Just A Song at Twilight (.doc)
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Just a Song at Twilight
by
Alex Drinkwater, Jr.
The red eyes of his Best Friend glowed at him from one corner as Felix entered the dark room. He looked back toward the door for a second and reached for the light switch. Even in the glare of 100-watt bulbs, the place seemed empty in spite of its ample furnishings. He staggered into the middle of the room, as if he were drunk, though he was sober. A drink, that was the ticket. He needed a drink.
The refrigerator contained beer and wine, and very little else. He reached for a bottle of strong German brew. No, two bottles. They just filled a one-liter mug he had brought back from a trip to Germany. The first gulp was a big one, a much-needed one. He looked around, the telephone on the wall catching
his eye. Should he call her? No, it would do no good. The result would be the same.
“Shit.”
Felix made his way to the leather chair in front of his Best
Friend. He practically fell into it, spilling a large amount of beer. The tears slid down his cheeks, mingling with the suds in his lap.
She walked into her house, her new boyfriend right behind her. She put her purse down on the table in the hallway and smiled at him. The smile did little to cover her melancholy mood. “Well, here we are. Can I take your coat?”
The balding but handsome southerner handed her his jacket,
smiling back. “Sure, babe. Any other clothes you want me to take off?”
“Take it easy, Garry. We just got here.” She hung his jacket in the closet. “Sit down. I’ll open the wine.”
“Okay.” He sat in her living room, the smile of conquest already on his face. And why not? Hell, he had worked for this, taking her away from That Jerk.
Meg joined him on the couch, placing two glasses of White Zinfandel in front of them. She flipped back her long, blonde hair in the manner Felix had always found so endearing. “Well,
here we are,” she repeated. Her voice betrayed her nervousness.
Garry tried to slip an arm around her. She got up.
“What’s the matter, Meg?” He took her hand as she stood
next to him.
Her lips quivered for a second before she spoke. “I don’t
know. I — I guess I’m still a little shook up.”
“Shook up over what? Over Felix? Come on, that guy never
gave you anything but grief. So now he’s the one that’s crying, the hell with him.”
“I know.” She lowered her head. After a moment she looked up. “How about some music?”
“Okay, sure. Whatever you like.”
She walked over to the rack of stereo equipment in the corner, opened the glass doors, and selected an album of Broadway show music. The CD Felix had given her was placed in the CD player He had helped her buy, and she went back to the couch to listen to it with Someone Else. This was not lost on her, even as Someone Else held her hand . . .
Felix sat in silence, staring at his Best Friend, but
thinking of Her. The empty mug lay on its side on the floor, a few cigarette butts smoldered in the ashtray, a picture of Meg lay next to the mug. The lights of his Best friend glowed along
the wall in front of him, beckoning, waiting. He looked at it, an oak rack literally full of the finest audio equipment. It was all analogue, from the beautiful Oracle turntable to the big Audio Research tube preamp and huge tube power amplifiers. First class, right down to the expensive interconnects and speaker wires. And those speakers. Four Infinity monsters, woofers in two square towers, the rest of the drivers in two oak units, curved and graceful, powered by those big glass-tubes, soaking up watts like water, and sounding like Valhalla’s orchestra. Tens of thousands it had cost him but, after all, the source of his beloved music was his Best Friend. Now it was his only friend. He stood up and stared back at the glow of the amplifiers which were always on, always ready. In times of sorrow, there was always the music.
Garry put down his glass of wine and pulled Meg close to
him. He kissed her lips. She did not resist. “Meg, forget that guy. It’s you and me now,” he said in his soft Georgia accent.
She looked down at her feet, now shoeless. “I know. I just can’t get the whole episode out of my mind. He was so — so adamant. He screamed at me, he blamed everything on me. Me! I tried to convince him for years that I was right for him, and he just laughed at me.” She looked at him. “Garry, how much could
I take? I put up with it for years!”
He touched her lips with his finger. “Shhhh. Take it easy. That’s all over now. He got what he deserved, what he asked for.” He kissed her again, and his hand brushed one of her breasts . . .
What to play? What was appropriate in these circumstances? Felix’s eyes darted back and forth over the enormous collection of records, from Bach to Wagner. Wagner, that was it! He pulled out the six-record set of Sir Georg Solti’s version of Gotterdammerung — the Twilight of the Gods.
The Someone Else could control himself no longer. He took
her hand. “Meg, don’t you think it’s time we went to bed?”
She shuttered slightly as she heard the words, and closed her eyes. She knew she was ready physically for her new lover — it was her mind that balked. “I — I guess so.”
He tried to look concerned, though his body grew impatient. “Now wait — if you’re not sure . . . “
Opening her eyes, she turned to him and squeezed his hand. “No, I’m sure. I’ve wanted to for some time, really. It’s just that, well, as long as I was seeing him . . . “
He stood suddenly, pulling her up with him. “Forget him. You’re mine now.”
The angry chords of Siegfried’s Funeral Music growled out of
the big Infinities, woofers throbbing, walls shuddering. Felix finished another mug of beer just as the music started. “Damn!”
he shouted. “Damn!”
Brunnhilde, holy bride!
Wake up! Open your eyes!
Who has enwrapped you in sleep again?
Felix closed his eyes, listening to Siegfried singing even as he died. The vassals came and carried him on his shield.
“Oh, Meg . . . “
Garry pawed her even as they walked toward the bedroom.
“Hey, take it easy,” she said, pulling away somewhat, “we’re almost there.”
“I’m sorry, babe. It’s just that I’ve waited so long for this moment, you know?”
“I know. Just one thing, Garry. Don’t call me `Babe,’ okay? My name is Meg.”
Almost sheepishly, he said “Sorry.” He kissed her again.
After a few moments, she broke away.
“Let me go brush my teeth, okay? Make yourself comfortable.” She walked into the bathroom as he sat on the bed, staring after her. She closed the door and faced the mirror. Her green eyes looked back at her. “Meg, what are you doing?” she asked herself, softly.
Felix slumped in the big chair, his head in his hands as the
music faded away. The tonearm cruised into the last groove effortlessly, silently, and lifted up as the massive
platter stopped its rotation. It waited for its master . . .
He remembered their last conversation on the telephone.
“Meg, please. I love you,” he had said, only the day before.
“Stop it.”
“I do! I do love you, that’s all there is to it!”
“How can you say that?” She had almost screamed into the receiver. “All these years, you treated me like dirt! And now you love me? Why, because I finally found somebody else?”
He’d paused for a moment. “I don’t know. Maybe it took the thought of actually losing you to wake me up. All I know is I don’t want to lose you, especially to — to him!”
“What’s wrong with him? He treats me like something
special, not like you treated me. He cares! Do you even know
what that means?”
He paused again. “Meg?”
“What?”
“Have you slept with him?” His voice almost cracked as he said the words.
She sighed audibly. “Is that what you’re worried about? After all the times you cheated on me? Suddenly you worry about who I sleep with?”
“That’s all in the past, dammit! Meg, if you screw that damned redneck I’ll . . . ” His voice tailed off.
“You’ll what?”
“I’ll die.” It was a whisper.
There was a long silence, and then she spoke. “Felix, don’t be silly. Grow up. No, to answer your question, it hasn’t happened yet. But he wants to, and so do I.”
He closed his eyes. His tears flowed down his face.
She heard his sob. “Felix?”
“Wh — what?”
“Will you stop? I’m hanging up.”
“No, please . . . “
Click.
He opened his eyes. First he stared at the turntable. Then at the telephone. Maybe, just maybe. What did he have to lose?
“What the hell, why not?”
He dialed. It rang.
Meg walked toward the bed, naked. Garry waited in anticipation, rapidly discarding his own clothes as she approached. “Oh Meg, honey!” They embraced. The phone rang.
“What the hell, don’t answer it.”
“No, it may be my mother.” She pulled away.
“Meg — shit.” He sat back on the bed.
She picked it up. “Hello?”
A sad voice on the other end. “Meg? It’s me.”
“Felix?” The surprise was written on her face.
Garry stood up. “Don’t tell me it’s that asshole. Damn!”
Meg held up her hand. “Felix, what do you want?”
“Meg, who’s there?” Anguish, despair. He knew she was not alone.
“Give me that.” Garry snatched the phone from her hand.
“Look, Bud, why don’t you just face facts? She’s mine now, and I’m about to make love to her. Now leave us alone.”
Click.
Felix stared at the receiver for a long moment and let it drop. As the instrument swung on its cord, he made his way back to his Best Friend, oblivious to the incessant beeping coming
from the uncradled phone.
“Garry, why did you do that?”
“Meg, he had it coming. Please forget him and come to me.”
She stared at him for a second, and then walked over to him. She walked on those long, beautiful legs that Felix had enjoyed
for so long. Now she was about to wrap them around Someone Else.
Carefully, Felix lifted the record off the turntable and placed it in its sleeve. He took out record number six, the last scene of the last act of the opera Twilight of the Gods. He
placed it on the turntable. He left the tonearm poised over the record’s edge for a moment and went into the bedroom. From his closet, Felix retrieved something in a leather case. Something
he had always thought was beautiful, but She had thought was ugly. He brought it out, took it out of the case, regarded it for a moment, and leaned it against his chair. He started the music.
Garry kissed Meg all over her smooth body. How unlike Felix he was! He looked different, smelled different, felt
different. She wanted him, now. It was time. Time to begin anew! Why should she feel guilty? What did she owe Him? She looked into the eyes of her new friend. “Garry, I . . . I want you in me.”
Felix sat and stared at the lights as the tonearm descended, and closed his eyes as Brunnhilde began her soliloquy. Sadly, mournfully, the horns and woodwinds began the Immolation scene.
Pile up on high mighty logs
there on the bank of the Rhine
He thought of all the years, all the loving, all the arguments. He thought of her naked. With Someone Else . . .
high and bright let the flames rise
that shall consume the noble body
of the greatest of heroes.
Meg slid down beneath him, spreading her legs, her eyes
open wide. He leaned over her, his arms outstretched, his body poised, ready . . .
Felix stared at the ceiling as Brunnhilde mourned the Hero,
Siegfried. What was left for him? What could he be without Her?
All things, all now I know:
all is clear to my eyes.
The wings of thy ravens I hear rustling . . .
He took out the ring and contemplated it. The ring he
bought for Her, the ring She had refused. “You’re a day late,
and a dollar short,” she had said.
Accursed Ring! Dread Ring!
I grasp the gold and give it away.
He threw the ring against the wall. The diamond broke loose from its mounting and rolled onto the carpet, its glitter lost in the shadows. Felix slumped in the chair, his eyes wet, his body almost limb, his mind numb.
Seven years! Seven years it had been since anyone had entered her but Him. “Ohhhh,” she moaned as Garry plunged into her, finally.
Felix raised the carbine and chambered a round. Brunnhilde took the firebrand and instructed the vassals to light the pyre.
For it is the twilight of the gods.
See — I throw the firebrand into
Valhalla’s glorious citadel!
“Oh, my God, oh Garry.” She cried out as the shuddering
orgasm took over her body. He stiffened and climaxed almost at the same time . . .
To clasp him to me, to be held fast in his arms,
to be united with him, by the power of love!
The crack of the carbine was almost smothered as the music thundered from the big Infinities, signaling the end of Valhalla as the Rhine overflowed its banks and the flames leapt to engulf
Wotan’s once mighty castle.
Siegfried! Siegfried! See!
Your wife greets you joyfully!
In her bed, Meg sighed as Garry lay, spent, on top of her.
In his chair, Felix lay in silence as the blood poured from his mouth, trickling down his arm and onto Meg’s photograph. The long, last chord of Gotterdammerung faded away.
The tonearm rose. The platter stopped its rotation. It waited for its master.
THE END
Note
All quotations from Gotterdammerung (Twilight of the Gods) by Richard Wagner translated from the original German libretto.
