The Metropolis Case_ A Novel - Matthew Gallaway [99]
“Don’t worry—I’m just exhausted,” Eduard said as he caught his breath on the landing. “If I sleep for a few more hours—while you pick up your father—I’ll feel much better.”
“Is anything else bothering you?” Lucien asked.
Eduard’s face flushed red. “No—I told you,” he emphasized, causing Lucien to step back, unsure how to react. Before Lucien could respond, Eduard caught the sleeve of his coat. “I’m sorry,” he said, as he pulled him closer. “My mind is still in Vienna,” he continued softly, “but it’s nothing to worry about. I promise, if I can just rest for a bit, I’ll be much better this afternoon.”
Lucien did not press, and as soon as they arrived in their room, Eduard went directly to bed. “This is just what the doctor ordered,” he declared and smiled weakly at Lucien, who felt reassured when he placed his hand on his lover’s forehead and felt no trace of fever.
GUILLAUME’S TRAIN WAS on time, and Lucien found him with no difficulty. After returning to the hotel—they were staying at the Kempinski, just behind the opera house—they were joined for lunch by Eduard, who to Lucien’s relief seemed perfectly at ease through the entire meal, showing no trace of the stricken character from the morning. As in the past, Eduard and Guillaume seemed to enjoy each other’s company, trading insights and opinions about their respective fields, with Guillaume displaying particular interest in the technological advances in architectural materials—new amalgamations of steel and glass and so forth—that allowed for the building of structures that would have been unthinkable a generation earlier, while Eduard was equally fascinated by Guillaume’s theories about vaccines and diseases.
After lunch, Eduard returned upstairs to work, while Lucien and his father decided to stroll the Maximilianstrasse. As per orders from King Ludwig, the grand boulevard was adorned for the Tristan premiere with high banners in black and gold checkerboard that rippled in the bright June sun.
“It looks like a royal wedding,” Guillaume noted appreciatively. “Does it make you nervous?”
“Well—yes—a little.” Lucien laughed. He understood that Guillaume—far from doubting him—was only trying to establish the kind of rapport that they enjoyed in Paris but that seemed more tenuous in an unfamiliar city. “And you?”
“On your behalf? Not at all,” Guillaume replied. “But I’m curious: is the music really as difficult as they say? I’ve been reading these articles in Paris—”
“Yes, it’s difficult,” Lucien admitted, “but far from impossible, or at least not in the way they make it out to be. We had our final dress rehearsal two days ago. It wasn’t flawless, but we made it through—”
“Well, of course the doubters will come out in flocks until you do something to prove them wrong,” Guillaume said rhetorically before he addressed Lucien. “But you’re pleased with it—you’re happy?”
“Yes—very much—though I’m not sure happy is the right word. There are times when it’s difficult to leave the music at the theater, if that makes sense.”
Guillaume nodded. “Your mother used to be like that, too—if she was singing a sad part, she would mope around in a cloud of despair, but if it was comedic, she couldn’t stop telling jokes, and we’d laugh and laugh …” He smiled wistfully as he stood up. “That’s why I always liked it when she played happier roles.”
Lucien tried to remember the last time they had talked about his mother. “But which did she like better?”
“I’m sure she enjoyed both—that’s what she did—but I think she was like you. It’s not that she was melancholy by nature, but her favorite music conveyed what she used to call the sadness of life. In this respect, we were very different—we used to argue about it.”
“Really? In what way?”
“In the way that I don’t think there’s anything inherently sad about life.”
“You think that even now?”
“Yes, even now,” Guillaume said with a shrug. “It’s not