The Connoisseur

Chapter 15 - Under an Ancient Sky

Sophia and Alexander walked in silence through the moonlit gardens of the palace.  They passed cypresses and cedars, gardens of fragrant herbs and flowerbeds draped in colour, all lit by oil lamps.  The barest shade of deep blue pierced the darkness above them.  Dawn was on its way.

“Let’s try here,” said Alexander, leading her toward a small postern gate in the mighty walls of the palace complex. It was unlocked; they passed through.

“Oh,” said Sophia, putting a hand to her lips.  “That is perfect.”

Outside the walls a field of long grass, studded with wild flowers, sloped down to the bank of the Tigris.  On the other side Ctesiphon came to an end, and the dusty land of Persia swept away to the horizon, punctuated by rocky hills and oases surrounded by date palms.  Above, the crescent moon was pure silver, and the constellations danced in Sophia’s eyes.  It was the very image of an Arabian Night.

They walked to the banks of the river and sat together on the grass.  Sophia lay back and looked at the stars.

“There’s so many of them,” she said.  “I always wanted to go to Peru or the Outback, some place where they put those huge telescopes, so I could actually see all the stars.  I don’t think I need to now.”

“If it wasn’t for the moonlight, we’d be able to see the Milky Way,” said Alexander.

“You forget it’s there in 2013, with the streetlight.  It’s sad.”

“But we’re not sad now, I hope.”

“I don’t think so.”  Sophia smiled.  They stared up at the sky for a while.

“So,” said Sophia, “Shahrazad is real.”

“No she’s not,” said Alexander mockingly.  “I still can’t believe it.”

“You heard her.  There’s no denying it.  She even did the cliffhanger thing.”

“She did.  My god.”  Alexander sat up, turning to Sophia.  “She was just a servant girl.  That’s all.  Yet she tells the story, the threat of death hanging over her, leaves the king wanting more, saves her life and others.  All that gets bound up into one grand story, and a thousand stories follow!  My god!  Just a servant girl, but myth makes of her a queen!”

He lay back down on the grass once more, breathlessly muttering, “My god, my god...”

Sophia watched him.  He stared fiercely at the heavens, his features alive with happiness and wonder.  She remembered Shahrazad’s advice to her.  If there was a time to use it, this could be it.

“Why don’t you tell me a story?” she said.

“Hmm?”

“Tell me a story.”

“Oh.  What about?”

Sophia tried to say ‘you’, but couldn’t.  She just looked into his eyes.  Something, at least, passed between them: Alexander’s smile dipped a little and his joy faded, but it was not replaced by sadness as before.  He looked content.

“I do not mean to hide things about myself from you,” he said.

“I know.”

“I sometimes don’t know how to say...”

“I know, Alex.”  She sat up put a hand on his shoulder.  He put his arm around her.  They looked out toward the Persian horizon.

“The book,” said Alexander after some time.  “The one in my library.  Do you remember it?”

“There were quite a few in there.”

“I think you know the one I mean.”

Of course she did – the large red-bound volume in pride of place, which Alexander had guarded so closely.

“I do,” she said.  She bit her lips, desperate for him to say something more.

“That book,” he said, “Is...well, it is my diary.  Of sorts.  It’s more of a record, a study.”

He lapsed into silence, and looked away.  He fidgeted with his free hand. 

“I don’t blame you for protecting it, then,” said Sophia encouragingly.  “Go on.”

After a pause, Alexander did so.

“The place I live in – my house – provides for my every need.  I have food and sustenance, good health – I have never been ill since I set foot in it – and whatever I desire I can summon from nothing.  If I wish company, I can visit anywhere I so choose, for however long it takes me to find friends and acquaintances.  I can do whatever I please with my life, unencumbered by any difficulty.”

He looked so solemn when he spoke.  Sophia tried to relax her hand on his shoulder.

“What, therefore,” he continued, “Am I to do with myself?  I struggled for a while to decide, when first I found myself with this gift.  To start with I acted on pure whim, doing anything and everything I could imagine, indulging across all of history.”  He turned to her.  “It grew so tiresome, acting without purpose.  Never thinking, just doing.  It was draining.  I had to find some direction to it all.”

His eyes blazed; Sophia nearly shrank away from him.  “That book is my purpose.  I resolved to seek out beauty and art and, through writing, to understand them absolutely.  To know the meaning of love and war and mystery and romance, to know it!  So many philosophers have tried, better men than I, but none who had all of history to use for their research.  What better way to use this gift?”

By killing Hitler, said a voice in Sophia’s head.  She reprimanded herself.  “So you kind of are an academic,” she said.  “I thought that you’d made that up, that night at Mario’s.”

“No,” said Alexander.  “I’m hardly an academic.  I’m an amateur.  But the gist of it was true.”

The waters of the Tigris were changing colour from silver to blue as dawn approached.  The flow was quiet and silken, and the air smelled of wild grass and flowers.

“Am I in it?” said Sophia.  Alexander frowned. “Sorry, I’m prying.”

“No, no.”

“I meant to say, did you write about Mozart and the opera?”

“There is an entry for that night, yes,” said Alexander.  “But it’s not all about the music.  One thing I have learned is that music, or a film, or a book – they are little without context.  They are the centrepiece, certainly, but where does the beauty of an evening at the opera truly come from?”  He looked straight at her.  “It comes from everything.  The music, yes, but also the lights, the conversation, the weather, and anything else that leaps to your mind when you recall it.  And...” he laughed a little, “And it comes from those who you share it with.  So, yes.  I did write about you.  How could I not?”

Sophia could feel his pulse through the arm around her shoulder.  It was rushing, like her own.  He drew closer, his lips descending toward hers.  She rose to meet him.

They were an inch apart when she smiled.

“This time,” she whispered, “I’m not going to look away.”

“No?”

“No.”

They laughed, their lips brushed together for the barest moment – and they ceased laughting and kissed beneath the crescent moon.

*

So comes to an end the Persian adventure.  What did you think?  Are you surprised the Alexander opened up a little and do you think he has much more to tell?  Thanks for reading, and I appreciate any thoughts you might have.

The music is the fourth and last movement of Scheherezade.  I didn't plan on writing four chapters on this adventure, but it does give the perfect excuse to put the whole symphony in!  This music doesn't quite match the tone of the chapter as well as the others, but who cares, it's glorious.