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They first met in 1941, on the eve that their respective driver and book dealer reunited. The Bentley found itself parked on a Soho curb, the two man-shaped beings went indoors together, the bookshop scanned the new presence outside its doors…
And the angel and demon were not the only pair who spent that night deep in talk.
Their acquaintanceship began then, and grew thereafter, as the years passed: a friendship forged through the fellow feeling of sentience, and a common goal of guardianship. And perhaps, too, a bond of a sort that was all their own.
~ ~ ~
The hour is late, and it is their first time seeing each other after the end didn’t quite happen. The Bentley drove the man-shaped duo back from the restaurant, pulled into the now-familiar space outside the shop, and the driver and book dealer headed up the walk together.
To biological ears, the street would seem nearly silent. But on the plane of communication that is accessible only to beings such as sentient buildings or vehicles, it is not.
Something happened, the Bentley says, far more subdued and uncertain than its usual confident "machine of a dream" wont. Didn’t it?
It isn’t a question, really — the Bentley’s driver being who he is, any true doubts on that front would have been soon put to rest — yet, in a way, it is. A plea for acknowledgement, for connection, for reassurance that if nothing else the Bentley is not alone.
(In England and beyond, from Tadfield to Tibet, numerous couples, families, friends, and strangers are doing the same: grasping after elusive memories, grappling with the impossible, and reaching to each other for grounding and comfort. It is a strange feeling, for the apocalypse to happen and then unhappen. It is easier to make it through with a friend.)
Yes, the bookshop confirms. It did.
Do you know what happened?
There was flame, the bookshop murmurs, with a sense as of an unsettled rustling of pages, a worried flicker of overhead lights. There was smoke, and fire, and I was gone.
I was, too. Gone. A shiver of music, an out-of-context snippet of lyrics: the Bentley’s way of expressing itself while reclaiming the comfort of familiarity. Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh, explode, I'm burning…
The music cuts off.
And then, the Bentley adds after a long, stretching moment, I was back.
So was I.
The silence on the street is, for some time, truly silent.
I am glad, the bookshop says at last. That we are back.
Both of us.
Yes. Both of us.
There is no one to be seen within the parked vehicle, and no key in the ignition. Yet, for some reason, the car’s engine purrs softly. And in the neighboring shop, against a forward-facing window, a curtain flutters in a nonexistent indoor breeze as if in answer.
Quietly at first, then gradually cranking the volume up, the Bentley begins another song: You’re my best friend.
Inside, of its own accord, an old gramophone starts to sing along.