The Metropolis Case_ A Novel - Matthew Gallaway [110]
As it turned out, Eduard managed to make his appointment, and when he returned home that afternoon was contrite. “I’m sorry about this morning,” he said. “Don’t worry—I’m not giving up.”
“Your demons?” responded Lucien, also regretting his earlier anger.
“You might say that.” Eduard nodded and smiled slyly as he accepted Lucien’s outstretched hand and brought it to his lips.
OVER THE NEXT few months, though the battle continued on many fronts, Lucien made a point to console Eduard whenever he could: he massaged his neck, he brought pomegranate juice to his office, he filled the apartment with black roses and violets. He helped Heinrich plan menus for several dinner parties they hosted for members of the government and nobility whose friendship was deemed critical by Eduard. Though it didn’t come naturally, Lucien enjoyed playing a supporting role; he especially liked going to the market with Heinrich, who would suggest a dish with Greek olives, at which point Lucien would say, “No—let’s use the Italian ones, which Eduard likes better.” And though he was conscious of the fact that Heinrich in certain ways knew both of them better than anyone—and had probably even proposed the Greek olives because he knew that Lucien would enjoy correcting him—it still pleased him to think that, in sum, if one considered not only Eduard’s tastes in food or clothing—in which Heinrich probably did have the upper hand—but also the curve of his back, the texture of his hair, the quiet whimpers he sometimes made under Lucien’s weight, or even the way he tended to sleep on his stomach with one leg bent and the other straight, nobody—not even Heinrich—knew Eduard as well as he did, which if it was not the only meaning of love struck him as a most plausible one.
TOWARD THE END of the winter, Eduard and his allies achieved several tactical victories to ensure that his original design was to be implemented with only minor alterations. Construction resumed at full speed, and his mood improved greatly, at least until April arrived and brought with it a new and unforeseen problem—if not exactly unprecedented in Vienna—in the form of rain. It started around the middle of the month, which caused little concern until a second week passed without any real interruption, and then a third; when it wasn’t drizzling, it was a downpour, and at all times a cold, dank mist seemed to seep through even the thickest walls. Lucien slept under three blankets, and even the usually imperturbable Heinrich walked through the apartment muttering about the green mold that crept into undershirts, bedsheets, buttonholes, and shoe eyelets. At the end of the third week, the Danube overran its banks, and the army was dispatched to build barriers of sandbags.
Lucien felt sick with anxiety each time he looked out the window to assess the infinite layers of gray sky, but when he accompanied Eduard through the fog to check the opera house, he did not have to feign optimism. Though it was unnerving to see the waters rising on the other side of the sandbags, which in turn were stacked higher by the soldiers, there was a majestic quality to the structure that went beyond its sheer heft. Except for a few leaks here and there—mostly backstage—the roof kept the inside dry, and in the somber lamplight, it was easy to imagine the theater filled with operagoers. Several times Lucien and Eduard emerged from these inspections into a deluge, but with the water streaming off the curving dome of the roof in thick, opaque sheets, the building felt as impenetrable as a massive ocean liner. While waiting under the arcade, Lucien always made a point to grip Eduard’s hand, and he felt reassured when the gesture was returned.
ONE MORNING—IT