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There is no denying that Professor Gadling's classes are my favourite because they are actually fun. Not like other classes that are just a lecturer speaking to you until you fall asleep for an hour or so; Gadling’s classes are interactive. He brings a buzz to each session, occasionally period-accurate costumes and really good copies of old texts, well he says they are copies, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the man has lived for more than 500 years. It wouldn’t shock me if he said these texts were the originals. His smile, warmth and passion are just infectious, you can’t help but want to actually join in when he’s making a fool of himself, dressed as a Tudor Lord or Mercenary from the late 13th Century.
He’s scarily accurate.
We’re all somewhat excited to go to this pub he keeps going on about, I mean he owns the place which makes him all the more interesting; he’s nearly a tenured professor, loved by everyone, except certain Professors in the Literature department, with whom he shares a friendly rivalry. To top it off he owns a pub, with alcohol. Apart from complaining, the British also love their drink.
He had dared himself in the first couple of weeks during a very joke-filled lecture about how Monty Python and the Holy Grail was actually based on a true story, that if the class managed to act out a scene from the movie, costume accurately and line by line, that he would owe all of us a discount. I think he underestimated our dedication to this particular assignment.
It's mid-afternoon on a Friday, and everyone's more than ready for a weekend and whatever plans they've hatched. I'm personally going to watch a show about 6 Tudor queens in the West End. We've just finished a rather hearty session on Medieval Otherworlds, which ended with two of my classmates acting out a wand fight using rulers; not quite sure how we’d ended up there as the conversation had initially started on the creation and examination of Middle English Texts and the Medieval approaches to concepts like the supernatural and magic.
I wonder if during all the years he’s lived, Professor Gadling has experienced any kind of supernatural or magical encounters.
If only I could ask him.
I haven't known him that long, but sometimes I think that he just has an inkling somehow that I know more than what I'm letting on. Certain terms, phrases or questions I’ve asked have sometimes got a double take or an awkward chuckle. I’ve got to be more careful, I would probably sound mad to him if I just blurted it out; but how does one explain that, you know. That you're almost certain even, that it’s very likely the man who is your professor has been gifted or cursed with immortality.
You see. It does sound crazy.
Either way, that's not why we’re here.
The building Professor Gadling owns, and surprisingly where he also lives is just down the road from the closed-down old tavern that holds all those bygone memories, it's barred off now by a council fence, graffiti covering the walls. All that time and it's been standing right here, it certainly looks its age. I caught him looking at it as we walked past, he looked sad and remorseful; if only for just a moment. A short way down the road and to the right sits the pub, there’s a green leading up to it with a single tree in the middle. I swear I could see a black shadow of a bird moving among the remaining golden leaves.
The New Inn.
It's very quintessentially English, a small beer garden out front with benches and parasols, though there aren't many if any, people sitting outside. Well, apart from two completely polar opposite characters sitting together underneath a parasol. One is lanky, with stylish black attire, red hair with sunglasses and the other rounded, beige waistcoat and coat tails with white hair and a cherub-like face.
Whoever they are they seem to be enjoying each other's company.
The inside of The New Inn is warm, comfortable and welcoming. The bar is dark mahogany lined with stools covered in a rich green velvet fabric. There are neatly placed tables and chairs around the edges of the room where groups of people, families and students sit arrayed. That lighting feels distantly familiar, giving off an amber glow even in the mid-afternoon sun. It brings a smile to my face. It seems a lot of love, care and money has gone into the design of the place.
A group of us had gathered around the bar and the Professor gets a round of drinks with a hearty response and round of applause.
Discount fully included.
“I’d better not make this a habit” He had said with a chuckle, and then a grimace when he saw the bill.
Time goes on, the conversation is positive and the sun is slowly setting, a few of my classmates, feeling slightly merry from alcohol leave to head into town for the evening. I find myself sitting at a small table in the corner, quite comfortable with a thick jacket pulled over my shoulders and reading a copy of The Odyssey I’ve loaned from the library. I'm on my second glass of Pepsi Max. Straw and Ice. I don't drink alcohol anyway, but being around a group of people in any social setting like this is enough to make me feel slightly lightheaded. Now is a good time to recuperate.
To recharge.
Professor Gadling sits at his own table, looking through paperwork, marking boxes and making various notes. Whether it was University assignments or stocktaking for the pub, who really knew?
I don't want to bother him, I feel I'd already pressed him enough this evening with a small and slightly heated debate on which of Shakespeare's works we considered more overrated. So far I'm the only one who agrees with him, that Shakespeare was a massive twat. To be honest I’m not sure why I agree with him either.
A breeze enters the room and there's a slight chill, someone's come in and the inquisitor in me can't help but glance up from the pages to see. My breath catches in the back of my throat and I have to pinch myself on the arm to reassure myself that I’m not dreaming, I’m fully awake. The figure who enters, you’d find it hard to believe but I've seen him before.
Only in one's dreams, will you see this figure. You might remember certain features.
He's dressed to fit the modern age, entirely in black, not surprised to say that I would have expected nothing less. A long black coat, black turned-up trousers, black sweatshirt and black combat boots. It matches his hair, a massive shock of jet black. It's short, but thick, fluffy and hangs about his face. It looks nice and suits him. He's as pale as anything, but the amber lighting adds some colour to his angular face. That high, square jawline, it's defined and looks too perfect. Might as well be able to cut glass with it.
Very aesthetically pleasing to look at though. I know you wouldn’t complain if you saw that face.
He walks through the room slowly, dark eyes full of stars taking in his surroundings, surveying the area. At certain angles, you can see the glint of a far-off star. He’s looking for someone.
I think I know who.
I think you know too.
He sees him first, still sitting grading papers on that table in the corner. I can't help but hold my breath. He's stood in front of the table now and I know they've seen each other.
Gadling glances up, face first then eyes and acknowledges his companion, who's currently staring down at him. He smiles and there's a slight teasing in his eyes.
"You're late."
His companion, who I've now realised; is nameless, looks down at him with warmth, adoration in his eyes, and an upturned smile like a cat who got the cream. I'm wondering how this is going to go.
There’s a slight shock on the Professor's face, but his eyes paint a very different picture; almost like he was expecting this. Like he’d planned this chance meeting or was natrlurally hoping to run into him.
I just about hear the man in black's words, his tone is so incredibly low, but there’s a bass effect to it. It’s smooth and silky, punctuated with pauses, but if you listen really carefully, you can feel the airwaves vibrating, and humming.
"It seems I owe you an apology. I've always heard it is impolite to keep one's friends waiting"
Friends?
You could bloody well have fooled me. Not with the way these two stare at each other.
I exhale. He apologised?
I don't know why I'm surprised at this, but my first impressions of him as he walked through that door gave me the idea that he thought himself above it all. Now I'm not so certain. He seems more human.
The two are smiling at each other, looking almost smitten one might think. He sits down opposite the Professor, the two look so relaxed, at ease with each other; like the rest of the world isn't there. It warms the heart.
Sure; they’re friends.
I go back to my book, smiling. Whatever reason there is, call it destiny, luck or pure coincidence, it doesn’t really matter. But just to be nearby, on the conscious physical plane, watching this scene unfold a few feet away. I consider it to be a rewarding experience. It will remain a secret from the rest of the class for now, since he’d waited for everyone else to leave, but who knows I might just pluck up enough courage to ask the Professor next week about his mysterious friend.
I think they suit each other. Really well actually.