WHO: Edgar Figaro WHAT: Life lessons and tiny eggs of resolutions. WHERE: Around the Figaro Estate in Galbadia. WHEN: Backdated to the evening/night of August 15, Saturday. WARNINGS: N/A
That night, he woke up with a book in his hand.
It was something Edgar couldn’t remember ever doing, at least not in his recent life. It must have been about a decade or more since the last time it happened, some Garden requirement or other. Just the same, it turned out to be an appropriate time to be picking up old habits.
For one, he had company and she wasn’t hiding herself either. For a time, Edgar did nothing but to blink away the sleep which had arrested him until he could focus on the paintings of a blonde woman that surrounded him. The open book was on his tummy and his thumb was between its pages.
“Good evening. Did I wake you?”
Edgar didn’t shift. He only redirected his gaze to one of the plush white seats in the darkened parlor, illuminated by dim golden lights from bell-shaped fixtures. He imagined it was the trend about forty years back. On it, just over his shoulder, was a woman in a plain blue dress, her blond hair arranged in plaits down one side, like the classic look of a woman going to bed had she on a billowy nightgown and no sandals. On her lap and stacked next to her were photo albums Edgar had forgotten they had.
“You didn’t,” he said. His rising form invited her to sit next to him. He set the bound book on the glass-topped coffee table where rested also his phone and his HyPad.
Crystale leaned forward to read the title embossed in gold cursive. “Draco and Maria. Is it good?”
“I think so.”
She directed a pair of arched brows at him, wrinkled by confusion. “Why do I find that a strange answer?”
“Probably because it is,” Edgar chuckled, running his hand down the wrinkled leg of his slacks. “I saw it with Red. I mean...Margery.” She nodded. “But...but I couldn’t stay awake, I’m notorious for sleeping through operas and musicals and the likes.”
“A fine date, you make,” Crystale teased amidst his embarrassed laughter. She put on a smile. “So why do you think so?”
“Red really liked it. It was...that was also the night I asked her to be mine...my girlfriend, that is,” he shared, turning his eyes to his young mother. “So it’s...it’s very special to her. I think she’ll be delighted to find out that we have a copy of the opera in our library.”
“Do you read a lot?”
Edgar shook his head. “I haven’t the time. I prefer to watch things and...perhaps I’ve ruined my eyes. I can’t seem to concentrate on a real book but if it’s something like…” He reached for his HyPad and flipped it to one of the eBooks men of influence like him were wont to be carrying around even if they’ve never progressed beyond page 12 in 3 months. “If it’s something like this,” he offered her the screen full of flowing text. Her delicate hand received the device from him while she traced the lines, only to pull back when the screen shifted, “then I am captivated a little longer.” He reached to return her to the page.
“You have a lot of very peculiar technology,” Crystale commented, handing the tablet back to Edgar. “I suppose, being of the past, I must be constantly in awe but at this point, they mean nothing to me. Strange that in spite of your advancement...you still don’t have time.”
“The demand of work increases with the time in our hands,” Edgar said with his own little smile. “It used to be that if you put in work for eight hours, you can go home and stretch your legs but...but well, I suppose we gave ourselves a reason to stop relaxing.” He laughed a bit. “There’s so many ways to be efficient these days that any reason not to be just feels...stupid.” A shrug. “For the lack of a better word. Besides...I suppose it’s in the blood. I am a Figaro, after all. It’s a part of me to build something that will keep the world turning.”
“Just like your father,” Crystale said, her smile stretching wider. Edgar felt his heart jumping, his hand shaking as it gripped his knee. “I think, if he could have it his way, he wouldn’t leave the back of his desk for as long as there was work to be done. He doesn’t like taking breaks. It interrupts his rhythm...and I suppose there’s something about it that feels...undeserved?” Uncertainty tilted her head sideways. “Like a preemptive celebration of sorts. I don’t know, it’s a curious thought to me.” She shook her head, amused. “Wherever he is right now, he must be nose deep in documents again.”
“Perhaps, it’s a comfort to him,” Edgar ventured. “If...if we’re forced to be in a place...that’s strange...that we never expected, we want to find something that’s familiar to us. You know, the first time I saw him in the study...I’ve never seen him so lost. That was a day after we all met. He was just standing there in the middle…” He huffed out a sigh, eyes on his legs. “If I knew this was going to happen, I would never have thought to redecorate after him. That was his realm. That place was his. I can’t imagine how it must have felt to see your comfort zone twisted around like nothing.”
“Is that what he’s saying?”
“No, of course not,” Edgar said. “You know Dad would never. He wouldn’t say anything, he would just...adapt. Like there was nothing wrong in the first place.”
“Did you help him around, anyway?”
“I tried.” Edgar sounded like he was making a confession. “But...do you know how it feels when...you’re being taught something you already know? Or reminded or…” It was as if the mere thought of it was unthinkable that he shook any vestige of it off his head. “I don’t want to risk being condescending! Not to him of all, he’s my father.”
“Edgar,” Crystale’s sigh was quiet but present when she adjusted herself to look at him better. “I can see that you admire your father. At his beck and call, you’re there, you do everything he says, you’re keen to listen to his advices...these are all the marks of a good son who loves his father but why do I see something else?”
“Like what?” Edgar’s confusion protested.
“Are you afraid of your father?”
“What-- no!” Recoiling from the shock, he jumped farther from his mother. “What are you saying? Why would I be scared of my own father!”
“Because there’s something about you that makes me feel that way!” Crystale said. “When have I ever heard you say no? Only in the questions when Stewart expected that answer! In others, you give an excuse.”
“An excuse--” Edgar took offense. “Excuse you but I have to protest! You can’t judge me based on a few interactions, you don’t know the past. Or everything!”
“I don’t claim to,” Crystale exhaled. “But neither do I believe that these are the conversations that filled fifteen years of your life. Stewart talks about your mischief, your anger. I can’t see all that!”
“Why would you look for them where they are not needed?”
“The spirit of a man doesn’t dissipate simply because the occasion doesn’t call for it. Your father does not cease being the famed lion of Galbadia when he’s sharing pleasantries with his friends.” Crystale huffed. “I understand that despite your twin’s opinion, you don’t see me as your mother and that is fine with me because I haven’t found the time to see you as my son either.” There was every risk for her to hurt her son by these callous words but she was banking on the possibility that their mutual understanding would serve to numb him from the sting. She banked right. “But what I do know is that my husband has somehow fathered sons with me and those are you and Sabin. And part of the reason why you fail to look at me in the same eyes as your twin is because he was everything to you.” She didn’t stop there. Shifting closer, she wrapped Edgar’s hand with both of hers so she could take command of his attention. “You have waited so long for this, I know that much. There’s nothing you can do about your father and his documents, that is the Stewart that you grew up to esteem, but there is something you can do about yourself and him. As a child, you may have often wished that you can see your father again. Now you have. Is this how you’ve planned to celebrate this opportunity? To be nothing more than the word yes?”
“That’s not the way it is!” Edgar objected. “Why wouldn’t I say yes to a man who knew more than me?”
“I think the man who bears the answer to that is you.”
She was right. It was Edgar. Anyone else who dared to challenge his opinions might have received the sharper end of his tongue but her being his mother, the woman his father married and the last to hold his heart, he had to carry even just a little bit of respect towards her. And that respect taught him to keep quiet and be honest.
He wasn’t scared of his father, but he was scared of disappointing him. He’d always been, from the moment he learned the truth about his return. Every day that was created with the both of them sharing a single roof felt like a thesis to the current master of the house. So far, Stewart wasn’t saying anything about what he was seeing but Edgar felt in his bones that he was just counting down the days where his father would sit him down and point to him all the errors he’d committed. And all for what? To have some money to wave around just because? Just so he could claim that he wasn’t sitting idly by?
Now ask him again why he was scared to say no.
“Have you ever talked to him outside of the constraints of work?” Crystale asked. “Don’t you think he would want to know this version of his son, too?”
Edgar wasn’t sure. What if he ended up not liking it?
“He knows how I am, there’s nothing more to talk about,” he said, stitching his excuse as he went. “Anyway, he’s always busy and I would much rather not earn his poor favor by bothering him.”
“But when is he never busy?” Crystale asked. “Is a Figaro going to let that get in his way? Are you going to wait until this is over?”
This being the estate, maybe, but that was not what he was reminded of. With a jolt, like a blast of cold water, Edgar suddenly remembered that all this could disappear at any moment’s notice. This woman sitting in front of him, holding his hand, could turn to emptiness in just a snap.
His father, too, could be gone before he could say goodbye. Again.
He could always count on such alarming thoughts to pull him to action. Out the door, down the hallway, right in front of the door to his study although it revealed nothing but darkness. His father hadn’t just stepped out, his father was done for the day. And when did that happen?
So there he was again, searching his house high and low for a man who had all the answers. Questions directed towards passing servants eventually led him to a plain hallway that rang with the music of metals chatting. The door had been left open.
Stepping through, Edgar saw a sight he thought he’d only ever see in his memories anymore: Stewart Figaro was down to his shirt, sleeves rolled back while he peered into the naked guts of an old car. Or perhaps an extremely new one, depending on the generation that was viewing it. “That umm…” He raised a temporary finger towards it. “I bought that three years ago. Mostly because I was curious about the new engine design they were advertising.”
“Oh,” he responded as Edgar pulled the door shut and approached him. “Was it worth it?”
“Well, it was fun while it lasted,” he conceded, popping the buttons of his shirt’s cuffs to roll his own sleeves back. “And I like the seats. Very soft. Sometimes I take it for long drives because of that.”
“Good horsepower, then?”
“It serves.” Edgar nodded, standing next to his father to twist a valve tight within. “What do you think of the architecture, though?”
Stewart started to laugh. “I would perhaps have some thoughts if I understood what I was looking at!” His hand landed heavily on the car’s frame after he’d tossed it to the air.
“It’s actually not too different from all the other cars we’ve worked on. They simply decided to rework the design and use it as a selling point but it’s all the same. Look, here’s the shock tower,” he pointed to a cylinder close to him, “and that right there is the regenerative brake.” He pointed to another object under the hood, ready to make introductions until he realized what he was doing. He missed a heartbeat.
Carefully, he looked at his father beside him, older blue eyes watching him attentively. To judge him, maybe? What a birthday it would be if the verdict was delivered then.
“Would uhh…” He couldn’t step back, though, not after what he’d set in motion. “Would you like me to show you around?”
“Would you?” Stewart asked, exploring the foreign maze with his own eyes. “Yes, I think I would like that very much. I can’t imagine how these machines interact with each other!” Sad that he lost even this part of his comfort.
Edgar figured maybe he could give it back. In layers, they stripped the automobile down to its barest skeleton, moving its various parts from within to the concrete as they went. Bit by bit, their white shirts became stained with oil and dried soot.
The younger man could feel his cheeks burning a healthy red glow, though. It was a stupid thing to feel but he was hard-pressed to enjoy the delight painting itself white across his face. And from his smile, he knew where it was coming from. “Hyne, I missed this.”
“Missed what?”
Edgar stopped midway at the side of the engine, hands and screwdriver reaching to its bulk. Stewart sat on a short stool, watching him. “U, umm…” he cleared his throat, spinning the tool in his fingers as he tried to search for his words. “This...this-- this.” He tried to excuse himself with a shrug and a smile. “Fixing machines with you...or working on them, anyway. It...it has been too long.”
“Oh,” Stewart said. Looking at the motor, he added, “Hm, yes, I think you’re right. It has been too long.” He reached inside with his own screwdriver to start undoing its outer shell. “Perhaps...perhaps, I think, that is why I found myself gravitating towards this little room.” Blue eyes swept past the darkened ceiling boards. “You’ve always loved this place.”
“I do. I enjoyed every moment I spent working on machines with you, it made me feel important!” Edgar laughed but it was the kind that could only be done using his breath. “It made me feel like you...b, but umm…” He cleared his throat and looked away when Stewart turned to face him. “W, well, we’re doing it again now, aren’t we? O, one of my favorite childhood memories...”
“Yes, to some extent, I can see where you’re coming from.” Stewart shifted around to better face the younger man. “But not exactly. I remember when you were younger, it was I who taught you the different parts and functions of a car’s machinations. You were the one to ask me all sorts of questions, and we would remove everything so you can see them clearly and touch them yourself but now…”
Now it was the other way around. Why were they talking about this? Had it been Edgar’s fault? He didn’t mean to make his father feel this way...whatever this way was but he figured it had something to do with the feeling of being replaced. Of knowing that your place had been taken without your consent. So much for wanting to catch up with his father before the time was up. Everything he says seem to just keep pointing to the opposite of creating a bond! He tried to smile but could not hold it for more than a second. “Of course...it doesn’t have to be this way.”
“What?” That suggestion took Stewart by shock. “No, no, no, but it is this way, my son.” Two words Edgar had never heard in so many years, powerful enough to capture his entire attention. “Try as we might, there’s nothing we can do to change it anymore. Your words will have no power on it, for once. And, I know when my time is over.”
“Dad…”
“Why deny something that’s fact?” There was Stewart again rolling smoothly with the punches. If it were at all in his habit, he would be shrugging but it was a contradiction to his lessons. You simply did not shrug, you gave a clear answer and settled any misunderstanding, nipping it at the bud. “Do you think I would not come ready for this? I did not build these walls for myself, I build these walls for you and your brother so that when I’m gone, you won’t be left in the dust.” He paused to make sure Edgar understood even if the only look he received in return was blank. “It is simply our legacy to build walls not for ourselves but for others.”
Like Sabin, for example. Stewart wasn’t wrong.
“Actually…” Edgar began. “You’re right. I had every reason to be contented with what you,” left us, “have finished but it’s like what you said. We’re driven to keep building for others.” Looking up to the dim roof, he confessed, “When I started to expand our estate, it wasn’t simply because it’s in my blood. Or I had nothing else to do with all our time, people and money but...I kept on building on your foundation because Sabin needed a home to come back to. And...and I don’t think you’d have wanted me to stop. We had to keep growing.” Facing his father, he revealed, “That’s...what I remember you always wanted. Because we had to be self-sustaining, we can’t look to others to support ourselves. So...in a way, I think I was building it for you, too. Because I didn’t want to disappoint,” your memory, “you. Or the Figaro lineage, both of the past and the present. I didn’t want to be known as that Figaro who did nothing, I didn’t think you’d like that of your son.”
With the weight of his revelations, Edgar understood if his father would put on a cover of silence to take it all in but after a pause, he let out an “Oh!” which made Edgar want to imitate his shock. Surprise was clear in Stewart’s eyes as he looked around the dinghy garage which had been left mostly the way he remembered it. “Is that right? Well then, that’s good! And very touching, thank you.” Turning to Edgar, he added with a soft look, “It is a good place to come home to. I’m glad you had this place built for me.”
Edgar couldn’t remember the last time he’d beamed for his father. And this may well be the first. His father had recognized his contributions. He’d called it home the same way he’d called his father’s estate his! “I’m glad,” he sniffled before he cried in spite of the smile on his face. “W, would you like to see the entertainment lounge, then? I, I think you will enjoy it very much!”