Suite d'Existence - 4. Deuxième Courante

“Rise.. rise.. rise, glory riiiiiiise! Pam-padam-pam!”

Cold water sprayed from the showerhead, before trickling down a dark-haired head. It wasn’t that they didn’t have warm water or anything, but a cold shower after working in the garden all morning didn’t hurt.

“Beat the drum, pam-pada-dam!”

It hadn’t even been his idea to install a radio in the bathroom. Mara liked a bit of jazz while brushing her teeth, some Satie while taking a bath and even, once in a while, a sliver of baroque to go with her make-up routine. In the end he had been the one who used it the most, though. Having sung in an ensemble in his time as a student, he now mostly used the shower to practice his skills.

He’d switched his interest to musical instruments quite quickly though, when… No, he shouldn’t think about that.

Tristan squeezed his eyes tight while he rubbed shampoo through his curls.
Focus on something else. Don’t let the memories overwhelm you… What do I still need to pack? I’ve packed enough clothes, some books, toothbrush… Oh, I really have to remember to take some music.

“O che bel stare è stare in Paradiso, dove si vive – „

„Tristan!“ a female voice called. “Don’t forget to pack your boardshorts! I’ve put them on the bed!”

“Thanks! I’ll be right there!” Tristan called back. He decided not to sing along further with the current piece of music that was broadcasted; it was too beautiful to interfere with. The song represented a conversation between heaven and hell, and was therefore sung by a countertenor and a baritone. It was not only beautiful, but it had really helped him when…

Really, stop thinking about it. I have taken my medication this morning, right? I really should make an appointment with Paul after the trip. This has been going on for more than two months now. Yes, I’ll call the practice when I get home.

“I’ve put an extra towel there too! Never travel without your towel, you know!” he heard Mara call.

Tristan grinned. Okay, so maybe he and his wife had read the Hitchhikers’ Guide trilogy – in five parts - too often. He wasn’t embarrassed about that. Well, not really anyway.

The song had ended when he grabbed a towel and started to dry himself off. In about two hours he and his colleagues would go on a staff-trip for a midweek, to one of the Wadden-isles. Most of the students had organized their own end-of-the-year trip, as always. After their return there were only three weeks left before the summer holidays. Three weeks that were mostly filled with some catching up on specific subjects and saying goodbye to the pupils who’d graduated.

Tristan hadn’t taught a sixth grade this year, so he wasn’t covered in exams that had to be corrected. A few of his coworkers wére, though, so not everyone would be able to join the excursion this year.

Feeling fresh and clean he put on his clothes and went to the master bedroom. A folded towel and a pair of dark-blue swimming trunks lay next to his suitcase. Just as he was about to put the remaining items on top of his already packed clothes, he felt two arms grabbing his waist from behind.

“We’ll miss you, you know that, right? You haven’t been away for so long since we had Daan.”

Tristan turned around to face his wife. He kissed her on her forehead, before saying: “It’ll be fine. You’ll be fine without me. And I’m only going for a few days, you know that.”

He felt Mara’s grip tightening. “I’ll miss you too, Mara, but you’ll do fine. And you can call me any time of the day.” Tristan gave her a reassuring look, before kissing her softly on her lips. In about 90 minutes he’d leave for Terschelling.

-

After he’d thanked the concierge for keeping an eye on his bike the upcoming week, Tristan walked up to the parking lot where he’d already seen some trolley-activity. It wasn’t long before he spotted Sylvia dragging what looked like a suitcase made for a giant behind her.

“Where the hell are you planning to go Syl, The States or something?” he called, which made her turn. Tristan grinned; in the last two months he, Ernest and Sylvia had become pretty close friends. They kept each other company in lunch breaks and he had invited them over for dinner several times now. Sylvia absolutely adored his children and had therefore become great friends with Mara as well. Now she shot him an annoyed look, though.

“Don’t just stand there! Please help me, Mulder!” she called back. Still grinning, Tristan made his way over to the open car boots that were waiting to be filled with bags and suitcases. Swiftly he grabbed Sylvia’s monstrous suitcase and put it in the back of the nearest car, before creating some space to fit in his own case. He turned around triumphantly to face a slightly happier looking coworker.

“Thanks, man. The suitcase turned out to be a bit heavy for a small woman like me.”

“No kidding. Seriously though, why’d you have to pack so much? We’ll only be away for four days.”

“I’m a woman, you know.” Sylvia said without any doubt. Tristan looked at her questioningly, waiting for a further explanation.

“That’s it. There’s your answer.”

“Right…” He groaned. “It’s just so easy for you, using you’re gender as an excuse.”

“Well yeah, I like to use sexism when it suits my argument.” Sylvia grinned. Tristan didn’t even try to understand anymore; accepting would be the most suitable tactic for this situation.

“Mhhh.. Yeah, let’s just look for Ernest, okay?”

-

They’d found him soon enough; carrying a brown sportsbag he was happily greeted, after which Sylvia had inquired him about his luggage. She wanted to know how one could have packed so little for the entire trip. “I’m a man. You know that, right?” Ernest had answered. The answer had caused Tristan to burst out in laughter.

Now they were stuck on the ferry for almost two hours. It wasn’t a punishment though; being able to breathe in the salty air on deck made up for being unable to leave the ship. After Sylvia had declined Tristan’s offer to go outside because “the wind would mess with her hair” Ernest had happily agreed to join him. A few other colleagues joined them too.

Fortunately it wasn’t too busy on the ferry. The holidays hadn’t officially begun yet, so most people were probably still working. A few lorry drivers had escaped their vehicles to smoke, and a bunch of hyperactive ten-year-olds were running up and down the deck. While the others were playing scrabble, Tristan and Ernest leaned against the railing, enjoying the strong wind blowing through their hair. The island could be seen in front of them already, but the ship would have to move around a large sandbank to reach its destination.

Tristan looked to his left, a bit short of breath because of the strong gusts of wind coming towards him, to observe his friend. He’d opened up quite a bit since they’d first met, but the guy was still noticeably shy when in company. It turned out he was thirty-four years old, so Tristan’s first guess hadn’t been completely wrong.

They had talked about a lot the past couple of months; their shared love of music of course, but they’d often discussed their professions too. He hadn’t succeeded in getting to know something more personal, though. Fair enough, he hadn’t told him anything personal either, but Ernest seemed very reserved anyway.

Another thing he’d noticed, or rather had noticed again, were his physical features. He really looked like Vincent Dumestre indeed. His grayish brown hair, blue eyes and slightly pointy nose were all fused into a boyish face that made him very likeable. Moreover, his face matched his character. Likeable, but reserved.

If only he would open up a bit more… Maybe if I tell him something more personal… No, forget it. Don’t be stupid.

“Have you ever been to the island before?” The question made him wake up from his thoughts. The fact Ernest was still staring at the water in front of them, made him doubt whether he’d really asked it.

“Yeah, I’ve been here quite often when I was younger. My parents used to take me and my sister here every other summer, actually. You?”

“This will be my third time. It’s a really nice place to be.” Ernest answered, not moving his eyes from the horizon.

“Indeed. I’m not looking forward to the trip back home on Monday.” Tristan said, his gaze now too fixed on the contours of the island in front of them.

The two men stood there in silence, until the announcement of arrival made them realize the rest had already gone downstairs. Four days filled with nature and even more silence were awaiting them.

-

Considering their relatively late arrival the day before, there hadn’t been much the group could do before Thursday would turn into Friday. A visit to the North-sea coast had taken up most of the time that was left of the day, so they’d unanimously decided to wait with any activities until the next day.

After they’d finished dinner, Mark, who taught history and was about the same age as Tristan, had brought out Trivial Pursuit. They were in the company of a bunch of fanatic teachers, after all.

He was lucky to be in their company, Tristan thought to himself while he positioned himself on the neatly made double bed. In the past he’d struggled with finding people who were as passionate about knowledge as he was. He didn’t have to worry about that anymore; the men and women he worked with shared the need to spread facts, insight, and theories.

However, when he was offered a private room he’d accepted it immediately, albeit conscious of possible comments. Some people didn’t struggle as much with constant company as he did, he’d accepted that. If only they would, too. Tristan cherished his privacy.

Scribbling notes between the bars on his heavily used sheet music, he didn’t notice the first time someone knocked on his door. A second knock, though, brought him out of his concentration.

“Hang on! I’m coming!” he called, putting on a pair of woolen slippers before walking up to the door.

He hadn’t really expected anyone, but seeing Ernest standing in the doorway, balancing two mugs of damping liquid, was a nice surprise. For some reason his company didn’t bother him as much as the presence of others did.

“Fancy some tea?” the man spoke, staring awkwardly at the floor.

“Yeah, that would be nice. Come in, before you spill anything.”

Tristan pointed at one of the bedside tables when he saw his guest looking for something to put the hot mugs on. “Oh, thanks. And thanks for letting me in, by the way, I wasn’t sure if you’d appreciate my gesture”, Ernest said.

“No problem, I’m always in for a cup of tea. You’ve escaped the gang or something?” Tristan joked.

“Well actually… Can I sit on here?”

He nodded in response.

“Thanks. Well, they were getting a bit too giddy for my taste. So I thought I’d look for some better company. Thank you.” Ernest sighed as he accepted one of the mugs Tristan was handing him.

“Please stop thanking me for doing nothing, will you? And I hope my presence will live up to your expectations, because you know I can be quite boring now and then”, the latter said.

“Ha, well you’ll have to do I guess.”

It was nice to see the shy guy smile and joke around, Tristan thought. The man was highly intelligent and good looking after all, so he deserved to act like being worth those characteristics. Moreover, he now seemed to be drooling over his paperwork; a degree of interest that was admirable.

“Do you play an instrument yourself?”

Ernest looked up with a look of being caught stealing something. It made Tristan chuckle, with made his guest look even more uncomfortable.

“You’re allowed to look. I’m not going to kill you or something.”

“Tha--, uh, well screw it. Thanks”, Ernest smiled. It made his colleague feel warm inside, something that wasn’t supposed to happen.

No, not now. Fuck. Divert, distract, please come up with something. What the fuck is going on with me. I really, réally have to remember to call the practice as soon as I get home.

“I started off with the recorder when I was little, which isn’t that original I have to admit,” Ernest said, unknowingly saving his coworker. “I switched to the viol though, just before going to university. I haven’t played that much since… I haven’t played a lot recently.”

The change of expression on his face was hardly noticeable, but Tristan had noticed it. Both that and the slip of the tongue in the midst of his explanation. He decided to not ask about it. It was none of his business.

“And you, what kind of sheet music am I looking at?”

“Pff… As if you haven’t already guessed”, Tristan teased, lightening the mood.

“Okay, it seems you know me too well already. I guess, by the look of these”, Ernest pointed at the pieces of sheet music, “you play the piano, or harpsichord, or something similar. Judging by the composer, let me see… Couperin, I’m guessing harpsichord. Right?”

“Oh what a pity, you were so close and then”, Tristan let himself drop backwards on the bed, “you fell”, he teased.

Not receiving a response from his guest, he explained: “I started off with the piano, discovered the harpsichord and decided I liked the latter best. I don’t play the piano that often nowadays, and I borrow the harpsichord from a friend of mine. I’m saving up to buy one, though.”

After finishing the sentence, he felt a body drop beside him. François Couperin and Henry Purcell where all that separated the two men from each other. “Wow, I’d never thought I’d met a harpsichordist in real life. I mean, apart from professional musicians and old, weird-looking men and women, that is.” He heard the man beside him say.

“You know I really applied for a job as a music teacher?” Tristan said, turning his head to face Ernest. The latter shook his head. “I really did. And then, when they invited me for an interview, I was told they had cancelled the music course because there wasn’t enough money. They had seen my degree in English, though, so that’s why I’m teaching that now. Can you believe it? Throwing away such a beautiful subject to replace it with digital blackboards? It’s just so –“

His speech was interrupted by a pair of slightly cracked lips kissing his.

Fuck.