have we come 'round
have we come 'round again?
if you need a little song to help you move along
into the next
verse or two, or three
of course we'll come 'round
we always come round again
we'll go around, we'll come back 'round again
when you need a little song to help you move along
into the next
world or two, or three
--
Marius Vega almost doesn't answer when he sees it's his cousin Brande on the caller ID. He lets it ring nine times -- once for every baseless, manipulative purpose for which the man could possibly be calling; once for each uncomfortable silence they've endured as blood bretheren, once for every poison tincture the black sheep has injected into the family tree.
Once for every horrible fate he can imagine befalling the damned alchemist at that moment, nine crises that could be averted if only he, the patriarch, would answer the phone. And the phone can't ring enough times to quantify the number of sleepless nights he'd endure in that case, and so it's this and no other reason that prompts him finally to pick up.
Aden Brande had been prepared to wait, and so it's with no particular urgency he's speaking: "Remember I asked you about that Bennett Estate?"
"You upset my mother, Brande," is all Marius says, and of course cousin knows what he's done -- Vega might as well have been saying, instead, this better be good, so they are relatives, so it is understood.
"I'm sorry," Brande replies succinctly, a little too quickly, so that Vega is too quickly silent, too quickly leaves a void for devils to wind into. Continues the hell-addled alchemist: "I acted in anger. I have had... a disruptive year, and in my mind I thought I was protecting Mercedes."
Blood is something the Vega understands, and so is anger, he doesn't hang up. Brande's Madness is something he doesn't, but he's aware of it, of course, and so this rationale is for the moment, permissible, pending. The fact that he is upset with his mother, too, will only occur to him later -- some sick late-night gut-knife about Brande, some shard of him, being right, of ventilating sickness that had accumulated in his eaves, for the better.
"My sister is dead," says the alchemist with uncommon finality, sobriety. "I have sown a crop now I've no choice but to reap, but there are things I can accept in order to live among men."
Marius continues to listen to this. He isn't sure, maybe, exactly what the alchemist is saying, but he listens in a way that throbs, gilt-flecks in the blood, Hamlet's vengeful tincture creeping in through the ear and never so well-scented, so merciful.
"I've become involved with my patient," he says, and this is sort-of-not a lie, and Brande tells his cousin: "And she in turn is under the stewardship of a very old, very good family, and I've been invited to a party there."
Invited to a party is a stretch, and although he doesn't know that, it's even hard for Marius to believe, and yet he says, bluntly: "Good for you." Marius, too, deals only in half-lies and not full ones, and this the cousins have in common.
"I'd like to invite you," Brande says carefully. And perhaps that precision truly is due to care, the delicate treading round a fresh wound, and maybe the regret in his tone is real. It's too complex to tell. "It's been a long time since I've..." Pause, and it's mirthless-rueful, but his cousin can imagine his wan smile, like the one he used to give when young, conflicted about a boat trip or a whorehouse trip or about anything, really. "...been a socialite," Brande concludes, wryly.
"You aren't ever going to be any kind of socialite, you fucking Brande," says Marius, clipped. "Anyone who ever knew you wants nothing to do with you now."
Perhaps the silence on the line is the alchemist, pragmatic, calculating whether this is actually true. He does want, of course, to know the location of Naomi's baby's burial site, but there are so many reasons he can't ask her. He's wondering if Marius could do it, but perhaps the Vega will interpret his cousin's silence as repentance -- even though he knows better by now, has made the mistake of assigning repentance to Brande five, six, seven times too many.
"It's true," says Brande, though who knows what he means is true. "It's a good family," he asserts. "And Shannon's going."
"What for? You seeing her?" Skeptical, and maybe Brande could say yes and sow brilliant illusions of his changed-ness -- he is seeing Shannon, if only literally; just as he is involved with Milla in ways he takes care to allow others only to imagine at. Half lies, gilded, and blood is more important to Vega than gold, so he cannot be sure.
"No," he says. "But I would like you to meet my girlfriend."
I would like you to meet my girlfriend is new enough, is different enough, to satiate.
Vega says, a little darkly: "Fine. When?"
"I'll let you know," says Brande.
"Can I bring Jill?"
Pause. Genteel Brande says: "It's up to you." What he means is it's up to her, of course, and even Vega knows this, so he might as well let him have his pride.
Brande hangs up the phone and smiles and determines to buy Milla another dress. It isn't often that either of them attend parties.
--
of course you've seen everyone just comes around
and comes right back again
several time frames have been ignored
we brought them back to see and hear
and we go round our world in circles
just like you knew that we would
it's way out there somewhere not far away
do you think we can lift this shadow
do you think, do you think do you think
do you think at all?
because it's way out there somewhere
not far away
(we've been there too)
[-- circulatory system, 'the spinning continuous' (download)]
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