X-Hero

Lord Harold sat down and lifted the book of the top shelf and took
the whiskey bottle out from behind it. There was a noise from the door,
he instinctively tried to replace the book but stopped when he heard
the voice of his old friend Sir Jonathon Motly reassure him.

'Don't worry Harry, she's downstairs still. And with the mood she and
Mrs Motly are in, I doubt we'll see much of them for the rest of the
evening.'

Lord Harold turned to see Sir Jonathon standing silhouetted in the
doorway, he tried to force a smile but paused, not knowing what to
think. 'I don't know where I'm going any more, John.' He said
unscrewing the whiskey bottle, 'There was a time when I could have told
you the future of the world, and then gone out a created it but now
look at me.'

'I don't understand. You used to be able to move mountains, my God how
I envied you. What happened?'

'Can't you see? Haven't you seen anything this evening? She's a witch;
she bewitched my brain, then stole my sole. I was powerless in the face
of beauty. A great mind will take you so far, but a great body will
drag you back.'

'So your wife, then, she's your problem?' Harry offered no answer,
they both knew there was something more.

Sir John entered the room and switched on the light, Harry turned his
head away from the glare, and covered his eyes with the bottle.

'Turn it off.'

The light went.

There was silence in the room and the hall door was closed and locked.
Harry lit the small table lamp, dimmed it and sat down in his executive
black leather armchair with a glass of whiskey in one hand and an unlit
cigarette in the other. He rubbed his chin, then put his head in his
hands on the table, dropping and spilling the glass. Sir John still
stood in the closed doorway.

'What happened?'

'I died.'

'What? You died?'

'A death.'

'I ask you where your life has gone and all you can say is that you
died a death. Christ, you think death is some great excuse. You're
supposed to fear it. You think you were great because you embraced
death? Death is to be feared, it is only the fear of death that makes
us love our lives. You weren't great because you loved death, you were
great because you could, it takes a great mind to understand it, and a
noble soul to love it, yet you paid the price. And the price was your
life.'

'Two out of three isn't bad.' Said Harry, pouring another glass of
Whisky and lighting his cigarette.

'What? Two out of three isn't bad? What the fuck is that supposed to
mean.' He entered the light and sat in the chair opposite. Sir John was
a tall man, with brown hair. He was clean-shaven and wearing a black
tuxedo. He had fair features, he was good looking but not in the
traditional 'masculine' way. Lord Harold was shorter, and stockier. He
had been good looking once, but time had taken its toll early on his
features. It seems impossible to see a thirty-five year old in his
ragged, torn face.

Friends. They had been once; they were inseparable ten years ago.
Renound around the world - rich, intelligent, good looking, both
charismatic. Playboys of the Western world; Emperors of their Eastern
Kingdoms. They were unstoppable.

'You don't listen do you,' Harry said, taking a puff on his
cigarette.

'Listen to what? 'Two out of three isn't bad.' Explain it to
me.'

They stared at each other. 'So what do you think of Catherine?' Harry
asked.

'Catherine, is that your lover or your wife?'

'My lover,' He looked down at his lap, 'I have no wife.'

There was a silence, which was broken only occasionally by screams
from the women from the party going on downstairs. 'Is she the
reason?'

'The reason for what?'

'What ever it is that has happened to you.'

'No.'

'So you do accept that something has happened to you.'

Harry smirked and breathed out a laugh, as if to say 'I've never denied
it.'

'She is not the cause of anything. Catherine is a strong, fine
woman.'

'You don't believe that any more than I...'

'She has helped me through a lot.'

'She's helped you into a pile a shit, and left you to dig your way
out. Christ, why can't you tell me what is on your mind. I used to know
your every thought, and you knew mine. We were strong. I wasn't. You
were our backbone, and I'm paralysed with a broken back. I'm powerless
to help and you're dragging me down with you.' John slammed his fists
on the table, he was shouting now.

'Have you ever thought about death?'

'For Gods sake, I thought you'd grown out of this. This was your
adolescence. Don't let the ghosts of that come back to haunt you all
over again. Death? What the fuck is that. You think that by
understanding it you can hold it back? You think you can reason with
it? Death is a dumb animal, it can't be spoken to, there is no game of
chess to be played. You will die. Now you can't tell me that you're
loosing your life because you won't let go of death.'

'Catherine is a beautiful woman isn't she.'

Now it was Johns turn to put his head in his hands, 'For Christ's
sake. Listen to yourself, listen to me. Snap the fuck out of it.'

'We moved mountains didn't we. My God, we were good. The Far East,
America, the Bahamas, Europe, Africa. We had women, power and money
across the globe. I've lost it.'

'Lost what? You're still the same man now that changed the world
before. Lost what?'

'Something's not right, something's missing.' He paused, 'I'm
scared.'

There was a moment's silence. John had never heard or seen this man be
scared of anything. He used to be the strongest, most formidable
creature in the world. 'What are you scared of?'

'Time.' He sat back in his chair, it squeaked to broach the gap
between his word and his meaning. 'Its not death. I was once new,
fresh. My ideas were different and I loved to fight the world. Yet now
I am of an older generation. I don't feel alive, I don't feel
fresh.'

Sir John smiled. 'Oh, my Friend.' Then he stopped, he knew, he
understood now, but he couldn't think of nothing to say.

'I'm right aren't I.' Lord Harold beamed and laughed. 'You thought you
could come up here and find some thing to persuade me out of. But I'm
right, aren't I.'

'Yes, you are. But, why kill yourself over it? I don't get that. Why
ruin yourself? You're old, of course you're not fresh. But, you don't
blame an egg for being bad - or a wine for maturing - it's just time.
It happens to us all.'

'Yes, but ... You were right early on, about embracing death. I did,
you know. I loved it; I loved all the old folks who couldn't control
their lives, who had them run for them. I loved the fact that we two
stepped in and tripped them up with our new, 20th century logic, our
twenty-year-old energy, our twenty-twenty vision. I loved the fact that
while I knew I would die, it was long enough away for me not to worry
about it. I could just laugh. I can't any more. My love for youth
wasn't all it appeared, you know. It was no love of anything, I'm
afraid. It was a hatred was of old age - I despised the other option so
much I allowed myself to love anything else I was offered. Unforgivable
weakness, growing old - and now I'm here. I've never accepted anything.
It made me great, well, it drove my life, but as time passes - I don't
think I can accept my non-acceptance any longer.' He said, leaning
forward, taking a sip on his drink, thinking, almost smiling. 'It's
become a quite unforgivable flaw of mine.'

John smiled broadly, 'Not a flaw, Harry, just a character.'

'Well, it's costing me now, and there's nothing I can do to change it.
It hurts, John, my gut is tied in knots, my head wants
&;#8230;'

'Listen. There is nothing you can do about it. Sit back and enjoy old
age.'

'Enjoy What!'

'"Old age hath yet it's honour and its toil, and some work of noble
note may yet be done, not unbecoming of men that strove with
Gods."'

'Yes. But I think my noble note has rung...'

'Then enjoy the echoes. Enjoy the memories, they live with you -
they're yours - you've earned them. I'd sit back, relax with a drink
and a good Cuban, and listen to your noble note. You've done well
Harry, relax and listen to the kind of resonance only a few can.'

Lord Harold smiled and breathed a laugh. "Yes, yes I suppose I could
do that. Enjoy my resonance - while she puts up with my
incontinence!!"

They both smiled now.

Sir John reached forward and poured two glasses of whiskey, nudging one
over to his friend.

"To my Friend." He said, raising his glass, "May we both cruise into
old age and then to Heaven beyond on the bough of the Good Ship Who
Gives and Damn!"

"Yeah," Said Harold, raising his, "We've done well."

There was a gentle clink of glasses and the drink was downed.