Parting Glass
Henri was finishing off his dinner when there was a knock at the door. He walked over and opened it. In the doorway stood Alexandre holding a bottle of wine. The two smiled at each other without a word, their aged faces mirroring each other, though Alexandre looked older by several years.
“Sorry that I am early,” Alexandre said, seeing Henri’s dinner on the table.
“No, it’s me who lost track of time, as you do in here,” Henri replied with a smile. He gestured his friend inside. “Not that I’ll even need to eat,” he added. Alexandre was saddened by that comment but did not show it. As he hung up his coat, Henri turned towards the table. He waved his hand and the dishes vanished from sight.
“After all these years, that still amazes me,” Alexandre said.
“It becomes routine after awhile, I admit,” Henri replied. “This, though, is always a bit of fun.” With a grin, he snapped with both hands. Two wine glasses formed on top the table, first the bases then the stems and bowls sprouting from them like flowers. Henri glanced back. “Still got it, haven’t I?” Alexandre replied with a smile and a nod. Henri knew that look.
“Well, maybe on this occasion, we can use something else,” he said. He went to his cabinet and took two weathered wine glasses. While a small gesture, the two on the table vanished. Alexandre smiled again, more sincerely this time. He remembered those glasses well. He placed the bottle on the table and took a seat. Henri sat down, uncorked the bottle, let it breath, and filled both glasses.
“Your health!” Henri said, holding out to toast.
“Yours as well, I suppose,” Alexandre replied with a laugh. He had never gotten tired of that joke. He suspected neither had Henri. The two toasted and took their first sips.
“Earthy, isn’t it?” Alexandre said.
“Yes, quite.” Henri replied. “If I had to guess the region, I’d say the South Bank of the Trieuval near Comolle Hill, where the Jellmarcs used to grow. Anything east of that would be sweeter.”
Alexandre smiled and took another sip. “Close, close. North Bank, grown by the Jellmarcs’ cousins.”
Henri snapped his fingers. “Ah, should have know!” he said with a laugh. “Too dark to be near the Hill. Then again, my sense of taste hasn’t been the same as it once was.” Alexandre smiled sadly at that last comment. He took a drink.
“Now if I had to guess the year,” Henri continued, studying his glass, “somewhere between ’56 to ’64. I remember the grapes from that time being less sweet.” He stared at the bottle. “Has to be 62. Has to be.” He looked over at Alexandre, eager to see if he was right.
Alexandre had been staring at his glass the whole time. He glanced up for a second before returning his gaze down. “67,” he said. Henri’s smile faded. It was the year he had died.
“You know I can’t stay,” Henri said. Alexandre snapped his gaze upwards.
“I know what you’ve told me,” Alexandre said, “but I still don’t understand. You lived for this.” He held the wine bottle up. “You lived for everything beautiful that grew under the Sun, our Sun. And you’re giving it all away.” Tears started to well up in his eyes.
“I have nothing more to say,” Henri calmly replied. “At the very least, respect my choice to pass on. Not, whatever this is meant to say.” He gestured at the wine bottle. For a moment he saw his friend as he first met him, a young boy offering a cold drink to an old stranger seeking rest.
“I thought it would remind you,” Alexandre said. “Remind you of what you left behind. What you’re leaving behind.” Tears rolled down his cheeks. Henri placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder.
“I know how much our time together means to you,” he said. “They mean as much to me. Spending my final years with you and your family, after a life of burdens. And to see you grow, to see you live and thrive, to share in it all these years. It has felt like a second chance for me.”
“So that is all I was,” Alexandre said, lowering the bottle. “Just some stupid boy that made you feel better about yourself.”
“Alex, I know you’re hurting,” Henri said sternly. “Don’t think I am only leaving because you are nearing your end. There’s nothing more I want than for both of us to spend the rest of existence together. A true chance to live again. But we both know we can’t dwell here together. My strength of spirit wanes every second. I can barely keep this cabin standing around us. You know that.”
Alexandre was silent. He recounted every argument he had made, and every response Henri had given. He knew there was nothing he could say.
“It is time to let go,” Henri said. “Besides, we can have our eternity in a World beyond this one.”
“It would never be the same as here,” Alexandre replied. He looked away and took a deep breath. He suddenly grasped the wine bottle and threw it against the wall. The glass shattered and fell to the ground. Henri winced, feeling the smash on the wall deep within himself.
“Sorry,” Alexandre said. “Sorry for everything. At least you won’t feel the pain where you are going.” He stood up and grabbed his coat. He put it on and opened the door. He paused.
“If you see my family,” he said. “You know what to say.”
“I know,” Henri said with a smile.
“I have nothing more to say. Goodbye,” Alexandre said. He stepped out the door.
There was only a few steps from Henri’s cabin to the edge of the Thin Place, where Faerie met the World of the Living. Henri stepped outside, feeling the land of spirit and wonder leave him. He turned around. The small wood cabin he had just been in disappeared like the dishes from before. Henri stood alone, holding the two wine glasses. He smiled and took one more sip of his. Then he too faded away. Only the two wine glasses remained, falling to the ground. With that the grove where Henri the Fée had dwelled became another clearing in the woods. Alexandre stood there, knowing he had become just another old man waiting to pass on to the World of the Fated.
