star light, star bright (2/?)
anonymous
April 29 2009, 19:26:42 UTC
Star Light, Star Bright - part two
A few evenings later, Ivan pulls out a bottle of vodka. Arthur counters with a bottle of port, and the three of them pass the hours in pleasant company on the verandah.
Alfred, who has been drinking from both bottles foolishly ("daringly," he insisted when Arthur tried to caution him; Ivan's chuckle appeared to serve only as encouragement), is leaning forward, one hand curled around his glass, the other propping up his chin as he listens raptly to Arthur and Ivan debate the finer points of documentary cinema, occasionally chiming in with his own thoughts on the art. Since American cinema is known for its fictional stories, Arthur is pleased with the interest and knowledge Alfred is showing.
"Star light star bright," Alfred says suddenly and quickly, almost breathlessly. The other two break off as Alfred half-rises and then falls back into his chair, his eyes focused on a point low in the night sky. "First star I see t'night. Wish I may, wish I might, have this wish I wish to-night!"
Arthur follows the trajectory of Alfred gaze and sees the pinpoint sparkle. When he looks back at Alfred, he sees Alfred's face still upturned, his eyes closed, a furrow between his eyebrows as he concentrates; just like he did when he wished upon stars as a child. Arthur didn't know Alfred still played at that, but finds he isn't surprised. He smiles.
"I'm sorry," Alfred says when he opens his eyes again. "But s'important to make the wish soon 's you see the star, y'know. If another star appears, s'too late for your wish." Although he's enunciating as carefully as possible, there's no disguising the slur that has sneaked into his speech. He shakes his head, perhaps in sorrow for all those unwished wishes.
Ivan leans forward, propping his chin in his hand. "And what did you wish for, my friend?"
Alfred breaks into a wide grin. "Ah, I can't tell you that, Ivan! 'F I do, it won't come true!" He raises his glass to his mouth-then pulls back to eye it with disappointment, verifying that it really it empty. "Or." The furrow appears again and he turns to Arthur. "'Zat only for birthday wishes, when you blow out the cannels? Can-dles?"
"I think it's best to keep all your wishes close to your heart," Arthur hears himself say. He doesn't hear a slur in his own speech, but the fact that he's said such a fanciful thing in this company leads him to believe he may be close to exceeding his limits as well.
Alfred nods, then raises the empty glass again. When no liquid rushes into his mouth, he regards it mournfully-then lifts it higher to look at them through the bottom, as if it's a spyglass.
Ivan laughs, and again Arthur wants to tell him not to encourage Alfred like that. He reminds himself that Alfred is not a child, despite how he may act or appear sometimes. And then Alfred validates Arthur's faith, because when Ivan tilts the vodka bottle towards him in offer, Alfred shakes his head.
"Think 's time for bed for me. Sweet dreams 'n all that." His chair scrapes against the stone patio as he pushes it back, letting the table support his weight as he gets to his feet. "G'night, gennelmen." He offers each of them a sloppy grin in turn as he straightens. "Sweet dreams." He takes a few careful, cautious steps, laughing when he stumbles and bumps Ivan's chair. Ivan cups his elbow for support as Alfred sorts himself out. Mumbling a thanks, Alfred starts off again. At the door, he looks back over his shoulder to call "sweet dreams!" again; then flashing them a last grin, he disappears inside. It takes two tries for the door to close properly; even after that, Arthur's gaze lingers. He wonders if he ought to have helped Alfred back to his room.
A few evenings later, Ivan pulls out a bottle of vodka. Arthur counters with a bottle of port, and the three of them pass the hours in pleasant company on the verandah.
Alfred, who has been drinking from both bottles foolishly ("daringly," he insisted when Arthur tried to caution him; Ivan's chuckle appeared to serve only as encouragement), is leaning forward, one hand curled around his glass, the other propping up his chin as he listens raptly to Arthur and Ivan debate the finer points of documentary cinema, occasionally chiming in with his own thoughts on the art. Since American cinema is known for its fictional stories, Arthur is pleased with the interest and knowledge Alfred is showing.
"Star light star bright," Alfred says suddenly and quickly, almost breathlessly. The other two break off as Alfred half-rises and then falls back into his chair, his eyes focused on a point low in the night sky. "First star I see t'night. Wish I may, wish I might, have this wish I wish to-night!"
Arthur follows the trajectory of Alfred gaze and sees the pinpoint sparkle. When he looks back at Alfred, he sees Alfred's face still upturned, his eyes closed, a furrow between his eyebrows as he concentrates; just like he did when he wished upon stars as a child. Arthur didn't know Alfred still played at that, but finds he isn't surprised. He smiles.
"I'm sorry," Alfred says when he opens his eyes again. "But s'important to make the wish soon 's you see the star, y'know. If another star appears, s'too late for your wish." Although he's enunciating as carefully as possible, there's no disguising the slur that has sneaked into his speech. He shakes his head, perhaps in sorrow for all those unwished wishes.
Ivan leans forward, propping his chin in his hand. "And what did you wish for, my friend?"
Alfred breaks into a wide grin. "Ah, I can't tell you that, Ivan! 'F I do, it won't come true!" He raises his glass to his mouth-then pulls back to eye it with disappointment, verifying that it really it empty. "Or." The furrow appears again and he turns to Arthur. "'Zat only for birthday wishes, when you blow out the cannels? Can-dles?"
"I think it's best to keep all your wishes close to your heart," Arthur hears himself say. He doesn't hear a slur in his own speech, but the fact that he's said such a fanciful thing in this company leads him to believe he may be close to exceeding his limits as well.
Alfred nods, then raises the empty glass again. When no liquid rushes into his mouth, he regards it mournfully-then lifts it higher to look at them through the bottom, as if it's a spyglass.
Ivan laughs, and again Arthur wants to tell him not to encourage Alfred like that. He reminds himself that Alfred is not a child, despite how he may act or appear sometimes. And then Alfred validates Arthur's faith, because when Ivan tilts the vodka bottle towards him in offer, Alfred shakes his head.
"Think 's time for bed for me. Sweet dreams 'n all that." His chair scrapes against the stone patio as he pushes it back, letting the table support his weight as he gets to his feet. "G'night, gennelmen." He offers each of them a sloppy grin in turn as he straightens. "Sweet dreams." He takes a few careful, cautious steps, laughing when he stumbles and bumps Ivan's chair. Ivan cups his elbow for support as Alfred sorts himself out. Mumbling a thanks, Alfred starts off again. At the door, he looks back over his shoulder to call "sweet dreams!" again; then flashing them a last grin, he disappears inside. It takes two tries for the door to close properly; even after that, Arthur's gaze lingers. He wonders if he ought to have helped Alfred back to his room.
"You are worried about him."
to be continued
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