Lilac and Purple chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Mild und leise
Wie er lächelt,
Wie das Auge
Hold er öffnet—
Seht ihr's, Freunde?
Seht ihr's nicht?
Immer lichter
Wie er leuchtet,
Stern-umstrahlet
Hoch sich hebt?...
Ertrinken!
Versinken!
Unbewußt
Höchste Lust!
(translation)
Mildly and gently,
How he smiles
How his eye
Opens sweetly—
Do you see it, friends?
Don’t you see it?
Brighter and brighter,
How he shines
Illuminated by stars,
rising high?...
Drown!
Be engulfed!
Unconscious
Supreme desire!

— Liebestod
From the opera “Tristan Und Isolde” by Richard Wagner

Soon afterwards, Robbie uttered a subdued thank-you and scampered off. It was enough to please Sportacus.
When he met up with the children later in the afternoon, Stephanie demanded to know if the man was alright. The hero assured her that Robbie had recovered from the earlier shock enough to tease him, and the girl laughed. He decided against telling her about the frozen yoghurt. For some unsounded reason, Sportacus decided that it was something that should be kept between the two men.
The light began to fade, and the town started to settle into its usual nightly calm. Instead of heading directly back to his airship, Sportacus wavered. The moon was full and bright tonight, and something in its face nutured a disquiet which had sprouted in his mind.
He saw Bessie hurrying home along the empty pavement, and on a sudden whim, called out to her.
The woman’s eyes widened with fear for a moment as Sportacus leapt into her path. There seemed to be something slightly unstable about him.
“Can I, um…”
She waited for him to collect his thoughts.
“I want to listen to Robbie’s mother again.”
Bessie smiled, somewhat relieved. She led the way to her house, and Sportacus stood awkwardly in the doorway as she bustled about in the living room. Soon she emerged, handing him an LP player and a stack of albums.
“Take as long as you need to work your way through these, but for goodness’ sake, be careful with them.”
He was grateful— not only for the kind gesture, but for the chance to absorb the music by himself. This was not the sort of thing he would dance to with the children. He bade the woman farewell, and Bessie watched his usually speedy form fade into the night as he gingerly carried the precious load back to his airship.
He called out his table and set the LP player upon it, finding his only power outlet and plugging it in. Black, boxy and made of wood, it looked entirely alien in his sleek white home. It seemed closer to the kind of thing that would be found in his father’s old-fashioned airship. Nevertheless, Sportacus was all too keen to hear its rich, resonant crackle.
He picked up one of the albums, examining it curiously. Remembering the procedure Bessie had used, he slowly slid the black vinyl disc out of its case, threaded it onto the turntable, and with fretful fingers, placed the needle upon its ridged surface.
He jumped back at the grand blare of french horns. The recording he heard in Bessie’s office had been light and playful, quite unlike this.
Looking at the album cover again, he felt his face heat up when he recognised the gorgeous jade eyes staring back at him. La Fata Lillà was clothed in the regalia of a Celtic princess, all woollen embroidery and graceful knotted patterns. As the firm, swelling sounds of Wagner filled the space, Sportacus ducked into his bathroom compartment for a shower. The combined aroma of frozen yoghurt and Robbie’s scent still lingered on him— and such a cocktail was sure to deprive him of a restful night.
The warm water streaming down the elf’s skin helped to calm him some. As he dried off and prepared for bed, he woozily admired the pure orb of the moon glowing in at him, and absorbed the rich sound of Lillà’s song.
“Mild und leise
Wie er lächelt,
Wie das Auge
Hold er öffnet—
Seht ihr's, Freunde?”
The creature that was her voice revealed at every moment its immense spectrum. At once lodged in the deep rumblings of the earth and wheeling in the heavens, it ascended the suspenseful melody with fluid elation. It intensely shook each individual note with its throbbing vibrato. Fluttering and full, warm and almost violent… How true it seemed at this moment that she was the mother of the knave that currently reclined far beneath Sportacus in his ornate den.
He rode out the brutal climax of the aria, breath shortening for the resonations tingling in his body. Finally the strings and woodwinds ebbed away gently, and he shut off the player before collapsing into bed.
He stared up at the ceiling for a great ream of unmeasured time, and meditated on the still strips of moonlight on his blank ceiling. Sleep eluded him. He was eventually aware of the tenseness in his arms as he clutched at a corner of his duvet. What he could remember of the song circled in his head, a persisting eddy of melody. The night air was cool upon his skin.
Whether it was an enduring cloud of fragrance, or a memory brought to life by sheer will, Sportacus could still smell Robbie and the succulent berries of their afternoon treat. The aroma sent him further adrift, he was reeling in a fancy that was entirely peculiar and inviting to him.
Something sitting near him caught his eye. His crystal had burst into life— not blinking, but flickering rapidly, like the heartbeat of a trapped animal. He would have thought the sight beautiful if it weren’t so off-putting— the gem had never done this before. Perhaps the surge of anger it had chanelled in Robbie’s lair had affected it somehow. Sportacus watched it nervously, wondering if he should tell his father.
The shimmer refracted onto the airship walls like a score of playful fireflies.

**

All through the night and into the next morning, an uneasy, urgent feeling tugged at Sportacus. He needed to see Robbie again. It wasn’t so much that the elf was worrying for his companion, but some cryptic instinct told him to seek out his presence. His imagination seemed to constantly rove in the direction of Robbie’s tall, pale visage, and it felt as if the only way to shake off this agitation was to be around him.
Sportacus was expecting to be sleepy and sluggish the next day, but if anything, he was vigorous and jittery, buoyed by overstimulation. It wasn’t long before he was face to face with the soul in question.
Each one of his senses, both physical and unworldly, leapt up wildly at the sight of Robbie. A whole new volley of emotions erupted inside the elf. The agitation he had been feeling tripled, and all sense of calm evaporated. But eclipsing everything was a searingly sweet kind of glee, one which warmed his cheeks and fixed a smile across his face. Robbie’s scent, which had been just a faint, teasing spirit before, was now swimming about him luxuriously.
“It’s too early in the morning to be that happy, Sportadope.”
“I’m just… it’s nice to see you, Robbie.”
The man tossed his head and rolled his eyes.
“Cute. Anyway— I thought about it last night, and decided I’m still not finished inspecting the manor.”
Sportacus frowned. “But what about what happened yesterday?”
The response was an edgy silence and an averted gaze. It was obviously not easy for Robbie to dwell on this. “Well, that was a very… particular situation. I think I’ll be able to handle it this time, as long as someone stays with me. There are things remaining in there worth recovering. I already compiled a list of a few objects which I would like to collect. The structure is far from stable. Even if I don’t have it demolished, it will probably collapse by itself within months.”
His eyes drifted away from the elf once more, and his expression clouded over.
“I just don’t want to lose everything.”
Something greedy in Sportacus’ gut raised its scaly head. Neither his father, Stephanie nor the Mayor would really be required for such a task— it was only Sportacus who needed to assist Robbie. After all, he had been the one closest to the man in this whole ordeal.
Let it be him who would feel the gratification of assisting this fragile coxcomb, and receive the scant gratitude he would bestow. Let it be him who would imbue a satisfied smile upon that haughty face.
Robbie felt the force of Sportacus’ gaze, and looked back at him hesitantly. The elf’s thin moustache twitched ever so slightly.
“I promise I’ll help you,” he vowed.

**

Nothing about Sportacus’ opinion of Robbie had changed, or even intensified. He’d wished for the man’s friendship since the beginning, hoping that all the resentment he harboured for others would give way to a better attitude. And since learning of his family, Sportacus had also prayed that Robbie’s despairing alienation would come to an end, that he would find some way to heal himself (this particular outcome, with painstaking effort, seemed to be happening already). At the very least, he had always admired his sinuous physique, piercing eyes and seemingly endless array of talents. There had never been a time when Robbie didn’t matter to him. The only change had been in their proximity to one another. The familiar pattern of the villain luring in the hero before pushing him away had grown more extreme, more involving. One moment he gathered Robbie in his arms, the next he watched the man flee and scorn him fearfully. It was exhiliration of the most sublime and apalling kind.
A whole week passed before Robbie announced that he was ready to enter Deverhill Manor for the final time. One part of Sportacus was very understanding of this— it should only take so long for him to muster the psychological strength needed to raid his father’s posessions. Another, darker part of the elf burned with impatience— he craved the gratification of being Robbie’s protector and servant on this mission. Every day, he sought out his companion, happy to see that his visits above ground were becoming more frequent. He laughed at his quips, soothed his snappishness and endured his insults patiently. Níu caught sight of these interactions once or twice, giving his son a look that was a cross between surprise and appreciation.
At long last, the pair embarked on their salvage operation, starting with two shaky afternoons of scouting out the manor and tolerating its misery long enough to decide what was worthy of retrieving. Robbie spent the second evening finalising his list, organising every item in the order that it should be carried out the door.
On the third day, the sun rose upon a sprightly elf bounding his way over to the old billboard, eager to start shipping out their plunder. Robbie’s pre-noon grouchiness eventually gave way to better feelings. He watched agape as Sportacus smoothly lifted the black piano from the parlour, carrying it with ease and gentleness out of the manor. He set it softly upon the garden’s wide stone footpath.
“I would have thought your thundering, blundering gait would have chipped and scratched the old thing to bits,” the man remarked.
Sportacus just smiled at him. “Robbie, I wouldn’t dream of being careless with anything of yours.”
Robbie soon got into the spirit of the enterprise, taking a great deal of pleasure in telling Sportacus exactly what to do. He led the elf slowly through narrow doorways and down the newly reinforced staircase, until a respectable pile of opulent yet well-worn objects appeared before the manor. Once the sun had climbed higher in the sky, the two had completed the list, and they agreed to rest before transporting everything down to the lair.
Being a creature sensitive to heat, Sportacus opted to sit on the porch steps, in the remaining shade of the building. Robbie reclined upon the weathered stool of the black piano, legs crossed and arms stretched back leisurely. With nothing to say, his gaze roved slowly across the flat garden and the crumbling façade of the manor.
Sportacus’ eyes were fixed upon Robbie himself. This rare moment of calm contemplation was catching—the elf was being lulled into repose for watching the man. There was a level of contentment in his demeanour. His pupils were large, and a modest smile curled the corners of his small pouting lips, like a cat resting by a fireplace. His slinky body hugged the rickety perch, utilising it cleverly for the comfort it could offer. The sun illuminated him akin to a spotlight. Mesmerised by the leisurely rise and fall of his chest, Sportacus’ breath fell into the same slow rhythm. Should anyone have wished to capture Robbie’s likeness in artwork, he mused, this should have been the image.
Faint echoes of whooping children in the street approached them steadily. The moment was to pass.
“Woah!”
“Robbie, how are you going to fit all that down your hatchway?”
Before he could answer Pixel’s question, he was set upon by an enthusiastic robot dog. Sugar-Pie leapt upon his lap, attempting to lick the face of his old master. Robbie noticed a cheerful orange collar and name tag were now affixed to the ‘animal’.
“You should see what I’ve programmed him to do.”
“What are you kids doing here?” Robbie demanded, managing to push Sugar-Pie back down.
“I asked Mister Níu where Sportacus was,” Stephanie said, “and he told me you two were clearing out the manor.” She turned to Sportacus. “He told me to tell you that he’s happy to look after the town while you’re occupied with Robbie, but not to be too forceful.”
“Too forceful?” Something crept up the elf’s spine on hearing this.
The girl shrugged back at him.
“Do it, Pixel! Do it do it do it!”
Their attention was drawn back to Sugar-Pie, who Ziggy was kneeling over in anticipation.
“Sugar-Pie, dance,” commanded Pixel.
At once, with a mechanical whir, the dog was up on its hind legs, twirling about dizzily to an imaginary melody. Ziggy applauded feverishly.
Stephanie looked to the piano. “Robbie, why don’t you play something for him to dance to?”
Robbie frowned at the instrument. “On this old thing? I’m sure it’s well out-of-tune by now. It needs serious repairs. I doubt the mallets will even make a sound.”
He blithely struck one of the keys, and started at the full sound it produced. The piano’s voice had become extremely tinny, and the note was a little flat, but it was more or less producing a noise that could be equated to music.
“Yay, it works!” Ziggy declared, bouncing up and down.
Robbie experimentally bashed out a few chords, and content that it was tuneful enough, launched into a light sonata. Sugar-Pie’s ears perked up, and his carriage changed, following the beat of the perky tune. The presence of a real melody and a stable tempo bestowed a strange, mathematical grace on the dog’s movements. It was as if the once malevolent robot was a cobra in a basket and Robbie the fakir.
“Stingy, don’t touch that!” Bellowed Trixie’s voice.
Launching himself off the stool, Robbie apprehended the boy, who was rifling through the pile of other objects. “Yeah, what she said, kid,” he snarled.
He snatched from him a musty, silvery ballgown, with a long gossamer skirt of muslin flowing out from the bodice. He smoothed out the fabric tenderly.
“This was being preserved in mothballs. After surviving fifteen years in an old wardrobe, I don’t want it ruined in the space of five minutes by some pint-sized kleptomaniac.”
Stingy pouted, still eyeing the exquisite garment.
“Oh, there’s more!” Stephanie gushed, carefully examining a whole pile of colourful dresses, still in protective packaging. Robbie did not scold her.
Trixie snorted a laugh. “Like father, like son, Robbie? Your dad must have called himself ‘Lola’ on weekends!”
He summoned a look of utter distate for her, pursing his lips. “They were my mother’s, you scruffy little wag.”
Stephanie had unwrapped a dress of deep indigo, accented with a gauzy stole.
“I still have a photo of her wearing that one,” he remarked. “She was an extremely beautiful woman.”
“Does she live underground with you?” Ziggy asked innocently, staring at Robbie.
He felt the full weight of his heart as it tightened in his chest. He endeavoured to find an appropriate answer.
“She lives in heaven now,” he explained, attempting a smile.
The six-year-old wasn’t fooled, and a wave of different expressions passed across his face. Instinctively he ran to Sportacus and cleaved himself to his hero. Robbie exhaled, feeling guilty. He exchanged an awkward glance with the elf as he comforted the disquieted child.
He felt someone tug on his sleeve. He turned to see Stephanie digging about in her handbag. She produced a photo of her own of a young family. The father was tall and athletic, the mother shorter and oval-faced, with long flowing locks of bright pink hair. The tiny baby in her arms stared at the camera with huge, curious brown eyes.
“These are my parents,” she announced softly, with an unfaltering pride.
Robbie nodded gravely. “How?”
“A car accident when I was two,” she answered, warily keeping her voice down. “I sometimes cry about it, mostly because it’s hard to remember them. But I still have my uncle.” She smiled at him.
“STINGY!!!”
A deer-in-the-headlights Stingy was frozen, his small hand buried in an antique jewellery box. Both Trixie and Robbie glared at him as one. Wordlessly, Robbie held out his hand, and Stingy reluctantly passed him the object.
“But they’re all so pretty…” he insisted in a tiny voice.
Robbie combed through the box. In the few months she had lived in Lazytown, Lillà had been given a formidable amount of jewellery. There were pearl necklaces, dangly earrings and many precious stones set in bracelets and pendants.
“These will all have to be cleaned. The bronze ones have faded. Even the gold and silver ones have become encrusted with dirt and dust.” He sniffed disdainfully.
“May I have a look at those, Robbie?”
Sportacus had extended a hand, patiently waiting for his companion to oblige.
He shrugged. “I’m not that keen on them,” he mumbled, “they were only trinkets that my father bought. My mother couldn’t have worn any of them more than once or twice.”
He shuffled back to the piano stool, and sullenly hit a few keys, watching the others. The children had gathered around their guardian, eager for a glimpse of the pretty ornaments. Sportacus shut the lid of the box, tutting at them teasingly. He paused for a moment. He raised his eyebrows, a grin swishing that moustache of his upwards. His admirers watched, baffled, as he put his lips to the keyhole and blew into the box softly. Robbie sat up— something in this particular action stirred him.
When he opened the box again, the group had to squint for the glare that bounced off the jewels within. Their original lustre had been restored, the sun playing cheerfully upon their sleek surfaces. The children gasped and prattled over the trick appreciatively, and Stingy was so enthused that he had to be restrained by both Trixie and Ziggy.
Sportacus handed the box back to Robbie. For a moment he examined the twinkling collection of baubles, then turned his face up to the astonished children again.
“You’re so lucky, Robbie,” Stingy declared.
An uncommon whim of charity rose up from somewhere and took hold of the man.
“You kids can have these if you like,” he announced, trying to sound as detatched as possible.
“Robbie, are you sure?” Stephanie was agape. “All those precious jewels must be worth thousands.”
The man reached into the box and pulled out a golden chain holding a teardrop-shaped, rose-coloured ruby pendant. He gently fitted it over the girl’s bob, letting it rest about her neck. It looked slightly large on her, but charming nonetheless.
“Keep it, Pinky, it’s a gift,” he replied with a friendly gruffness.
A ginormous smile split her little face, and as she grappled Robbie in a hug, a rapid flurry of greedy hands snatched the box from the man and seized the other jewellery (Stingy took the lion’s share). Sportacus winced at the darkly greedy spirit the old ornaments seemed to have invoked.
When they had all looted their portions of the treasure, Robbie took back the discarded box. Remaining inside was a broken chain, a Victorian-style brooch and a small felt casket. A little intrigued, he picked this last item out of the box and creaked opened its gilted lid. Sitting inside was a dainty band of white gold, with a pure, sparkling diamond set in its centre. He carefully plucked it from its silken bed. He squinted as he scrutinised it. There was an inscription.
“Ég elska þig,” he whispered.
Sportacus turned at the sound of his voice. “What’s that?”
“He was going to marry her,” the man murmured. There was a gloss in his eyes.
Stephanie had noticed what he was looking at. “That’s an engagement ring!” She exclaimed.
Distracted from comparing their swag, the children huddled around.
“I think my father was going to give it to my mother,” Robbie said quietly.
“They didn’t get married?” Ziggy asked, quite amazed by this. Robbie shook his head.
“What’s the inscription?” Stephanie asked.
“It reads ‘Ég elska þig’, Icelandic for—”
“I love you,” Sportacus blurted.
A pink tinge instantly glowed upon Robbie’s ivory cheeks. His eyes glinted brightly in the elf’s direction for all of a second before fixing themselves down upon the ring again. He twiddled with it restively.
“He was going to marry her,” he said again, a fainter echo this time.
“You should keep that ring for yourself, Robbie,” Stephanie insisted.
He experimentally slipped it onto his finger, held his hand to the light and studied it. Absently, his head tilted to the side, his tapered eyebrows dipping in concentration and his lips pouting again. The diamond glittered happily back at him in the sunlight. He wondered if it had ever touched his mother’s own finger.
Sportacus stared at him, drawn closer without moving. He decided then and there that nothing had been, was, or would ever be more radiant.