ANTON

ANTON REACHED FOR his cigar, cut it, licked the end, sucked, and let out a puff that floated up into the air.

“Nice dinner, huh?” He said.

“Yes” I said.

“Mark, do you ever feel lonely?” he asked me.

“No” I replied, and then added after a sip of wine, good wine “well, sometimes”

“What do you do about it?”

“I think of myself” I replied “and I read books, those are my friends”

“Maybe I’ll try it” said Anton.

He took another big puff of his cigar and let it fall upward out off his lips.

“I wasn’t always like this, he said”

“Neither was I” I replied.

“What’s up with the green candles around here?” I asked. There was old furniture and rugs and porcelain statues and….

He broke my chain of thought and I sipped at my wine glass. The wine relaxed me.

“Where do you get this stuff?” I asked

Raindrops keep fallin’ on my head played in the corner of the room.

“The neighbour” Anton replied “he makes it himself; no preservatives or anything”

“Beautiful stuff” I replied and took another sip, my stomach full and feeling regal in this room of wonders.

“You know what they say about me, Mark?”

“No. What do they say about you?” I asked.

“The compare me to a butterfly! They say my wings are now brushed and marred and I don’t know what I’m doing!”

“Do you?”

“I don’t know” said Anton and he put his head in his hands. “my wife doesn’t like me drinking, but I can still smoke. Sometimes I still drink but she always finds me out” he said.

He put down his cigar, grabbed the wine bottle and poured the rest of the contents into his glass and drained the whole thing.

Then he got up and walked off to the bathroom. He returned with two more bottles of the good stuff.

“All right” I said

“Yes” he replied and took a seat.

“Don’t tell”

“I assure you” I held my hand to my chest “that I will not tell soul, Sir”

Anton smiled and filled up his glass. There was a knock on the door and voice came through into the room “are you two ok in there?”

“Yes” Anton replied

“More than fine” I added

Footsteps were heard over a clicking sound. Anton got up a flipped the record. He sat back down, took another large sip of his wine

“Mexican Gala” he said

“Hmmmm? Yeah sounds good” Trumpets and srtings and melodies played all around the room. I closed my eys and I could see big Mexican hats and girls dancing and…

“I get the candles from the internet” Anton said and puffed his cigar again.

“Of course” I replied.

“Do you know how hard it is to get green candles?”

The music suddenly started to remind me of baseball. Now it felt like a comedy.

“May I please change the record, Sir?”

“Yes go right ahead he replied”

I looked at the rack. OVERTURES I read, that’ll do. Let’s see what we get and I closed my eyes and rolled the dice as I put the vinyl down on the player.

Anton was stoking the fireplace and I took of my jacket, composed my shirt and tie and took my seat. Green felt was on the table, and the candle kept a straight flame. A little perfect plume of smoke from the top ran up to the ceiling but was disturbed as soon as Anton open his mouth.

“THEY SAY I AM A BUTTERFLY!” he banged his fist on the table and it left a mark in the green felt.

Then he put his drink down and listened to the sounds of strings and melody. Suspense and relief, all in the first act.

“Wagner was a…” he stopped himself “he was a lot of things”

“Yeah he was”

“They say now he is a racist”

“Was a racist” I replied.

I took another drain of my wine and asked Anton for one of his cigars.

“Oh yes! Ceratinly! Partagas! Churchill!” and he gave me a little peace sign with his fingers like ol’ Winston.

I thought about peace signs and how the most recent incarnation that people are familiar with was opposed to the Vietnam war and Nuclear Destruction. But it didn’t matter, peace is what everyone wants, I thought and lit up the cigar.

“Butterflies are nice” I said to Anton

“NO!” he cried

“Settle down” I said in the politest way possible after a drunk man had just jumped from his seat in front of me. I didn’t even have my blazer on, after all. This was all getting very informal.

I puffed at my cigar. The smoke swirled around and I looked at the candle again. Something suspenseful was happening in the music and I sat back in my seat and imagined character dancing across stages and leaping around and taking bows. Audiences clapping; all in time. I would have been the bastard clapping on the off beat I thought.

Another knock came at the door and wine dribbled out of my mouth and onto my shirt cuff. I stood up, ashed my cigar and put my blazer back.

“Enter” said Anton, mumbling.

A girl walked in with olives and cheese and placed them on the table in front of us. Anton took a big drink of his wine and stared at it. The music was finishing up and becoming dramatic, and then it fluttered down into almost silence before bring itself back up again.

Anton started crying.

“Why do they say I am a butterfly?” He asked.

“Why not?” I replied “at least they’re saying something.”

……………..

Anton stoked the fire again with his metal stick and the music had once again finished.

“May I” I asked Anton

“Yes. Please” he replied and stared into the flames. I came up beside him and stared into them too. The flickered and waved. My cheeks became hot. I walked off to the record player., drained the rest of my glass, placed it on a table and started looking through the records.

Tom? Nah, not today. Bob? Nah, but both are good. Encore? I picked up the box marked ENCORE. I read Brahms the last disc. Ok, let’s see what happens I thought.

I fiddled with paper and discs. Ballet, Opera, Something else I thought, things were getting hazy.

"I’m looking for Brahms."

I tried to find it but my eyes were tired and the room was warm; my jacket was warm. I put Wagner back in his box and took my seat. Then got up again and removed my jacket.

“Battered Bride” said Anton.

“Huh? Nah don’t do that” I replied.

“No, the music” he said to me and the melody swung around and stopped and started and little flutes reminded me of people dancing little jigs. I shut my eyes.

Anton got up and filled up his glass and then filled up mine. My cigar was out and sitting in a green crystal ashtray.

“Why all the green?” I asked

“Oh, It’s all the rage. Well, not yet, but it will be; I’m always ahead of the times” He said.

I drank my wine. Wooden instruments bellowed into the room.

I put my jacket back on and I went into the bathroom myself. Looked in the mirror, ran my hands through my hair and straightened my blazer jacket. I could hear little flutes through the door and felt calm and happy. The mirror reflected it in my face. I’d seen it go from concerned to relaxed in an instant.

When I got back to the table and took my seat I took a sensible sip of wine, and then shook off all responsibility and drained it all. The music drifted around in my head. I started seeing seeing beautiful creatures that don’t exist in the real world dance across the stage.

I took another puff of my cigar as the symphony ended.

“Offenbach – Tales of Hoffman” Anton said slowly. Softly.

The light flicked. The green candle knew, or maybe it was just the speakers from the record player drifting though the room.

I sat back and enjoyed my cigar again and looked at the glass of wine. I must be responsible, I thought.

Then the most amazing sounds entered my ears and disappeared and came back again. Over and over. Over and over. Over and Over.

I puffed my cigar and stood up.

“I’ve to go." I said, and the music stopped.

“I’m not a butterfly, am I?” said Anton.

“Why ne green candle flickeredot" I mumbled, then composed myself and stood up tall and straight "be a butterfly; be a moth – I don’t mean…” I steadeadied myself on a sideboard, slipped a little and collected myself again and said “see you next time Anton.

He sat in his chair.

“Stop thinking about it so much” I said I wished I hadn’t.

Anton sat there in his chair, looking at the candle and the flame. Dramatic clashes of cymbals and the thumping of drums left my ears as I exited the room. Pardoned myself at the door, and walked home in the shadow of the moon.