Anthony Bog: Philosopher and Dead

“What do you believe?” 

“What’s that my friend?”

“What do you believe?” Anthony repeated, voice carrying along with the pitter-patter of the halls. They were in the middle of the corridor of the Queen’s library, returning to the sunny world and exposed to the summer air. Light beamed down past the pillars, highlighting their walk. “Answer the question, Carrow.”

“Do you want my opinion?” Carrow countered, balancing the tip of a quill in his mouth. “Or will you do it anyway?” He shifted his scrolls in his arms, adjusting for better security in his grip. “I  know you’re going to do it anyway.”

Anthony smirked, seeing the way Carrow looked. It was the most familiar expression of his genuine frustration to life and his friend’s overzealousness. Carrow was a soldier once, but he still couldn’t mask his own feelings. Even after all this time. “Speak honestly.”

“Stasis? Really? You think you can handle it?” Carrow finally removed the quill from his mouth. 

“You’ve done it once.” Anthony pointed out

“That was different!” Carrow dropped all of his work on the floor. “Be damned this world!” He bent down to regather his work. 

Anthony adjusted his long robes to bend down and assist him, “How is it different?” He offered softly. 

Carrow got back his scrolls, standing back up. “My dearest wife finally came home, I had 50 years to make up for! Issac is already here with you. What will keep you occupied if you go on a stasis?”

“I will bother you of course,” Anthony teased him. “We’ll talk about all of the terrible and wonderful things the mortal world has been plagued with while we’re away from it.” Carrow shook his head. “Why do you worry? This is the first one I’ve ever taken and hopefully the last.” Before he could object any further, “It was not Issac’s idea! I wanted to do it.”

“I know it is your idea, Issac is a gift! He would not be so foolhardy. Between the both of you, he was the sensible one.”

They heard the sound of the midday bells rung from above, looking at each other. “Ah, come then, Eliza will miss you. And I miss my husband.” They followed the pillars, walking down the steps as the bells tolled.

“Such a summer,” Anthony signed softly.

************************************************************

Eliza danced in the sunroom, long silvery hair flowing from her twirls. She heard her husband grumble from his spot at the table in the corner, even with the music playing. “What’s the line?” Her arms lifted up, seeing his worried face. 

“Stormy Summertime,” He offered, smiling despite himself. 

“A…..black, tiny sky murmurs,” She continued. “Because of the Earth.”

“A Haiku.” He decided. “How lovely.”

“Do you like Haikus?”

“They bewilder me.” He chose to say. She danced over, glancing over his shoulder to see his works. He snorted when she lifted her leg and pointed her foot directly into his stomach. “You’re better at them anyway.” Carrow touched her foot, giving it a little push to the floor. “Can I ask you something?”

“What’s that?” She asked, climbing into his lap. He squeezed her back, kissing her nose. 

“Anthony’s planning a stasis,”

“I know, he told me.”

“When did he tell you?”

“Yesterday when I brought Issac some bone broth. He and I thought you would overreact.”

“Overreact?” He countered.

“Yes, have you met you?”

“Eliza….”

“I think it’s a wonderful opportunity for him.” Eliza finally answered. “You should feel happy for him.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake.” 

“Are you worried he will be bored? Be concerned?”

“What a benefit he is to the world! What will the mortal world do without him?”

“And what will they do without you.” She said pointing at him directly. 

“Have you read my poetry?”

“Have you read his?”

“Oh, will you calm the hell down?” She ordered him. “Sometimes peace is necessary.”

“This is the afterlife, what peace does he need?” Raz made a motion for her to lean back, watching her shift to the top of the table. On top of his works. 

“Are you worried?”

“Always.”

“You know what I mean,” She told him.

“Yes. I do.”

“Your works are just as important as his,” She told him. “Just as valuable, just as enlightening.”

“Just as important. Just as...dangerous to the world. One mistake down to the mortal world and I will-” She held up one finger, placing it against his lips. She slowly moved to stand to the floor and walked to the record player. “The afterlife has given you an ego.” She concluded after the music stopped. She looked at him directly, smirk telling him everything he needed to know. 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“You heard me quite clearly.”

“Yes I did, now explain what you mean.” He asked not unkindly. 

“You know exactly what I mean my dearest husband.” She held up the record, looking at the stack beside it. “You believe you’re the only one up here on the other side. Basking in the celestial light, working hard to provide the arts, the maths, the sciences? You find your words more important than the lovely Rosa Delacobra?” She held up the record she had been dancing to. “Or the artists you took inspiration from?” She nodded at the table with his sketches. “Is that what you think?”

“I most certainly am not!”

“But your work could create chaos?”

“All work could! What if the poems fall into the wrong hands, the music is composed by an a….murder?!”

“Hmpf, I always imagined music was for adultery.” 

“Eliza!”

She laughed, “Carrow! I think you are being a little full of yourself. And even if you aren’t attempting to do so, then you’re thinking too much into it!”

“Well, I-” He paused. “I think you’re right. That’s not all I’m worried about, you know.”

“I do know.” She told him. “You think Anthony’s works are far better than yours, though you’d never say that to him. No reason to boost his ego as well. His works have gone to so many wonderful people! Intelligent scholars, philosophers, students, that brilliant little old lady who punched the Duke.”

“Yes, she was my favorite.”

“Mine too.” She agreed. “And Bog’s works, in your eyes, were so fundamental in building the world. But he never agreed, yours were much more special, to him anyway.”

Raz shook his head. 

“Your turn,” She went to the records. “What do you want to play?”

“Hm, something decadent and obscene.” He offered, going back to his sketches. 

“Ha! I’ll find something.” She declared, looking through the vinyl. 

************************************************************

Issac sat in the garden, taking a small sniff of his flower he created just for his garden. He could just manifest it into existence, but he liked to plant and watch it grow. He liked to use his hands and work hard to create. He ran his fingertips along the edge of the speckled petals, seeing a deep red clash with light blue and the muted pinks. He caught the sight of Anthony, humming softly by the flowering trees, watching Issac work. He was sketching Issac, as he tended to do when he thought Issac wasn’t paying attention. “What do you call it?” Anthony asked him.

“God’s artist.” He chose. 

“Oh?”

“When I was young, my grandmother told me the sunset was God letting an artist paint the sky. I remembered our last sunset together the other day.”

“Tragically beautiful, we should visit her.”

“Ah she’s at the sea, she said she missed it.” Issac laid against the dirt, scanning the flower’s underside. “We should go to the sea.”

“We should go once the stasis begins.” Anthony decided, finishing his line art. “The air will soothe my terrible mind.”

“How long will you be out of commission?” He asked softly. 

“A generation at least,” Anthony stood, brushing down his robes. “Maybe even a little longer.”

“A generation? Good heavens, that’s a long time, are you sure?” Issac sat up, looking up to see Anthony crossed over. “What will you do in the meantime?”

“Write poetry, collaborate music, publish my essays, maybe finally learn how to dance.”

“But not for the world? Just for yourself?”

“Of course.”

“But that’s what you always do,” Issac received his hand, helping him to his feet. Issac stood a little taller than Anthony. Just enough to graze his forehead with his lips. 

“Precisely, but now I will do it for myself.” Anthony slipped both arms around his back, holding him tightly. “Now I can focus on the world I have all to myself.”

“Do you mean me?”

“Yes! You of course.” 

Issac snorted, resting his lips against his head, “You’re sweet.”

“Carrow worries so much for me.” He began as they walked back to their house. The landscape danced around, leaving the gardens, switching to the safety of a warm house. It was decorated as warm as possible, the fireplace was roaring in the living room. Paintings, some Anthony’s most by others, were on every wall. Small ceramics and stone statues were in place of spices in the kitchen. “He knows the feelings of dread that comes with inaction.”

“The dread?” Issac questioned.

“Yes, terrible awful dread.” Anthony went to the oven to make tea. Kettles were such a lovely invention, he was thrilled he got to see them in life before his passing. 

“I have not….felt dread.” Issac offered. “Was that a feeling he had? He never told me about it.”

“He did not tell you because he knows you are sensitive to such things. Not for a lack of respect.” Anthony countered, watching the flames dance under the metal bottom. “When he first arrived it was a relief, he was at peace from his mortal burdens. He settled, he could finally just create all he wanted too. But he missed his wife and just couldn’t handle his own fear. He missed his wife and fell into a nervous breakdown. The realization he could simply be without humanity, that humanity could exist without him was a flicker of fire on his mental map. The map was jumbled, incoherent, terrified. The whole world was his, but it also wasn’t. He could finally create, but that freedom didn’t save him.” The kettle began to whistle, getting louder and louder. He did not reach for it to silence it. Issac watched his eyes glaze over, hands tightening into fists. “What could he do…..but be afraid.” He blinked a couple times, catching where he was and what he was doing. He immediately set the kettle away, waving his hand over the steam piping from the end. He turned to see Issac standing, hands clasped together. Anthony smiled at him, hoping to soothe him.

“I never had that feeling,” Issac’s voice was slow and thoughtful. “Was it awful?”

“The afterlife is wonderful, and I am happy to be here. But….now we must learn all over again how to simply….exist. We must learn to be again. Some, like us, got lucky to know who we were. But what’s next for us now?”

“I know it won’t be easy. Is that why you’ve chosen this? For enlightenment?”

“Perhaps, or perhaps I just want to paint you for my own amusement.”

Issac took the bait, “Amusement? I am not an object of amusement.”

“You're my object of amusement. Why do you think I married you?”

“Oh, I loathe you.”

“Well, that’s very problematic for us both now isn’t it?” Issac bit his lip, staring at him directly, “Ah, you’re trying not to laugh.”

“No,” He managed, laughing through his words. “No….I, I do not find you funny. Not one bit.”

“Are you sure?” Anthony questioned him. “I think you do.” Issac’s shoulders convulsed, eyes widened, head shaking back and forth. “What tea would you like my dear? Some Oolong?” Issac could still not respond. “How about,” He tsked as he looked at their selection. “Ah, here we go! Tie Guan Yin! The Iron Goddess. Is that acceptable? Issac, answer me, is that acceptable for you?” He nodded slowly. “Very good my love. Thank you for your contribution to our conversation.” Issac received his tea, feeling Anthony’s soft hand graze his, warmth all over his face. “I’ll be sending some works down tonight, I hope they will be received well. The last of my works that will be sent for the world before I remain stagnant. What do you think?”

“I hope your art will benefit the world.” He chose, kissing him.