Short story 13. Blue November sky

It was a bright November morning in London with clear sky, cold winter sun and crunchy snow. A strange middle-aged man was walking along the iced river, wearing long, expensive coat, decorated with inconceivable pattern and gold shining buttons. The man had unusually thick mustaches, short haircut and fantastically teasing eyes, which resembled a pair of ripe autumn chestnuts. He was smiling provocatively to everyone and did unexpected movements like turning round from time to time. This portly figure seemed to be a little bit incongruous among total silence combined with rare irritated people full of their own problems. Endless buildings, such glass and concrete creatures were too clumsy and dull as compared with lively and joyful man. Fallen leaves, pieces of dirty snow and commonplace elements of embankment looked simply insignificant and lifeless in front of energetic figure. The man whose name was Fred didn’t wear a hat and some malicious people told cynically that he had lost his brain many years ago, that’s why any warmer for his head is useful. Only some passers-by greeted him during the long walk and most of them just cast a scornful glance at Fred’s face, but he was still smiling to everyone. The final destination of his amazing trip was the large shop with luxury products, where was a wide variety of alcohol, exotic fruits, blue cheese and unique goods.

“Good morning, Martin! How are you doing today?” Fred asked the stout elderly man standing behind the counter.

“Oh, Mr. Barkley!” Martin exclaimed “I’m so happy to see you. Everything is fine in the shop, thank you. What’s new in your life?”

“You know, Martin – the life is as usual – saturated, marry and poetic!” Fred answered in jest “Do you have an extra bottle of “Heidsick” today?”

“Sure, Mr. Barkley. I have saved one especially for you”.

“You are so kind, Martin” Fred said heartily “I really appreciate your care. Thank you so much!”

“Not at all, Mr. Barkley” Martin answered sincerely “See you soon”.

“Good luck, Martin!”
“Thank you, Mr. Barkley! Good Bye”.

No one knew any specific information about the income of Mr. Barkley, but every weekend he was seen walking along the embankment and returning back with the bottle of expensive champagne not longer after. Sometimes Fred played the piano during frequent local concerts, and several people saw him once singing a solemn song in connection with the State holiday. There were some opinions that his voice had sounded terrific, but most people didn’t want to talk about this mysterious figure.

No one cared about Fred Barkley, but almost all the citizens of London noticed his sudden disappearance. The weekend after previous the embankment was cold and empty; there was no strange man with his shining smile, but the November sky still remained blue. The most frequent passers-by were intrigued by Mr. Barkley’s absence, so they expressed all possible conjectures with the greater portion of satire.

“I think the last bottle of champagne was too big for him” one citizen said.

“Oh, no!” the second one exclaimed “It’s more possible that he just need a new fashionable coat, so he is looking for it in London boutiques now”.

“I can’t agree with you” another person objected “He must have been moved to another city because Fred always hated displeased faces of local people”.

Everyone at that moment had a good cause for joking and sharpening of eloquence, and only old Martin stood thoughtfully behind the counter, looking down. Finally, the leaders of society decided to find Fred’s flat and make clear the reason of his disappearance. They approximately had the notion about the part of London, where Mr. Barkley lived, but didn’t know the exact address. So, people went towards the London outskirt, where they asked several inhabitants about Fred’s home. At last, they saw the high modern building, whose balconies were decorated with gay flowers. Mr. Barkley’s flat looked out at the spectacular Thames view and situated almost at the very top of the building. It was said in the city that Fred was the rich man because of his expensive coat and weekly champagne, so everyone expected to see all treasures of the world behind the front door.

“A perfect idea has just crossed my mind” one of the crowd said ingratiatingly “It would seem absolutely natural to steal imperceptibly a pair of plain trinkets, which will prove to be valuable in the market sphere and will become the source of extra money for our budgets of modest means”.

“Sounds good!” several voices around approved.

About a minute people were rising to the forty-fifth floor in the noiseless ultra quick lift. Then they saw the necessary number – 454 and pulled the door which was unlocked. The lodging to the great surprise of visitors was closer to a doghouse than seemed to be a luxurious palace. There was only a narrow corridor and two small rooms with faint light. Full silence seemed to be everywhere, except periodical sobs which were heard from one of the rooms. Passing the walls painted in light colors and trying to step carefully on the worn parquet, the curious crowd was slowly moving towards the room. When they entered this close space, they saw a crying woman from her back sitting near the bed on which lifeless Fred Barkley lay. She was keeping his cold left hand in her trembling arms and persistently irrigated it with her tears. People were standing still in confusion and couldn’t pronounce any word, aimlessly staring at the cheap furniture. There were no piles of crackling notes, no gold ingots and no ancient exhibits. Only a solid wooden table with a stack of inferior paper covered with writing, a ramshackle chair alongside and an old cabinet full of archaic vinyl disks. At this very moment one of the guests, who couldn’t keep in no more, suddenly moaned and the woman gave a start and turned around.

“Who are you?” she asked loudly, standing up, “What are you doing here?”

“The door wasn’t locked” one of the visitors answered after a pause, “We expected to meet Fred…”

“To meet Fred?” the woman whose eyes were red from crying significantly repeated the unlikely reason and added “What for? Even two people in this cursed city couldn’t be called his friends!”

“You are right” one of the citizens agreed with a deep sigh, “No one of us sympathize Fred. Now we understand our unpardonable mistake … You see, the point was that he had been a strange man – every week we saw him in luxurious clothes bringing the bottle of the most expensive champagne. The citizens thought that Mr. Barkley was very rich and proud and as most of us were just office employees, or simple workers, his appearance seemed to be a kind of mockery. Please, tell us the truth about Fred”.

“People are evil – that is the truth” the woman told sternly “If you want to know – I would rather drive you away right now, but I really respect Mr. Barkley. He was a wonderful man, who knew about human vices, but sincerely believed in the improving power of kindness. I got acquainted with Fred not long ago, when he had just moved to London from a small provincial town. During many years Fred Barkley was shy and irresolute youth – despite the great musical talent, he was collecting all the compositions on the shelf. One awful day suddenly brought him the breaking news – Fred was ill. Lung cancer seemed to be an agonizing disease, but firm man decided to think about life instead of death – he moved to London and began to give his first concerts. He rented one of the rooms in my shabby flat and every day spent writing new music for the next generations, sometimes looking through the window at the Thames. Fred clearly understood that his time was almost over, so every melody and every song, which appeared at the bottom of his soul, was full of man’s passion, hope, heartbeat and love to the whole world. Mr. Barkley was paid only a little money for his masterpieces because of fame absence and mutual incomprehension, that’s why I let him live in my flat for free. Fred ate rarely, just drinking water during the week and every Sunday he brought here the bottle of champagne. Although he was born in a poor family and lived a hard life with the constant necessity of money, king’s blood was flowing through his veins. With his honesty, gentleness, high aims and talent Fred was able to rule the world, but he had to be just a beggar without home and friends. Rather old, but impressive coat of second-hand and weekly bottle of the most expensive champagne – were the only luxury that Fred allowed himself. And that was enough for him to feel himself at the top of the world. Mr. Barkley’s luggage consisted of this coat, the worn guitar, the kind heart and mind of genius… I think that’s all that I can tell you about this fascinating man. Now, please, leave me alone and return to your routine”.

“Of course” the leader of the curious group nodded “We are so sorry for blaming Fred Barkley and for disturbing you. Thank you for this story and goodbye”.

The woman didn’t answer; she turned away and began to cry again. The chaotic crowd was walking along the streets in total silence and everyone reproached himself for unworthy thoughts and deeds. Not longer after the justice triumphed – all Fred Barkley’s compositions were taken out and published and since then every respected musician played something from Barkley’s collection during his performance. The last melody, written by Fred and titled “Blue November Sky”, was chosen as the best work of art of the year. Soon the bronze monument of great composer appeared on the embankment, where several people, as it was said, had seen Fred Barkley’s ghost walking towards his favorite shop…