A3. TEA ROOM

- Who are you ?

Blurred shapes gradually emerged from the darkness. There was a table. Two chairs and two shadows of seated men. Edwin opened his eyes. The outlines cleared painfully. The two men were Charles and a stranger, dressed in cheap General clothes, with a blue peacekeeper's costume and frayed gold epaulettes, a large peacock-feathered hat, and a cane around which coiled a snake. Edwin didn't exactly remember the balcony entertainer, the fireworks and the visions. The unknown man was mixed with a kind of nightmare. Between the two men, a large double window was open to the stars and the enormous horizon of the Pacific. All over the window frame, pink and yellow flowers climbed intertwined, so that the window could not be completely closed.

- Sir. Will you answer me? Who are you ? We will not stay. No. Thank you, thank you very much, but no.

The man with the gold epaulettes, massive, bearded, remained silent.

Charles' nervousness contrasts with the deep peacefulness of the room. The silence of the stranger gave him all the power. Charles was exhausting himself in vain. The fake general stood up suddenly, almost to the rafters, and the librarian shuddered. But it was to throw new logs into the wood stove behind him, which threw crackling sparks through the half-open black iron door. He sat down again.

Edwin uncovered his eyelids a little more, clarifying the blurred edges of his vision. An intimate warmth bathed the room. It was an artist’s studio inhabited by a bear. By throwing the logs, even by sitting down again to look the servant straight in the eyes, the stranger looked like a farmer weary of a long day, in the tall grass and wheat, full of earthly gravity, yearning for twilight, the heart full of budding stars... But dressed up like a showman, playing fake General Grant in Chattanooga. Just behind his head, hanging on the wall, Edwin noticed a bicycle with two wheels of the same size, one of the new models, hanging over a desk covered with papers.

The smiling bear yawned, with a faint smile, holding Charles's frightened gaze. Then he tilted his head to the side, like dogs who don't understand their master.

Charles sat up on his stool.

- Well, don't say anything. I will speak. I'm Charles Iverson. And I am... This man's assistant. We thank you for your help. Monsieur will not tolerate a doctor. But he must recover. Allow us to stay tonight. We will leave as soon as he wakes up. Not without repaying yourself for your generosity. Of course.

The owner of the house slowly uttered a few words, in a low, resonant voice.

- 'Monsieur' ? This man there?

- Yes. Let's stop talking about it. We... He values ​​his secrets.

- All our citizens are free, in Body and Will. But who is this man, who hides his body in a cape, and who draws a revolver at the solstice celebrations? What would happen if I lifted his cloak?

- I forbid you!

- You forbid me?

Charles stood up. He barely reached the height of his seated guest. The man in the hat rose above him and planted his big right hand on his shoulder.

- ‘Monsieur’ is very lucky to have you, Charles Iverson, by his side. You are a friend. Come on, sit down again. Ah, see, our friend finally wakes up.

The stranger knelt down quickly beside Edwin.

Quivering, the cloak sank an inch, revealing the tarnished stones of the armor's straps.

Norton put his finger in this opening and, widening it, discovered the formerly red breastplate, which had since tarnished, bronze and rust.

- What is that? he asked with a smile and curious eyes.

- Nothing.

Charles reached over to remove Norton's hand. He didn't dare finish his gesture.

- What ? Nothing ?

- Not much.

Norton removed his hand.

- Yet I see, and I believe. Jack, play your part. It is up to the master to give things their value. If he wears it, this armor is no small thing. Of course it's fake. Made for the stage. In this sense, it is worthless, without lights or an audience... He still wears it, however.

Norton had insisted on this word, stage. He was now miming ignorance and deep thought, holding his chin through the thick white and black beard.

- Could it be Macbeth returned... or rather this enigma: what would cause an actor, rich enough, powerful enough to be followed by such a devoted valet, to come and get lost in our august city at night? He doesn't know anything about our celebrations. He looks injured. Restless. Haunted, almost. That he is an actor is obvious, but which one is he?

- Enough !

- Is it an order ?

- It is.

- Come on, Forrest, your valet is taking liberties.

Charles' shoulders fell, as if he had been punched in the stomach

Edwin now stared at his host. Interested.

- You see, Forrest - can I call you Edwin? - I guessed a little who you are. Are you in pain?

- ... No ...

- You are suspicious. No worries. I will not tell anyone. Charles here was shouting to me, as you carried you through the hills, that you “didn't have time”. That you were expected somewhere. Expected somewhere...I can guess where. There are many of them there. More numerous are they than we are … You can't wait to see them again. To be forgiven. Or punished? But that's no reason to take a weapon out into our streets and scare your fellow citizens. Is it ?

Norton, acting like a schoolmaster, seemed to be waiting for an excuse.

- Edwin. There were children on this street.

All three shuddered with the same shiver. In all this story, Norton was never to speak more harshly again.

He suddenly smiled.

- Now rest, dear master. Enjoy the silence. No one will know you are here. This cabin is simple, but it's yours.

- Leave me.

- Where exactly ? In the street, where any newspaper reader can recognize you? Somewhere halfway, in our hills? You are not young anymore, Edwin. And you're in bad shape. Fortunately, Mr. Iverson knows everything about you, and took care to load your revolver with blanks. While letting you believe that it was loaded... here is a man who knows how to help. But who doesn't know weapons. If the cannon had been closer, you would have lost an eardrum, maybe an eye. You are blessed, Edwin!

- ...

- Come on, laugh! You wanted to disappear, and you disappeared. You wanted to die, we saw you fall breathless after a shot - tomorrow your obituary will be in all the papers. Here you are...in the Other World. Enjoy. You are dead.

Edwin visibly flinched.

Norton, as if to himself, to the librarian:

- ... abandon your reading, Charles Iverson, you have entered a book.

Charles moved closer to his master.

- Sir, don't be afraid. He's a little crazy, but he's the one who dispersed the crowd and carried you here. Sir, whatever your name is, thank you again, but we have to leave soon. San Francisco has hotels and Monsieur has to take care of himself.

- Are there only Sirs and Monsieurs in your world? Are you still a child? No, you will stay. Come on, change your mind. How are you going to carry him? Even in his shape, he's twice your weight. And who will be your safe conduct at this time of night? You met the citizens of San Francisco during their warm-ups. After midnight, it's time for personal bests and world titles - I cannot answer for their manners. No, you and Ed will stay. We’ll talk !

Norton gave them a big, innocent smile.

Edwin closed his eyes again

- Charles... rest...

- At least stay for tea.

Norton played pleading eyes. Like a child who wants to stay a little longer. Charles looked at his master. Edwin blinked, and nodded slightly.

Joshua clapped his big hands three times.

- Gorgeous ! Gorgeous ! Here, my good Iverson, take this little bag, and go and see on the cliff if you can find any herbs for tea. Very close to the edge, eh ? Come on ! I’m all yours, master comedian. All silver, the herbs, you will see, like pieces of the Moon, you cannot go wrong.

Charles, stunned, took the bag.

- Take your time.

- No, he protested weakly.

- No ! Still no. How can you talk without a good wild tea? This is the custom here. You'll get used to it.

“Talk”: the word had a particular taste of adventure and love in his mouth. You would have thought it was playing cards or going horse riding in the first rays of morning.

Charles then turned to Edwin with a look of pleading.

Edwin's eyes, the only moving part of his entire petrified body, moved from one to the other.

- ... Leave.

Charles wanted to protest.

“We’re just talking,” Norton reassured.

Clinging to the bag like a child, Charles did not leave.

Still there, valet? So, make yourself useful. You know better than anyone what afflicts your master. What is his illness?

- … he is sad.

- Pardon ?

- He is sad. That's all. There was paralysis. The sciatic nerve. But he should be better already. Only, by not moving, reading, and sleeping poorly, he became numb. Everything is falling apart. It’s the sadness that hurts him the most.

- That's all ?

Charles looked at his master as he spoke. Twenty years separated them. It was like sticking your hand through a fire.

- There are panics. Insomnia. Or when he sleeps too much and his nightmares wake him up with cramps. His lungs...are weakening. Because of the opium he initially took for pain. And childhood asthma. There is no more... pain... I think. But the shadow of pain remains.

Edwin's fixed gaze carried neither assent nor reproach. He turned it towards Norton.

- I...diligently...destroyed myself.

- We lived in Saratoga, for the springs. But we weren't going. For fear of being seen.

- So you came for our springs ? For the weather ?

- In theory. In books, I looked for a way to cure him, but...

- Enough.

Edwin had spoken without malice, in a whisper.

- Charles. Leave.

The valet lowered his head, like those Egyptian statues at the entrance to temples, always bowed before the stars. He clutched his bag. And finally turned on his heel.

- Try not to fall! And look through the window, if you want to watch us!

The swinging door suddenly revealed the plateau wild with swaying grass that the Moon turned white as the foam. The cabin seemed to float on these waves like a boat.

Norton moved his stool closer to the bed. Through the open window Edwin could see his librarian's shadow moving on the edge of the cliff. Two or three times he missed a bump in the dark and risked sliding down into the reefs. It was like the shadow shows of certain Chinese 'houses' where, in San Francisco as in New York, one could buy these little milky spheres which relieved of everything, everything...

Suddenly alone with him, Edwin had the impression of discovering his host. Irony and a smile had given way to the uniform calm of a waveless sea, concealing invisible currents. He stared at him with his blue eyes. By his appearance alone, he could have declared himself a general, a captain of industry, a traveling billionaire, or even king of some distant island - and be believed.

But he seemed more of an artisan, head of some workshop in town - these men often have more majesty than kings, being freer.

There was no pretension in his aura, but a sort of smiling, histrionic play, as if he were amused by a planned "chance", a well-orchestrated plan, a prediction about to come true.

However, his epaulettes and his cane revealed the character in the playwright. He looked like one of those puppets from Guignols or Pupi, where he would have played the good guy chasing away the bad guys with his stick.

Despite his strange appearance, his words about death, and his midnight tea, there was nothing worrying about the entertainer. These are invisible impressions that bind strangers. In the mystery, golden threads were tied.

- Good. You seem a little recovered. Good. But we will wait a little before sharing a drink. We will not open any Champagne treasure, not even a Clairet. We will keep ourselves awake. The Word, Ed, the Word saves from the Night. I have a few candles to burn. The stars are out. Even the flowers shine a little brighter. Your storms, your calms... I know, roughly, what you experienced. That night on the square... No, no, rest, I won't say more. I know what the newspapers said about it. I cried all night. Because this country is close to my heart. Now I would like to hear everything about your life. Because you are alive. Whether you like it or not. It is not finished.

Edwin didn't answer. But he looked at his host, without blinking.

- You have done a lot of harm. Certainly. What I didn't read in the newspapers, I guessed in part. Right ? A fire is often born from a little powder. And you were powder. Is the powder guilty?

Edwin looked at Norton, fascinated. The bear burst into enormous laughter.

- Ah! But imagine how good Charles, who loves you so much, would cry to hear me speak to you like this! He would kill me, the brave man! Blank bullets! A librarian ! You are very lucky to have him. Calm down. Let's relax. Let us disperse those black clouds.

Here's the question: why did I bring you here? It's simple. I want the truth about your case. I no longer believe the newspapers. And besides, if we want the truth - and God knows some truth would do you the good of a thousand springs - we will have to start earlier. In short, I would like you to tell me... Everything.

- For what ?

- It’s obvious, right? To sell the story, and make loads of money. No. The truth interests me. It's an old hobby of mine. And then, it can't hurt you.

- … why should I… tell you?

- Because I carried you. On my back. Personally.

- Are you helping… to demand?

- The price is not expensive.

- It is.

- Then I will make my request a decree. Here, I have my pen and my paper.

The desk, under the bicycle, was in fact covered with sheets of paper in large capital letters.

- “…but, who is this guy, exactly?” That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it? Norton swept one of his gold epaulettes reflexively, stroked his beard, then put both hands back on his strange serpent cane.

- I'm Joshua Norton. We will come back to that. For now, I'm just a friend, who would like to hear you talk. And enough of that drawling voice. Do you think you can't speak? If I begin any great tirade in all of Shakespeare, you will finish it with a wall-cracking voice. True ?! True or not?

- Enough. I missed the shot. Leave me.

- Oh, but the shot went off - mind you, Mr. Colt knows his stuff. Think of good Charles instead. Who stole the gun from you and gave it back to you. Who protected you without saying it. Who even this evening behaved as if he did not deserve a “thank you”. This is the weight of a true act. So yes, sleep, don't talk, leave at dawn. How would I force you? And tomorrow you will still be in books and prints. But you will exit as you entered: able to shoot a gun in a celebrating city, but unable to see the friend at your bedside.

For the first time in many years, Joshua Norton had lost his temper. He stopped and sighed deeply.

- You smell the ocean air like me. You hear the waves. You smell the stars, on my flowers in the window, and on the candles I tastefully placed. You think to yourself: "This guy talks too much, too much, he's eccentric, he's maybe even dangerous, but he has a heart that beats." Right? You think: "I feel that I am at a crossroads, and to talk, perhaps…”

In short, we already know that you are only playing the prelude, beating around the bush, to let the playwright fill in the Act... you are going to tell me your story, your whole story. For you still believe in the forces of your destiny. And maybe...wait...maybe...

Norton moved close, as if hoping to glimpse a secret in Edwin's eyes.

- Did you know that the revolver was not loaded?

There was a sound of creaking wood.

Charles stood speechless in the door frame. He stared, stunned, at the few tears that were rolling down his master's face. It was like seeing his mother in tears. He dropped his enormous bag swollen with thyme.

Norton, with a kind smile, opened his arms wide, between the librarian and the man in black.

- Live, Edwin!

Charles, sit with us. You will play the audience, rooting for the accused. I will act as judge and lawyer. No clerk! None of this must remain! A flash in the pan: let's hear the whole story, and then forget. You too must have your curiosity - you worked for it. You smoke ? No ?

With these formulas, Norton lit a well-packed pipe of Danish tobacco, which spread an aroma of distant spices in the small living room. They could hear the sea beating instead of the clocks. They were too far away to hear the rare bell towers of the fiery city.

Norton made tea.

Its scent rose, joining the smoke of tobacco and fire. The flowers mingled with the stars. Edwin wanted to push peace away, but peace was tenderly imposed on him. It was like the second before the velvet curtain rose. The revolver was lying dormant on the bedside table.

And one by one, like islands set on fire, drifting from the horizon, through the window the candles and the flowers, images reached Edwin's eyes. There was Kate as a child. Friends, the city like a great beast carrying the children on its back, and they played in its streets, and they had water up to their thighs on the banks of the Hudson, and that was before all, and that was the start of it all, and it is there, in the center of this small theater of the heart, that Edwin suddenly saw again the forgotten smile of Dara.

Norton served the tea. They talked.