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La Lune Blanche tells the story of the young boy of the name Jocelyn and his adult friend, the rich good-looking gay
man of the name of Anthony Blanche, who enjoys life, as well as of their forbidden love and life a deux

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Part 2. Jocelyn

“A thing of beauty is a joy forever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and
quiet breathing”.

John Keats, “Endymion”

January 30. Rome. “Gold, of Course…”
In Rome the burden of all the solicitudes leaned heavily on Anthony’s shoulders.
Marquis Scaligeri gave a room in his house for the zinc coffin, and the coffin with the body of George Sherwood was lain in state in one of the rooms in the ground floor of the Villa Mon Refuge.
The representative of the American Embassy came and said that they knew what it was to do in this instance. Everyone in the house was waiting for the arrival of the attorney of George Sherwood from New York; the attorney had to arrive by air soon. Anthony called his homme d’affaires from Paris.
Now the lawyer from New York had come.
At the large mahogany table in the dining-room of the Villa several men got together. At the head of the table the host was sitting, on his right--his secretary, on his left--his attorney. Next there were: Mr. Campbell, the American attorney, Mr. Schultz, the secretary of the American Embassy, maitre Guitry, the attorney from Paris, Anthony and Jocelyn.
Sitting at the table Jocelyn cast his eyes down and he never cast his eyes up. There, in the solemn atmosphere of the spacious room, amongst the unknown adults he was not quite himself, this even made him the creeps over his back. He did not look even at Anthony, because now his friend seemed to be distant and aloof to him, nearly as distant as all the rest people. Jocelyn realized that the next change was to be in his life. Today, in the crucial period he had not to look to the help and support of the people, today he had to manage by himself and to place reliance on himself only.
After the introduction of all those present the American attorney said a few words by way of the introduction of the matter and then he started reading the will. The reading took little time. All his personal and real property George left to his only legatee and the only cousin nephew Jocelyn Lindenridge, all with the exception of the estate Lindenridge Park, because George drew up a donation papers in the name of Jocelyn and had transferred the estate to him last summer.
Jocelyn could hear--or sooner he could feel--how Anthony gave a sigh. Everybody kept silence for a minute: the invisible but quite tangible and subsistent load of the quarter a milliard dollars of the late George Sherwood as though hung over the large table. In the haunted silence Anthony’s calm, good-erected voice sounded distinctly and seemed to be loud: “I presume, gentlemen, there is no need to the boy to stay here longer. With your permission I am taking him away”.
He stood up and took Jocelyn’s hand.
Upstairs Anthony was going without saying a word, yet Jocelyn was asking nothing.
Being alone in his room, Jocelyn sat down on a chair at the fireplace and stared at the fire.
The room he was settled in was in the first floor, next to Anthony’s. At his familiar designer-firm Anthony ordered to furnish and finish up this room, and today it was half-ready. The room was spacious; there were two ached windows, the fireplace and the bathroom. Although the furniture of the room was not finished but there were enough furniture and mirrors and there was a corner with a writing-table. The upholstery and draperies were claret, on the white wall under the divan the picture was: a head of an Italian boy.
While sitting at the fireplace Jocelyn shivered under his thick wool clothes, and asked himself: when ever will the fire make him warm?
Down, in the dining-room everything was over quickly.
The executor of George’s will was assigned; in according to the will it was Mr. Campbell. In the will it was not stated where the deceased would like to be buried, also there was nothing about the guardians of the heir under age. Apparently, making the will George did not think of his death in earnest and was about to complete the will later on. Anthony said that George loved Hawaii; he had a house there, so most probably he would like to be buried there, in the island. But the lawyer Campbell said that in Boston, in the local cemetery, the family vault of his grandfather, Clyde Macgregor was, George’s parents were interred there, so it would be better to inter him there too. The question was solved.
Jocelyn came under the juridical guardianship of his cousin great-grandfather who was the only relative of the boy. It was settled that the boy would not go to America for the burial of his uncle, since his old kinsman was not able to accompany him. That’s how everything was finished.
Far in the day the supper was brought to Jocelyn but he did not see Anthony that day one more time.
The next day was last day of January.
Morning meals were brought to Jocelyn’s room as well as dinners and suppers. They in the kitchen knew what he usually ate, and they cooked porridge for him in the main. So was today: shortly soon after Jocelyn pressed the push-button of the ring the elder servant of the name of Vincentio had come with a tray in hands.
On this tray, between the plate of oatmeal and glass of milk Jocelyn found a folded notepaper. He took it--it was a note, it said:
“Mon ange, I am to fly out to London on an instant business. Con Amore. Anthony”.
It was very unexpected, yet it could not be helped, so Jocelyn had to keep patience.
And at dinner he had got another message from Anthony, the tacit one: on the tray there were a plate of a roast beef, which was like that that used to be cooked for Jocelyn in Tangierynia, and a plate of his favourite strawberries with whipped cream for dessert.
Jocelyn stayed in his room the day long; he spent time reading. Luckily, a good deal of books was piled up into his suitcase.
It was silence on the first floor of the house; the thick ancient walls did not let sounds neither out nor in; the windows and the door of his room were covered with close draperies; nobody disturbed Jocelyn and everything was conductive to reading. The book was a novel entitled The Sailing-Vessel ‘Blessed’:
“…Once in the morning Burberry's ten-year-old son Nick, noticing that his father's boat was being buffeted against the piles under the pier and that its sides were becoming battered, went off to tell his father of this. The storm had begun but recently. Burberry had forgotten to pull his boat up on the sand--he hurried to the beach where he saw Harvey standing at the end of the pier his back on him. There was not another soul in sight. Burberry walked halfway along the pier, climbed down into the wildly splashing water and untied his boat. Then, standing upright in it he began moving towards the shore, pulling himself along from one pile to the next. He had forgotten his oars, and as he stumbled and missed his hold on the next pile, a strong gust of wind pulled the prow of his boat away from the pier, towards the ocean. Now Burberry could not have reached the nearest pile even if he had stretched out to his full length. A stormy wind and waves were carrying the boat off into the distance. Burberry realized his predicament and wanted to dive into the water and swim ashore, but this decision was too late, for the boat was now spinning about near the end of the pier where the considerable depth and raging waves promised imminent death. Only about twenty meters were between Harvey and Burberry, who was being swept off into the stormy distance and doom, and a rescue was still possible, for a coiled rope with a weighted end hung on the pier beside Harvey. The rope was there for any boat that might land during a storm and was thrown to the boat from the pier.
‘Harvey!’ Burberry cried in terror. ‘Throw me the line!’
Harvey said nothing as he gazed calmly upon the man, although he puffed harder on his pipe and then removed it from his mouth to have a better view of what was going on.
‘Harvey!’ Burberry pleaded. ‘I know you can hear me. I'll be drowned! Save me’
But Harvey said not a word; it seemed as though he had not heard the frantic wail. He did not even shift his weight until the boat had been carried so far out to sea that Burberry's words were barely audible. Burberry sobbed in terror, he begged the sailor to run to the fishermen for help, he promised him a reward, he threatened and cursed him, but all Harvey did was walk to the very edge of the pier so as not to loose the leaping, spinning boat from view too soon.
‘Save me!’
Then, filling his lungs with air and taking a deep breath Harvey shouted: ‘That's how he pleaded with you! Think of it, Burberry, while you're still alive, and don't forget!’ Not a single word of his was carried away by the wind.
Then the cries stopped, and Harvey went home…
The next day the village buzzed with the news of Burberry's disappearance. Five days later he was brought back, dying and full of malice. His story reached every village in the vicinity. Burberry had been in the open sea until night and was picked up by the Polianta, plying towards Nikopolis…”
However, Jocelyn hardly could think of what he was reading, other thoughts dominated in his mind; from time to time he took his eyes off the pages and got torpid staring straight before him. He did not feel up to think of something or someone else but Anthony.
Far in the day he felt like talking with someone or to say at least a word. Then he laid the book aside, got out of the bed and left his room.
He knew that at this hour the table was laid for tea in the dining-room, and he went down.
The table was laid indeed; only Teddy was sitting at it, apparently Grandfather was having tea in his room.
Looking at the boy who came in, the young man put his cup on the saucer and said in English friendly: “How are you, Jocelyn?”
His English was without American accent, though he spoke with a trace of a foreign accent, and it seemed to be bearable to Jocelyn.
“Fine, thank you”, he said as warmly as he could. “What a good luck that I’ve met you here! Would you tell me when Anthony is back?”
Contracting his thin eyebrows Teddy thought for a moment and then answered: “In a few days. It depends on the business”.
“What business?”
“I don’t know”. Teddy cast his eyes down and sipped his tea. The young man’s hair covered his ears like soft blond waves, the expression of his beautiful pale face was serious mostly, his blue eyes were inscrutable, the beautifully-outlined lips hardly ever smiled.
Jocelyn took one of the chairs and drew it towards the fireplace. Settling at the fire he turned to Teddy: “Can’t get warm”.
“It’s naturally! Such a bereavement you have”, said Teddy with understanding. “What you need now is a cup of tea”.
“No, thank you”.
Jocelyn watched the fire and he saw bright pictures in it. The arches of the fireplace, black and smooth; the flame; Anthony’s face. The black hair was shot with deep-blue against the black sooty arches. The golden sunburnt cheekbone. The back of his neck. Gold and black silk.
“Yes. My bereavement…” thought Jocelyn aloud. “And to make it worse Anthony is away”.
“He can think of nothing else”, thought Teddy watching the little form shrivelling on the chair at the fireplace. “What devil’s own luck the vile creature Blanche has!” He watched the heir of the millions of George Sherwood, and something like a pity to the boy moved into his heart for the first time.