marry for love or not at all. Now he was making good on that vow. No, as much as he may have wished for that release, Anthony could not hate his brother nor hope that this arrangement falls apart. What he dreaded was the parade of intended his parents had invited over.

His mother had listed them out to him over breakfast. There were four such girls, respectable women from noble family. A fifth had been invited but would be be able to attend. Anthony was expected to find both the time and a way to pay singular attention to each of them, so by the end of the evening he can share an informed opinion. "Make sure you have a proper conversation," his mother instructed him. "They will be sizing you up as much as you them, so be on your best behavior". Coerced into agreeing, he wanted nothing more now that to get out and as far away from the manor house as he could.

As has become his way, he wandered over to the garage, to check in on Svaan. The chauffeur has been taking him out for a drive, to see the sights or to run some sort of errand, nearly every day. They had not gone riding again, and on all of those drives someone else joined him, usually Matthew or his sister. Still, it had become a habit to see the man daily.

"Hey there," he greeted Svaan, not without some measure of anticipation. "You're not having a busy day, I hope? I was hoping we can take a drive to Asherby grove again. If I'm to be cordial all evening, I'd like to see and speak to as few people as I can until then. Present company excluded, of course".

 

[HouseplantSimon]

After the horse ride, as predicted the gossiping staff clumped over him. In fact, Mrs.Logan has given several maids warnings in regards to fishing for information from him. Not that they got any. He would act like he would start giving them information, but then start speaking in Sicilian. To which they ether look disappointed, or very confused. Then leave him. Yet Mrs. Peters was very different. She found his language romantic, and it drew her to him.

Which made his activity of now spending most of his time downstairs because they were busy. To only checking in when he felt the urge, and going swiftly back to his garage. Which was also a bad idea, since Mrs. Peters insisted upon delivering messages to him. All in all Mrs. Peters was becoming a problem, that he did not enjoy.

Besides that, he had been taking Mr.Aldridge to run errands with him when he came to visit. Which seemed to be every day now. Not that he complained, it was nice to have the company. But he noted the differences between him and Anthony in private. Like when they had gone out for that horse ride. To Anthony running errands with him, and Anthony in the car with family. It was hard not to pick up on the others notably differences. But maybe Svaan was just to observational, maybe he cared to much.

Today though, the staff was kept in a lively chatter. Something about big news, and Mr.Aldridge having four girls over to choose from to marry. To which Svaan stuck his nose out of it, and went to the garage. A letter lay on the table, or more so a draft to his sister. Alongside it were flowers he had collected and pressed inbetween books.


He was awoken from his routine of wiping down the seats when hearing the man’s voice. “Hello sir...” He got down from inside the car putting the rag next to his letters. Then wiping down his clothes. Looking up he saw Mrs. Peters out of the corner of his eye. She was by a tree in the yard playing with her hair. She probably was going to come in and try to talk to him. But Anthony must’ve gotten to him first. For this he was grateful.

“Never too busy to drive you sir...” Svaan remarked before grabbing his keys and dawning a drivers hat. Something Mr.Wilkinson had given to him this week to seem more professional. Svaan thought he just looked like a very fancy chauffeur. He boarded into the car aligning himself in the drivers seat, and proceeded to start it. Waiting upon Anthony to get in so they could depart the garage.

 

[Alleluia]

"Oh, thank heavens" Anthony said, walking up to the car quickly. He slid his hand along the metal curves for a minute before opening the door and getting in. "I dare not go back and tell anyone where I'm going, not even for food. Lets stop somewhere and pick up a light lunch. The horrendous event is going to start at five, which means I'll need to be back here no later than two. No sooner either. Nice hat, by the way. Very... distinguished". In truth, it reminded him of some of the hats on men he's seen in a London club that was everything but distinguished. Somehow, that did not seem an appropriate comment.

Soon enough, they were leaving Wychwood Court behind them. As the manor at their backs grew smaller, Anthony felt him more cheerful. He made small talk with Svaan, telling him of their guests. Half way through he wondered if he was boring the other man. Why would he care about Lord Aldridge's guests? But such was his life that he could talk about the social life of the rich and boring, or his swinging London life, which he dare not bring up. Two more days, he thought, two more and he could go back for at least a little while. Friends, art, music. All of those waited in London.

"Do you like art?" he asked Svaan, eager to change the subject to something he had more passion toward. "London has some of the worlds finest museums. Have you visited them when you lived there?

 

[Alleluia]

[moved to discord]