Chapter 18: My Days Have Been a Dream

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
thus much let me avow —
You are not wrong, who deem
that my days have been a dream;
yet if hope has flown away
in a night, or in a day,
in a vision, or in none,
is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
of a surf-tormented shore,
and I hold within my hand
grains of the golden sand —
How few! Yet how they creep
through my fingers to the deep,
while I weep — while I weep!
O, God! Can I not grasp
them with a tighter clasp?
O, God! Can I not save
one from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
but a dream within a dream?

"A Dream Within a Dream" by Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)

The agitated man paced back and forth across the room before the chair that held his distraught friend.

"He reminds me of a caged panther I once saw in a circus as a boy. I have never seen him act like this. He is usually so unflappable. What could have broken through his calm facade and precipitated this torment?"

Raoul felt a profound worry worm and twist its way deep into his gut, his emotions so intense that they bordered on panic. Not only did he have problems in his own love life, but also, it now seemed Erik did as well. And, Raoul felt more worry over Erik's state than for his own. Raoul knew what he must do, but as Erik had yet to speak, Raoul had no idea what Erik's problem was. All Raoul could do was wait until Erik decided to talk. Raoul placed a hand to his temple and massaged it.

"I feel the beginnings of a hellacious headache. If today were a normal day, I would ask Erik for one of his potions, but today is far from normal and I dare not. I shudder to think of what type of concoction Erik might mix for me in his present state. Ah well, perhaps we should attempt to drown our sorrows and we can allow tomorrow to take care of itself."

"Erik, can I offer you a drink; a whiskey, perhaps?"

The man stopped his pacing for a moment and stared at the younger man, then sighed.

"No, Raoul, no whiskey. You know I care very little for the taste of strong spirits. However, I can see the allure of their sedative effects on the mind. Hmmm ... perhaps ... do you have ice and blood oranges?"

Raoul suppressed the smirk that fought to quirk the corners of his mouth at Erik's odd request. After their long years of friendship, Raoul had become used to the sudden, seemingly unrelated shifts in the topic of conversation by his friend. His curiosity aroused at this latest turn, he responded.

"Of course, we have ice. The blood oranges, now, those I will have to check with the kitchen, but most likely we do as Phillipe has a penchant for them. Why?"

"Well, I would like to mix myself an Amour Sanglent. I know you have Hine Rare V.S.O.P. Cognac, cherry brandy and vanilla liqueur as I can see them on the bar. If you have the blood oranges, please request the kitchen to juice them. Would you like me to make you one?"

Relieved by Erik's sudden mood change, the young man decided to encourage the older man's diversion.

"Erik's moods shift so rapidly I have never been able to keep up with them."

"Hmmm ... yes. A tall drink sounds good to me right now. I will check with the kitchen. How much juice do you need?"

"Oh, I believe enough to fill two shot glasses should suffice."

"Very well, I shall return in a moment."

Erik returned to his pacing while waiting for Raoul to return.

"We dream of one another."

The phrase repeatedly played itself in his mind. He knew if he could just get past those words, he would be able to think clearly. However, his mind remained caught in the endless web of those five simple words.

"We dream of one another."

Erik started as Raoul's voice interrupted the silent mantra resounding in his head.

"We are in luck! Here are the things you requested, ice and the juice of blood oranges! Now, let me see the Master at work. Show me how it is done, Erik!" Raoul smirked.

Erik returned the look with one of his own and turned to walk behind the well-stocked bar. Reaching up, he brought down two tall, slender glasses. He placed a scoop of the crushed ice into each glass and then quickly placing the different bottles of alcohol he required in front of him, he grabbed a shot glass. Erik then began measuring and mixing the drinks.

"If you were not such an excellent architect, Erik, you would have made the perfect bartender."

His hands continued their work without pause as Erik tilted his head and cocked an eyebrow at Raoul.

"Well, the thought does occur to me that anyone wishing to confide their tales of woe to you would instantly feel better."

The older man's eyebrow arched higher and his eyes darkened slightly as he anticipated his friend's next words.

"After all, how could anyone try to tell you how horrible their life is? After seeing your mug, they would come away knowing their plight paled in comparison to yours."

The room became deathly silent and Raoul cursed himself for taking his teasing one-step too far this time. He raised his eyes to meet his friend's flabbergasted gaze. Erik blinked. He then threw his head back and roared with laughter.

"Raoul! You know that if anyone else said that to me, I would wish to strangle them."

He shook his head and dabbed at his eyes with the back of his wrist as his laughter had caused tears to run down his cheeks.

"You are a..."

"Amazing?"

"Well, no. I was going to call you an ass before you so rudely interrupted me. Here!"

Raoul huffed as Erik chortled. He gave the drink a stir and then placed it on the bar. He held up his own glass to Raoul.

"To the women we love. Let us hope they will not be the death of us."

Now, it was Raoul's turn to arch an eyebrow at Erik. He lifted his glass, nodded his head and took a sip of the drink. Erik placed the glass to his lips, took a perfunctory taste and frowned. He muttered something Raoul could not quite hear.

"What did you say? I am sorry, I did not hear you."

"I said that it still tastes like alcohol. A rose by any other name¹, I suppose."

"Come now, Erik. This is actually quite good. Where did you learn to make this?"

"I read it in a book."

Raoul laughed and shook his head.

"Only you, Erik, only you would think to learn how to mix a drink by reading a book and not by sampling the recipe. Why am I not surprised?"

The older man did not respond, but simply resumed his pacing and Raoul returned to sit in the armchair by the unlit fireplace.

"Erik? When are you going to tell me what is wrong? Did you ask Christine to marry you today? Please do not tell me she said no."

The dark man halted and stared at the drink in his hand before replying quietly.

"I did ask her and, in fact, she said yes."

Raoul jumped up from his chair, almost spilling his drink. He rushed over to Erik and clapped him on the back.

"Well done, old man! Congratulations! So ... what is the problem? Why are you wearing a path across my Persian carpet?"

Erik ran his hand through his hair and continued his relentless pacing.

"She seems determined to think of reasons why we should not wed and they only cause me to love her more."