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LOS 45
7.
Deja Vu
Vincent Monagan was spending a tedious amount of time. While that was usually the case with hours spent at work, it had been a long while since he had felt this level of boredom.
This was especially true when he was in the torture chamber located on the lowest floor of the Revolutionary Army headquarters. Surrounded by all sorts of tools necessary for his work, he smoked a cigarette in front of an interrogation subject who was practically unconscious.
Since orders from above were to coax the necessary information out gently, he interrogated the man in a relatively gentlemanly manner. At the very least, he hadn't inflicted any permanent physical damage. He would be fine. At least, his body would be.
However, he couldn't focus on his task as he once had. It seemed to have started after he learned that Giles Hessen had a woman.
If that woman had been Giles's sex partner, or someone he had started seeing casually... Vincent would have forgotten about it quickly.
What bothered him was the fact that the woman had made Giles truly happy. Vincent first realized at the banquet that Giles was a human being capable of making such an expression.
As if transformed into a completely different person, the moment the sweet colors of happiness bloomed upon a face that had been dry and exhausted by reality... Vincent could imagine Giles as the precious young master of the Beldam.
And in that moment, he felt intensely unpleasant.
He disliked the fact that someone had made Giles that way. And he disliked that it had forced him to imagine such a loathsome image.
Anna Keating... that was the name of the woman Giles loved. He knew she was a pianist. That was all Vincent, who took little interest in the breed known as artists, knew.
What was it about this seemingly ordinary woman that he liked? A pretty face? Anna was quite pretty, but if he wanted, he could easily find a beautiful woman elsewhere. Then what was it? He couldn't understand it at all...
So, Vincent decided to ask the person closest to him.
"Hey."
He tapped the man he had just beaten into a pulp to wake him up.
"Wake up. There's one thing I've decided I want to ask."
The man, unable to regain consciousness, only opened his eyes with a cough after a bucket of water was thrown over him.
"If you answer my questions properly, I might let you off for today."
"I... I've answered everything I can answer."
"Are you fairly knowledgeable about women?"
The man didn't immediately grasp the question.
"What... do you mean?"
"I mean, have you ever been happy because of a woman? A time when a woman made you glad, or a time you could smile because of her... Of course, I'm not talking about the bedroom."
"What new method of torture is this?"
"I'm asking out of personal curiosity, so relax. Of course, if you don't cooperate properly, the procedure might become a bit more difficult."
Vincent dragged over a chair and flopped down into it. The stark white light of the lamp shining directly above made the contours of his face stand out more prominently.
"When do you feel happy? I mean, when you're with a woman."
"I honestly have no idea what you're talking about."
"Did your brain fry after that little bit of torture? I'm literally asking when you're happy. When you're with a woman you love."
"A woman I love..."
The man, his face a mess of blood and sweat, thought for a moment and then looked at Vincent.
"Have you never loved a woman?"
"I'm the one asking the questions. Don't forget that."
"Your question is fundamentally wrong. One is bound to be happy just by having the woman they love by their side. It's not because she does something specific. There are times when just sharing silence, breathing the same air without saying a word, is enough to be happy."
"Just by having her beside you?"
"Yes. That's what loving is. Cold-blooded people like you will never understand it in your entire lives..."
"Then let me rephrase. Do you know the cause that makes someone fall in love?"
"Are you joking with me right now?"
"No, not at all. Why do you think that?"
"Why are you suddenly asking this? What... what does this have to do with the answer you want? You truly are a demon. You torture me with those blades to your heart's content, and now you want to discuss love? What kind of ridiculous trick is this?"
"Don't get excited and just answer the question."
"Go away! Just kill me! Or please, just turn off that light. I feel like I'm going insane... please..."
"That's too bad."
Vincent replied half-heartedly and shouted the name of a subordinate waiting outside. The subordinate opened the door and entered.
"What is it, sir?"
"Bring me a record. I feel the need for a change of pace."
"What kind of record should I bring?"
After thinking for a moment, Vincent curled the corners of his mouth into a smile.
"A piano record would be appropriate."
A short while later, the subordinate returned with the record. After sending the subordinate away, Vincent whistled as he placed the pitch-black vinyl onto the gramophone. A sweet piano melody then filled the desolate torture chamber.
Though he usually felt no emotion toward music, this time he wanted to feel the beauty of the piano performance.
Because he wanted to know, even if only a little, how Giles Hessen must have felt.
What thoughts did he have while listening to Anna Keating's performance?
"Love, huh."
He spoke aloud.
"It seems my esteemed superior has been experiencing such emotions lately. I simply became curious along with him. Just what kind of feeling is it that makes a person look so different... Once, when I grabbed that woman and kissed her, his expression was quite a sight."
The image of Giles Hessen glaring at him as if he were about to beat him down on the spot was vivid before his eyes. That was the first time Giles had looked at him that way.
"What do you think would happen if I did something even worse? Do you think I'd be able to experience falling in love too?"
"You're a lunatic."
"Yes, I've heard that a lot. So, why don't you stop with the pathetic resistance?"
Vincent crushed his cigarette and rolled up his sleeves. The formless musician was still playing the piano beside them. Leaving behind the performance that might have brought peace to some, Vincent strode toward the man.
"Enough small talk. Let's get back to the conversation."
-
I had a talent for the piano. At least, that's what the music teacher who taught me said. At first, I just assumed that was how it was. In truth, my learning speed for the piano was fast, and it was the only study I could actually enjoy.
But now, many people were seeking out my performances.
After I became known, the voices calling for me increased. Among them were radio stations. They wanted to bring me on as a house pianist, and since I had no reason to refuse, I agreed.
Up until now, this land was still livable, and I no longer had any reason to flee in haste.
Even now, I am performing in the station's recording studio. Of course, it's not a pre-recording; the staff explained that my performance would be broadcast in real-time.
The radio host and several officials were listening to my performance through headphones beyond the soundproof wall. I closed my eyes. And I focused on the piece I was playing. <Album for a Young Musician> is a collection of short pieces that can paint a lyrical and romantic picture without the need for difficult technique.
Among them, the seventh piece, Träumerei, was one of my favorite works. Whenever I play the piano, I tend to imagine a certain picture or landscape, and this piece always brought back my happiest memories.
In the past, I used to imagine moments when I received praise from my family or when I achieved a notable result. Of course, such things no longer exhilarate me at all.
The happiest memory I can recall now is...
I suddenly looked to the side. A brief commotion broke out beyond the quiet soundproof wall. Everyone, including the host, was standing up and looking at one person. I, too, could see the man who had unintentionally made everyone stand.
Giles Hessen had appeared in his military uniform and was smiling at me. I smiled back. Of course, I couldn't wave. There were still listeners hearing my piano performance.
I saw Giles put on headphones. Now, like the listeners scattered across the country, he was listening to my performance. I turned my head back toward the piano and caressed the keys. Coaxing and soothing them so they could sing with the most beautiful voice.
I brought something to mind. Now, I could recall it more clearly and vividly than before. Although a thick soundproof wall stood between Giles and me, it was as if we were sharing the same space.
Music connected us with an unbreakable thread.
Perhaps it had been that way from the beginning. Even the moment we first met, I played for him... and that was the start of a long, long connection.
Träumerei. It meant "dreaming."
What kind of dream was Giles having while listening to my performance?
I glanced over. Giles had his eyes closed. Because he looked so much like someone truly dreaming, I let out a soft smile.
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