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luthier_balloonistOriginally posted here
Kay's mind was churning, considering everything he had just learned, turning it around like a puzzle piece that he couldn't quite fit into place. Question after question leapt to the forefront, but he forced himself to keep quiet as he led the way out into the street, where where frost was already gleaming on the pavement and creeping up windows. Barir was very quiet, burying his chin in his coat collar while Kay hailed a cab. The first driver took one look at him and drove on, which did little to improve Kay’s mood. Barir barely seemed to notice.
When they were finally in the safety of a hackney Kay could hold his tongue no longer.
“You know Lowry?” he exclaimed. A formless anger was building inside him, along with the horrible sense that he had been taken for a fool, that this new happiness of which he had convinced himself would soon collapse like a house of cards.
Barir’s knee was bouncing up and down. He had been pale and nervy since the end of the concert. He didn't answer for a few moments, fidgeting with his gloves, but eventually he drew in a long breath “Knew. I knew him. Briefly, years ago.” He did not look at Kay, his gaze flitting between his knees and the window. He spoke in a quiet, taut voice, quite unlike his usual warm tones. “He left for America, and I hoped to never see him again.”
Something stirred in Kay’s memory. The suffocating heat of a tent rather than the cramped cold of a cab, but the same nervous, fretful Barir. “The man you lived with. He was in the balloon, in the summer.”
Barir stiffened. “You remember that.”
“I remember most things.” Perhaps Barir did not remember details of that day the way Kay did; for weeks he had tormented himself remembering the way Barir had touched his wrist, that barest touch of skin. Barir, of course, had been too caught up in his memories.
A sudden, awful thought occurred to Kay, and he could barely bring himself to voice it. “When you say you lived with him, do you mean—”
Barir suddenly buried his face in his hands with a groan. “I never wanted you to know any of this. Please, Kay, I don’t want to talk about it. It’s quite bad enough that Jenny…” He trailed off.
“Mrs Amador knows?”
Barir sighed. For the first time he looked at Kay properly, though in the darkness Kay could barely make out his expression. There was a moment of quiet, and then Barir reached across and put his hand atop Kay’s where it rested on his violin case, balanced on his lap. He squeezed his fingers.
“I don’t wish to discuss this in the back of a cab,” he said. “I would have preferred to never discuss it at all, but…”
Then do not, part of Kay wanted to say, the part that wished to spare Barir any pain or trouble. But Lowry had been a thorn in Kay’s side for months, was working hard to deprive him of his livelihood, and anger still burned in his chest. He swallowed the urge to demand answers immediately and nodded.
For the rest of the journey he gazed out of the window, unable to stop himself turning everything over and over in his mind. Barir squeezed his fingers again, and Kay pulled his hand away.
Kay's mind was churning, considering everything he had just learned, turning it around like a puzzle piece that he couldn't quite fit into place. Question after question leapt to the forefront, but he forced himself to keep quiet as he led the way out into the street, where where frost was already gleaming on the pavement and creeping up windows. Barir was very quiet, burying his chin in his coat collar while Kay hailed a cab. The first driver took one look at him and drove on, which did little to improve Kay’s mood. Barir barely seemed to notice.
When they were finally in the safety of a hackney Kay could hold his tongue no longer.
“You know Lowry?” he exclaimed. A formless anger was building inside him, along with the horrible sense that he had been taken for a fool, that this new happiness of which he had convinced himself would soon collapse like a house of cards.
Barir’s knee was bouncing up and down. He had been pale and nervy since the end of the concert. He didn't answer for a few moments, fidgeting with his gloves, but eventually he drew in a long breath “Knew. I knew him. Briefly, years ago.” He did not look at Kay, his gaze flitting between his knees and the window. He spoke in a quiet, taut voice, quite unlike his usual warm tones. “He left for America, and I hoped to never see him again.”
Something stirred in Kay’s memory. The suffocating heat of a tent rather than the cramped cold of a cab, but the same nervous, fretful Barir. “The man you lived with. He was in the balloon, in the summer.”
Barir stiffened. “You remember that.”
“I remember most things.” Perhaps Barir did not remember details of that day the way Kay did; for weeks he had tormented himself remembering the way Barir had touched his wrist, that barest touch of skin. Barir, of course, had been too caught up in his memories.
A sudden, awful thought occurred to Kay, and he could barely bring himself to voice it. “When you say you lived with him, do you mean—”
Barir suddenly buried his face in his hands with a groan. “I never wanted you to know any of this. Please, Kay, I don’t want to talk about it. It’s quite bad enough that Jenny…” He trailed off.
“Mrs Amador knows?”
Barir sighed. For the first time he looked at Kay properly, though in the darkness Kay could barely make out his expression. There was a moment of quiet, and then Barir reached across and put his hand atop Kay’s where it rested on his violin case, balanced on his lap. He squeezed his fingers.
“I don’t wish to discuss this in the back of a cab,” he said. “I would have preferred to never discuss it at all, but…”
Then do not, part of Kay wanted to say, the part that wished to spare Barir any pain or trouble. But Lowry had been a thorn in Kay’s side for months, was working hard to deprive him of his livelihood, and anger still burned in his chest. He swallowed the urge to demand answers immediately and nodded.
For the rest of the journey he gazed out of the window, unable to stop himself turning everything over and over in his mind. Barir squeezed his fingers again, and Kay pulled his hand away.
