“John,” he smirked, his eyes alight with mischief. He sat at the edge of the fountain, singing to himself like a fool in his excellent tenor, his fingers incessantly tapping the air in front of him as if he was playing some magnificent grand piano that did not exist on the mortal plain.
John thought if he had been dead he would hear how beautifully he played, but at that moment he was laughing so hard because Jan was really getting into his strange performance. He kept rolling his head from side to side, flicking his hand up occasionally with another little grin as if he was playing something snappy and clever.
Watching him, when it was just Jan and his own drunkenness, he always felt so strangely happy, as if this was the best of things, nothing would ever compare to these moments. They both had quite a bit to drink, even though it was always hard to persuade Jan into touching the stuff. Most of the time he acted as though it were a foul poison and he found it a herculean feat to tolerate the drunken John, the past the point of all sobriety John who laughed and sulked and threw things and fell over.
But Jan was drunk too, although John couldn’t remember seeing him lift a glass to his lips, those pale as death lips that made John worry about his friend’s health. He found himself unable to care for once, just trying to focus his vision on Jan, swaying, blinking furiously. He reached out to steady himself and his knees buckled a little. Jan lifted his head and he took a hand off of his imaginary piano to keep him upright. It must have been the alcohol because Jan’s movements were a blur, he just felt the grip on his forearm, the world righting itself.
Jan tugged him down to sit on the ledge beside him, “There now, you damned fool. You totally threw me off, I was in the middle of a sequence and you ruined it!”
“I cannot hear anything,” he just laughed at him, “But if you are hearing things I really ought to get you to a doctor.”
His friend looked at him, his own eyes struggling to focus and John hiccoughed. Jan just stared, his expression puzzled in a way that endeared him to John. He cocked his head to the side, raised his eyebrows, “You cannot hear it?” he asked.
“No, nothing,” John replied.
“One day you might,” is what Jan said and he turned his head this way and that listening to the sounds of the night, sounds so alive to him that were nothing more than echoes and whispers for John, “One day, one night even. You’ll hear the chorus of existence, enrapturing. You’ll know things you could never have dreamt of, sense things so vibrantly you will think you had spent your whole life asleep. If I can bear it, that is. But not now, no, not now. The cost is incomparably high; its cost would bankrupt a nation.”
“What are you talking about?” he was so drunk, so confused, “I don’t understand.”
“I hope you never do understand,” Jan replied solemnly, “Except for your drinking I wish you would stay the John you are now. If only you would be my friend forever, I’ve never really had one before. Be my friend?”
“You are my friend,” John hiccoughed, “You’ll always be my friend.”
“I only wish I could believe you,” his friend sighed, so mournful, as if the world was dead and he was the only one left, “I would let you in on my secret but you would hate me for it. Neither of us would be the same for it.”
“Why?” John suddenly felt angry, “Do you think I’ll betray your friendship or something?”
“You won’t be able to help it,” was the sad reply, “You know, if only I could count on you not to be like everybody else then I would trust you with everything.”
“I would not abandon you!” he exclaimed angrily, slurring his words. Suddenly he felt himself hating Jan, his self righteous temper flaring up at the very idea that he could be so shallow. He was so sure that nothing Jan could tell him would ever tear them apart. Jan hoped, rather than believed, that would be the real end of it. But it felt so wrong to leave this conversation like this, though Jan showed no signs of allowing it continue along the lines already laid down for it, “I wish you would just tell me what it is, this damn secret. Is it something to do with that uncle of yours? Do you have something you need to tell me?”
There was a long pause, a sigh and at first there was to be no reply. Eventually he spoke and when he did he seemed completely sober. “Why do you want to know so much?” Jan asked.
John shook his head with exasperation, “I feel you want to tell me! And I just have this feeling that if you don’t tell me, if you don’t talk about it then it will make things seem worse than they really are. Why can’t you trust me? You want my friendship but I can’t have your trust? If our friendship is based on these terms I fear it won’t last very long.”
Jan thought for a moment, “You may be right.”
“Trust me!” John beseeched him, “Nothing you could ever say will make me hate you.”
“It’s what I do,” Jan shook his head, went back to his imaginary piano and in John’s mind little boys with legs not long enough to reach the pedals swung their feet back and forth upon the stool, rooms echoing with song.
“John, don’t you know? Your deeds, and not your words, will forever define the sort of friend you really are.”
“Not a bad one, I hope.”
“Heaven forbid.”
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