Suite d'Existence - 7. Minuet

Even at a distance of less than twenty meters, no one was to be seen at the place Ernest supposedly had went to. All the bags and clothes they’d left were still lying in an undisturbed circle. It wasn’t until Tristan had set another ten steps that he heard something rustling on top of the dune.

Once he’d conquered the hill with a very sandy skin as a result, his premonition was confirmed; Ernest sat, still wearing just a pair of swim shorts, on top of the dune. His knees were pulled to his chest and he was staring at the relatively calm sea. He noticed the intruder almost immediately.

“Ah, my absence was noticed, friendly sand monster?”

Tristan couldn’t help but smile. Only that man could come up with such absurdly witty comments in a situation like this.

“Well, how do you expect me to look when I’ve climbed up a dune while I’m still wet? You’re absence was noticed indeed. By me, that is.”

Ernest patted the sand next to him with his flat hand. “Come join me in being absent. It’s quite boring doing that on your own.”

Tristan sat down next to his colleague. The soft sand was even colder compared to the temperature of the water. The sudden chill caused a shiver to run down his spine. Even though Ernest was already looking at the mass of water again, the unseen sight made him chuckle.

“You don’t happen to have brought another towel, do you?” Tristan asked him somewhat desperately.

When he’d moved around the cold had been bearable, but sitting still he felt close to freezing. His friend turned towards him. “Unfortunately I’m not able to look into the future. Sorry, this is the only one I’ve got”, he said, pointing at the large striped towel that lay on his shoulders.

Instead of turning back to look at the sea again, the blue-eyed man stayed in position and looked at the ‘monster’. Tristan felt the pair of eyes moving to his feet, along his knees, before gliding to his chest. The partial view finished with the meeting of four eyes. Ernest didn’t move his gaze, which made him feel both uncomfortable and incredibly safe at the same time.

After a few seconds of mutual observing, a simple gesture ended the silence. Ernest lifted his towel from one shoulder and moved slightly towards his neighbour. “If you want, you can…”

Tristan hesitated briefly, though he’d made his mind up already. Brushing as much of the sticky sand of his skin as possible, he moved to the left until his arm was almost touching the bare skin of the other man. Ernest put the towel down, and together with the piece of fabric he let his arm rest on Tristan’s shoulder.

The affection the latter felt at that moment, was something he hadn’t felt that intensely for a very long time. He even managed to withhold his brain from ruining the moment with compensating feelings of self-hatred. This kind of joy was a natural cure for cheerlessness. Of course feeling like this was strange, but it seemed better than most of the feelings he’d experienced during his thirty-two years of being alive.

It felt so nice that, as if it were a reflex, he even let his head rest on Ernest’s shoulder. He was in his thirties, yes, but he felt like his students; awkward, but comfortable.

There hadn’t happened much more that early afternoon. Shortly after Tristan had left the water, the others had followed. They’d decided that a nice cup of tea would be an appropriate alternative to the grey sky.

-

He should have known; his brain was a crafty bastard, capable of awful things. It had pretended to have erased al the negativity, but in reality it’d saved al the crap for a later moment. Like some sick joke, all feelings of doubt now streamed into his skull in hundredfold.

During lunch everything had been ‘normal’, if there was even such a thing. He’d chatted, laughed, eaten and joked around as if nothing had happened the past days. However, when he’d gone to his room to shower and change, everything had gone wrong. Now the uncertainty tortured him. The fear his secret would be uncovered built up the pressure at the back of his eyes into a nice, pounding headache.

As childish as it may seem, all Tristan wanted at this moment was a time machine. A scientific miracle that enabled him to travel back to the time before the doubt. Time machines only existed in the minds of dreaming, worriless five-year-olds, though. He couldn’t change anything about the truth anymore.

The truth he thought he had gotten rid of. He hadn’t even thought about it for years, well, not much at least. No, it hadn’t occupied his thoughts at all, until the truth had come to replace his beloved Norwegian colleague. And now he wrestled with the truth, threw it off him until he was tired and couldn’t lift his head anymore. Like now.

After he’d finished showering, he had noticed his face wouldn’t get dry, no matter how often he wiped it. To stop his tears, he’d lain down onto the bed and had started to listen to some music.

Nothing helped, though. Boesset’s Una Musica made him weary, Purcell’s Sound the Trumpet made him angry. Savall’s Mireu El Nostre Mar made him cry even harder and Steffani’s Timori, ruine got him punching the mattress. When even music made things worse, he really was in a bad place.

His inner battle had worn him out that morning, when he’d put his head on Ernest’s shoulder. Now he experienced the consequences of his weakness; he couldn’t get himself to stand up. He wanted to escape the truth, again, forever, as always. Tristan’s eyes were closed when someone knocked at the door.

“Tristan?” the truth asked. “Are you in here? Can I come in?”

Eyes open. Eyes closed. A last attempt at escaping. The sound of someone opening the door and walking in. The pressure of water behind your eyelids. Eyes open. Failed attempt. The first drops onto your pillow before a breakdown.

Neither of them said a word. Tristan couldn’t, Ernest wasn’t sure how to. It was the warmth of a hand on his upper arm that confirmed the latter had really entered his room. The feeling of the long fingers stroking his arm and shoulder, calmed him down a bit.

Only when Tristan decided to turn to his other side he knew for sure it had been his colleague who’d taken place behind him. Both men faced each other now, but the silence continued.

Attempt to smile. Drag the lie’s luggage. Way too heavy. Drop it. Breakdown.

Meanwhile, the grey sky had transformed into a downpour. Heavy raindrops broke their fall against the windows.

My god, he’s so beautiful. Fuck, my head hurts…How is this supposed to continue? My family…Shit, I want to go home…I need to go…I need to sleep…

The finished stream of tears had left his eyes red and swollen, his cheeks sticky and his mind muted and tired. Just as a new batch of salty drops threatened to leak from his eyes, the man opposite him spoke.

“It doesn’t matter. It’ll be all right, I promise.”

It won’t. I have a family, but I want you. I need…For heaven’s sake, it won’t be okay.

“I know. Your family… But it’ll be okay”, Ernest said, as if he’d read Tristan’s mind. “Just let it go. You’re allowed to feel like this.”

Tristan tried to push himself up, but failed halfway through and grabbed his friend’s waist with both arms, somewhere between sitting and lying down. Ernest pulled him up a bit before putting his arms around the broken man. “It’ll be fine. It’s not bad to cry.”

And so he did. Again.

-

That evening he’d joined the others for dinner a bit later than planned. He had told them he didn’t feel too well, and they had understood. It wasn’t even a lie; he didn’t feel good at all. He had managed to pull himself together to eat something, though.

This evening was their last one before returning to the mainland. The group would take the first ferry tomorrow, so the entire Monday could be used to do useful stuff. Classes started again at Thursday. Tristan didn’t want to come home in the morning. His awful mood wouldn’t go unnoticed, and Mara would force him to call Paul immediately. Not that that was a bad thing; maybe his psychiatrist could help him overcome this bout of depression. Or not. But that was something he didn’t want to consider. He should never have given the Lie a lift in the first place. The hitch-hiker had taken control of the steering-wheel.

His coworkers talked about the bad weather, about the food and other trivialities. Tristan tried not to think about the things that were going to happen, but he failed. He hardly knew anything about the grayish brown-haired man diagonally opposite him, but he knew he couldn’t not be with him. He couldn’t let it go this time, as opposed to what had happened eleven years ago.

This wasn’t good. At all.

Everyone had left to their rooms quite early, because of the early start tomorrow. Tomorrow seemed an eternity away, now that the time was moving at an agonizingly slow pace. Every time Tristan opened his eyes to take a look at his phone, not even ten minutes had passed. The mattress seemed to have hardened upon his touch and his blanket smelled of…Well, he couldn’t sleep.

His thoughts wouldn’t slow down and the ‘sitting-up and laying down’ routine didn’t work either. When he’d knocked at the door of the room next to his – it was only nine o’clock – he’d immediately regretted his action.

What was I thinking?! If I get any more stupid they will mistake me for the suitcase I’m carrying… Just get the hell back to your room.

Tristan had already turned around and started walking back to his room, when he heard a door unlock behind him.

“Oh hi, Tristan. Did you knock? Is everything okay?”

“Uh, no I’m fine. Sorry for disturbing you”, Tristan answered after turning around. He started to walk to his own room again, but he wasn’t the only one moving.

“Please stop. You knocked at my door, so there’s something you wanted to tell me.” Ernest said, having quickly walked past Tristan so he was facing him now. He was wearing a pair of flannel pajama pants and a simple T-shirt, but he didn’t seem to mind being seen in the informal attire.

Tristan couldn’t help but notice the man looked very sweet and handsome, even in his nightwear. The thought made him uncomfortable and he tried to get past the figure blocking his path.

“Sure?”

“No”, he found himself answering honestly, but without thinking.

Ernest looked puzzled, not entirely sure what to make of the differences between the answer and his behaviour.

“Can I…Ernest, do you have time to talk a bit?” Again, the words seem to come easier without letting his brain overanalyzing every syllable. The fear of being ridiculed was still there though; in all honesty, it had never been not there.

“Of course. It’s still early, come in.” Tristan didn’t move.

“I promise I’m not dangerous. You’re the monster, remember?” The weird but strangely comforting joke and Ernest’s warm smile caused him to follow his friend to the room next to his.

-

They had talked for about two hours before he’d left to his own room again. Tristan had finally managed to inform his colleague about his mental condition; the main reason for the state he was in. The other reason, Ernest himself, hadn’t been discussed at all that evening. His friend hadn’t brought it up and he didn’t want to cry again, so after the ‘big confession’ they’d just chatted a bit about work and music.

While listening to one of Bach’s cantatas (‘Vergnügte Ruh’, Beliebte Seelenlust’ BWV 170) Tristan had contemplated asking Ernest about his life. And his deceased husband. But it was late and probably not a suitable occasion, so he dropped the thought.

The talk had helped him to finally get a good night’s rest. That man, who still was somewhat of a stranger compared to his family, had managed to get him to sleep well.

The truth, who jokingly called him ‘miller’ while not knowing a lot about him either. Even without all the facts and figures, he knew he couldn’t be without him. And that scared him enormously. He did sleep well, though.

It had been seven hours since they’d parted when the beeping of his mobile phone caused Tristan to wake up. Time to get up and sail back to reality. Again. It would be slightly different this time, though.

Out of routine he swallowed one of his three daily pills, cleaned his face and got dressed before packing his stuff and moving to the breakfast-hall. Their ferry left at half past seven, so there was time to catch up with everybody. Tristan didn’t really feel like catching up, but he knew he had to make up for his behaviour the past few days. Nobody had to know about his current mental state just yet, even if they’d caught a glimpse. Small-talk wasn’t that hard to manage, anyway.

He had talked to Sylvia, mostly. It was only fair he updated her a bit on what had happened. He’d left out some details on purpose, but at least she knew about the depression now.

“You will tell Mara as soon as you get home, right?” she asked, though it was more of a statement.

“Yes, I will. She will notice it anyway.”

“Promise me you’ll tell her. Because I will, if you won’t.”

“Ugh…I promise. The prospect of you telling my wife I’ve had a breakdown isn’t really an attractive one”, Tristan said, half-jokingly.

Sylvia tried to look angry but failed and smiled instead. “Good. I’m glad you and Ernest have made up, by the way.”

“Me too. We just…We still have a lot to talk trough, but everything’s good between us.” The person in question was talking to some of his natural-sciences colleagues, fortunately, so Tristan managed to force a smile.

“Great. So you’re still coming on Wednesday?” Sylvia continued.

He didn’t really know what was happening on Wednesday, and apparently his confusion had shown.

“Pff…you forgot already? You and Ernest were coming to my place to watch a movie because Mara is taking your children to her parents from Wednesday ‘till Friday. You have to work on Thursday, remember?”

He remembered.

“Oh yeah, I remember.” Sylvia, judging by her look, didn’t believe him. “Well, I remember now.” He winked.

“Right. But you’re still coming?”

“I guess so. I don’t think there’s a reason not to.”

“Great! Oh, I think we’re leaving”, his coworker pointed out. Indeed, everyone seemed to be grabbing their bags. Tristan took a quick glance at his watch. It was seven o’clock, so yes, they had to leave.

-

It was a lot less sunny when they’d left, but it was still as windy as it had been on Thursday. Most people had decided to stay inside; they were only accompanied by the smoking lorry-drivers this morning. Both men were facing Terschelling, its silhouette decreasing in size as the boat moved along. For some reason they preferred this sight over the appearing coastline of the mainland. It just didn’t seem time to say goodbye just yet.

“Give me your phone, please”, the slightly taller man said, causing the other to look surprised.

“What?”

“Just give me your phone”, Ernest ordered calmly, gazing at the horizon but stretching his right arm out to Tristan’s left. The latter did as he was told, and suspiciously handed him his mobile phone.

“I just need you to know you can call me if something’s wrong”, his friend told him while typing something. When he’d finished he handed the device back to him.

“You have my number now. So if you need to talk, please call me.”

Tristan nodded, still surprised by the gesture.

“Will you promise me?”

“I promise I’ll call when…when something’s wrong.”

Ernest nodded quietly in response. Tristan put the phone back into his pocket and fixed his gaze on the shrinking island. They were almost home again.

The trip has ended, but Tristan has to return home now. Well, at least he confided in someone now, though probably not the most strategic person
Music - as performed by:
- Una musica - Le Poème Harmonique 
- Sound the trumpet - Andreas Scholl & Christophe Dumeaux 
- Mireu El Nostre Mar - Hespèrion XXI & Ferran Savall
- Timori, ruine - Cecilia Bartoli, Philippe Jaroussky & I Barocchisti 
- Vergnügte Ruh', Beliebte Seelenlust - Damien Guillon