Chapter 7: The Library
The Butler and I returned to the living room and went out into the hallway. Opening the door in front of us on the backside of the grand stairs and heading down a short stairwell, we entered the semi-underground wine cellar.
Three sides of the small, chilly room had wine bottles lined up with hardly any space between. When I took one out, something strange happened: the liquid in the bottle didn’t move at all. While I was at a loss for words, the Butler explained.
“This world is just a play, strictly speaking. Plays contain many things which have no purpose beyond being mere background elements, and they remain so here… They need not fulfill any greater purpose than that.”
That made me suddenly recall something. When I was searching the study with the Master, I casually tested the fountain pen on the desk, and despite there clearly being ink on the tip, it didn’t put any ink on my hands. I thought that just meant it didn’t work anymore and didn’t dwell on it.
But in truth, it didn’t function at all because it was just scenery for the play… If I’d tried to write something with it on a piece of paper, it wouldn’t have fulfilled its normal purpose as a pen. In fact, if the paper also only existed as scenery, maybe neither of them would fulfill their usual purposes.
Yet there were definitely items like tea and pots that worked as expected… I asked what the difference was, and the Butler said there were objects which could only be used by those who would “naturally” use them, as well as inaccessible rooms. This wine cellar, for instance, could normally only be entered by the Butler, and not by anyone else without good reason.
So the characters did have certain principles acting on them to preserve order in the play. And perhaps I too, as the lead role, had limits on my thoughts and actions that I couldn’t even perceive. Though for right now, it seemed like I could help the others out and move around freely, moreso than they could…
I looked to the Butler beside me and saw him carrying a single one of the many bottles, with only about a single glass’s worth of wine left in it. I noticed the liquid in it was moving.
“Oh, that wine…”
“This is the remainder from last night’s party. There’s a bit extra, but I know the mistress would be angry if I threw it out… It is quite a fine age. What do you think? Do you like wine?”
“I’ve never actually had wine before… But the people who like it really seem to love it.”
“Yes… That’s true.”
Naturally, there was a limited amount of wine to be used in the play. Wine to be used specifically for the party in act one. So they did have actual, functional wine, like the bottle he was holding now.
We searched carefully through all the little holes the wine bottles existing only as props were put in, but of course found nothing. The play’s time was still passing as we worked. I’d started to neglect it while focusing on helping in the search for the page, but I had to think about Burlet’s… the person who sealed us in here’s objective at the same time.
While I tried to keep that in my head, at times I found myself momentarily forgetting that I was Miku. Maybe it was because everyone had slipped so naturally into this artificial world. Maybe with my tendency to daydream, I lacked a clear distinction between reality and fiction. Besides, it was easy to go along with the surrounding atmosphere. Even with the knowledge that this world was fake, I went along with everything as if it were reality.
For no particular reason, I looked at the mostly-empty wine bottle the Butler was carefully holding. The label was very faded, and that alone told me it was rather old.
“Has something caught your eye? This wine is quite vintage. It may be rare, as well. In fact, everything in this cellar is very old and high-quality.”
“I know wine has a reputation of being more valuable the older it is, but is wine that’s been left to ferment for decades really tastier…? I mean… than the newer stuff…?” I aired my naïve doubts to the Butler.
“Who can say? People’s tastes will differ. There are a wealth of kinds, with different flavors, dryness and sweetness, even smell and kick. But, I suppose that’s not much of an answer. Well… Many will say that wine fermented for longer has that much more of a depth to its taste… The same as with people. With the passing of time, life experience will show on their character, and as if not satisfied with "plain”… they will form habits, like a hidden taste. Whether they’re desirable or not, though, is a matter of preference.
“And not to mention, time is always moving forward. Wine can be made with the greatest technology of its time and then fermented for decades, but once it comes time to open… Often times, in that advanced future, it will be easier to make more delicious wine than that without spending any time for it to ferment.”
The explanation reminded me of my conversation with the Master in the collection room. He said he dedicated himself to protecting the wonderful relics left by great ancestors of the past.
“…Mr. Butler, which do you prefer?”
“Hm?”
“Wine made with the diligent effort of past masters, ripened to the ultimate vintage over long years of fermentation… Or wine that can be easily be made in no time at all with future advancements, but is still perfectly tasty…?”
“…That’s a rather difficult question.”
The Butler fell into silent thought, putting his hand to his mouth. The cramped stone wine cellar was filled with fermenting bottles of wine, awaiting the day they would be opened. Though they couldn’t speak, I could imagine them anticipating a sommelier’s judgement. After a while, the Butler breathed out and spoke.
“At times, people will say even the most well-aged wine is too fermented for their tastes. Just too old for them. Indeed, the majority will say it shouldn’t ferment fortoo long. And also…”
“…?”
“Ages pass, people grow old, and values are ever-changing. What was regarded as supreme in the past will not necessarily merit the same opinion in the present. It is for those who live in the current age to pass that judgement. To become so seized with protecting past relics that you forgo living in the present is but nonsense… So some think.”
“Nonsense…?”
“Yes. However, I… look gladly upon that nonsense. If those great people of the past knew that I did so, would it not please them tremendously? Of course, it can go too far… If their descendents live for their ancestors, and sacrifice their own lives for it, that would surely be a sad thing for them both.”
A sad thing for them both… Somehow, I felt like he was talking directly to me. We, the company, were all big fans of Burlet, and felt it our mission to carry his legacy to future generations. But what would Burlet say if he saw the struggling troupe of the present? Would he say thank you for finding his lost play, and performing it as he always desired?
It was no exaggeration to say that the huge amount of publicity that came from the discovery of Crazy ∞ nighT allowed the troupe to temporarily evade bankruptcy. The support from our longtime sponsor company, Kaito’s dad, and the gentleman who was a fan of Len were allowing us to endure through our many debts, as Ia had told me. But in a changing era with a booming new entertainment industry, even if Crazy ∞ nighT were a runaway success, it was unclear if we could continue performing only Burlet’s works without any changes.
I believed the reason we were trapped in this world now was because I’d messed up his perfect play, was cursed for it, and he wanted me to redo the performance of his ultimate script. No mistake in acting out his scripts would be tolerated, and the acting and sets had to be perfect, or Burlet would never forgive it; so went the anecdote passed down in the troupe.
Thus, I came under the impression that Burlet himself was a very strict and unrelenting man. But I wonder, was that really true? I began to question my conjecture a little.
“When great relics of the past are brought to the present, and extended into the future… Does that really make the creators of those things happy? If something seems ready to crumble at any moment, but you want to protect it at any cost…”
I grabbed the bracelet on my left wrist - a relic from that legendary playwright passed on via my grandmother. Though the Butler likely didn’t understand what in the world I… what the Villager was asking, he still heard me out. He stared down at my wrist and quietly waited for the next words to come.
“Someone told me that all things with a form will eventually decay. But, what if what you want to protect is formless… like a story, or a play? Even things that don’t have a form to begin with can easily be changed from their original forms. But maybe, because of these changes… Even as the times and people change, if the work changes along with them, it can survive without decaying…”
“…You have some rather interesting thoughts… I think that’s magnificent. There are so many different kinds of people in the world that there’s also an infinite variety of people who create such great works. Whether they would unconditionally be pleased or not… I can’t answer with any certainty. However, speaking for myself, in a sense… I would likely give my applause, and a heartful word of praise.”
The Butler kindly smiled at me.
Finishing with the wine cellar, we proceeded to do the guest rooms on the south side. The Butler had already checked his own room and guest room #4 by himself, so we went to guest room #1.
“Huh…? Was I here before…?”
My hand stopped before opening the door to the guest room. Finding this to be a familiar sight, I took a look around, and noticed the layout was just like the south side of the second floor which I explored with the Master. Both floors had the exact same carpets, walls, and even ceiling ornaments in their hallways, so I was briefly uncertain which floor I was on.
“Ah, so you were searching upstairs with the master. Yes, this is right underneath. The layout of the first and second floors is largely identical. We often do get lost. Certainly, a visitor who only just arrived would… But yes, even we do quite often.”
“…I see.”
He was right, the layout was so similar that I couldn’t immediately answer whether this was the first or second floor. While looking around, my eyes stopped on a certain point, and my legs brought me over. Though I’d seen it on the second floor, too… A “forbidden room,” next to guest room #1. And on the north side of it was a huge, wall-covering painting. A painting of a girl dancing alone in a dimly-lit forest… Was this the exact same as the one hanging outside the forbidden room up above? As I stared closely at it, the Butler came over to me.
“This painting also hangs in the hall outside the second floor’s forbidden room, as well.”
“Exactly the same one…?”
“No, technically they are different. The painting on the second floor depicts dusk… the time just before sunset. And this painting shows dawn; a scene set just before sunrise. The two of them together are considered one work. The title is Twilight ∞ nighT.”
“Twilight ∞ nighT… Dusk and dawn…?”
“Let’s say you were blindfolded and taken to witness the two scenes depicted in these paintings. Which one is dusk, and which is dawn…? Do you think you would know?”
“Huh…?”
“Myself, I don’t think anyone would know the difference. And from what my former master told me about this painting… in truth, no one knew. It illustrates how we have no way to determine whether the reality we see before us is real… or just a fake.”
“…!”
Reality…?! Was the Butler aware that this world was a fake, and that his real self existed in a separate one? Though when I called everyone’s names in the living room earlier, no one showed any reaction at all…
“The world is made by our awareness. And that is a highly fragile and ambiguous thing. The thought of being makes the world aware of your existence. The existence of something other than you is what allows you to be aware of yourself. To be cognizant of the past, there is the present and future. You think you are alive, so you live… Thus, people can only live in the world they recognize. Because "living” can be said to be when you recognize your existence here and now. If you deny that, it’s the same as death…“
"The same as death…?”
So did that mean everyone, having forgotten their true selves, was effectively dead? Their memories lost, living in the play’s world. Their pasts and the lives they led all died… Was that it? And I alone was just barely living still…?
“So tell me, which twilight do you prefer?”
I took a close look at the painting here.
“I… can’t really tell the difference at all yet. I guess I like both…?”
“The artist painted the girl within almost exactly the same way… But if you take repeated close looks at the colors, you’ll start to notice slight differences.”
“Dusk and dawn… They look similar, but they’re completely different. One’s about to get darker, and one’s about to get lighter… Their following scenes are complete opposites. Is the similar layout of the two floors meant to say that similar-looking things can be completely different, too…?”
“Hm…?”
“Oh, um…! I just had that hunch. I imagined the person who built this house having that kind of aim…”
“…That may be so. Similar-looking, but very different in actuality. Perhaps nothing exists in this world that is exactly the same. Even the word "same” is little more than a concept created by people…“
"So it’s used more as a measure…?”
“Yes, precisely. Language is no more than a tool to communicate ideas. Well, at least that was how it originated. At times, we mistakenly think that language came first. We believe that, behind the words a person speaks, we can see every aspect of their true intent expressed in those words.”
“…”
“That’s also the epitome of theater.”
“The epitome?”
“Depending on the performers, the same script can create entirely different worlds. And even with the same people performing, the conditions, mental states, and bodies of the actors will always differ. So plays can be enjoyed again and again. Some fans call that the epitome of theater.”
“That’s very true…”
Indeed, some customers would repeatedly buy special seats for long-running plays by the Burlet Company. Like the Butler said, they could watch the same story repeated over and over, and enjoy them as new worlds brought about by slight differences in the performance.
“Now then… I’ve gone on rather long. We should return to our search of guest room #1.”
“Okay…”
We carefully searched all of guest room #1, but didn’t find the page. I put my hand to my chest and checked the time. Half our performance time had already passed. I knew we couldn’t hurry, but it certainly made me feel hasty imagining it running out on us. All this searching, and still nothing… not even a clue.
The Butler told me there were probably people having more trouble than he was, so I left guest room #1 to help someone else. The hallways were just like the second floor ones, and similar paintings, though different if I looked closely, hung on the walls. For instance, a painting of thick and lively roses in a vase on the second floor was matched by one with withered petals on the first floor. The same composition, but at different times… It seemed as if all of the paintings were like that.
As I reached the hall, I heard a beautiful melody. The Doll Girl was playing piano. That’s right; she did play piano in a scene in act one.
Rin and Len were geniuses who could do just about anything. In addition to the lute Len played in act one, he was also skilled with string instruments like guitar and violin. I think it was Meiko who told me both of them had professional-level piano and violin skills, and often had sessions at home. However, Rin herself told me she didn’t like piano very much anymore. She’d only play it to soothe herself when something sad or painful happened… So when she learned she had to play it as the Doll Girl in act one, she let it slip that she didn’t really want to.
Just what song was this…? The piano was somewhat out of tune; it seemed a little too low. As a result, the slow waltz in major key sounded like it was minor key, giving it a sorrowful tone. I forgot myself and listened to the odd mix of sadness and cheerfulness for a while.
“OH…? Miss VILlager. How LONG have YOU been there?”
The Doll Girl noticed me and stopped playing to face me.
“Um… It was such a wonderful song, I got engrossed in listening…”
“Well, THANK you.”
“Er… What is it called? The song you were just playing.”
“…THIS is Dolly’s DREAMing and AwaKENING. The PERfect song for ME, right?”
“Yeah…”
“…SAY, Miss VillaGER, do you DREAM?”
“Huh? Dream?”
I flashed back to the dream I’d had this morning. A woman… Maybe an actress, dying at a theater.
“I do, sometimes…”
“HMM. Dolls DON’T dream. Do you KNOW why?”
“…?”
“BeCAUSE, dolls don’t SLEEP!”
“A-Ah…”
No Comments Yet
Post a new comment
Register or Login