I:
L’s horse is a chestnut mare, fifteen hands, that he has named Beatrice. Beatrice likes carrots, but prefers ones with the green still attached, which she eats prior to the root. Today, L is riding Beatrice in a joust. Their rival is none other than the king himself, for L has been accused of seducing the queen consort, which he has. He wears a ribbon from her on his sword arm and another on his shield arm, a gift from his other lover – a novice nun who, therefore, is a secret lover.
From the edge of the jousting grounds, the queen waves to L He lifts his lance in her direction. On the opposite end of the pitch, astride a black stallion, the king leers at L, fury in his eyes.
II:
L has a human heart, kept on ice, that he is to transport from the city of Q___ to the city of N___ for transplant into the body of a terminally ill patient. This is the first time L has handled a heart during the time it is without person. How does he feel to guide it through the liminal space between bodies? Is he, perhaps, proud of his unique role? Then again, does he see his responsibility, his task, as unenviable?
In the operating room, the doctors allow L to place the heart into the patient’s open chest – which he does, delicately – before sewing her closed. L is still present when the patient wakes. She bursts into tears.
“Are you in pain?” the doctors ask.
“Yes,” she replies, “But I find, for the first time, that in that pain there is joy.”
She wraps her arms around L and he presses her weeping face to his chest.
III:
Lances shattered, horses riderless, the joust has become a duel. The king attacks relentlessly, but L fights without anger. The king’s blows cannot find purchase in L’s defenses, and he grows redder, breathes harder, and sweats. How does L intend to escape this melee? Is he willing to slay his ruler and face the consequences? Does he believe he can fight to a fair stalemate and earn his opponent’s respect? The crowd can read nothing of his intentions. L’s handsome face betrays nothing. In a moment of pause, L turns to look at the Queen.
She is weeping.
L drops his defenses.
IV:
A student asks L about so-called “Platonic” relationships wherein the two partners love one another deeply, yet chastely. L replies that this use of the term “Platonic” implies that chaste relationships are closer to the ideal form of a relationship, while sexual relationships are somehow less perfect. A real platonic relationship, in the true sense of the term, ought to be one that apprehends the platonic form of love. In such a relationship, the perfect selves of the lovers, the platonic selves, would meet and intermingle and would have perfect, platonic intercourse.
The student asks, “Do the physical lovers also have intercourse?”
“Absolutely they have intercourse,” replies L, “They have intercourse, and it is perfect.”
V:
Under a beech tree, L’s lover tends to his wounds. The king has spared his life, but L may not return under penalty of certain death, L’s lover has turned her habit into a bandage, her crucifix into a splint. She kisses L beneath the beech tree, bitterly.
The sun moves across the sky and, nourished by a meal of honey and rose petals, L summons the strength to rise. He kisses his lover a final time.
He mounts Beatrice and departs.
VI:
L’s boss asks him to get an email address and they meet together before a great computer screen. L’s boss walks him through the process of creating an email address, choosing a secure password, and choosing and answering security questions. L dislikes leonardcohen@gmail.com, saying, “That is not how I write my name,” and his boss changes it to l.cohen@gmail.com, and L leaves, apparently satisfied.
Since then, L’s boss has periodically received letters from L, hand-written on parchment and sealed with red wax, asking him to please reset L’s passwords and to remind him, please, of the answers to such questions as, “What as your paternal grandfather’s great unspoken fear?”, “In what city did you first fall in love with cold, still water?”, and “What was the name of your first pet?”
VII:
L lives in the attic of a former abbey in Languedoc. He has his meals brought to him by a half-blind peasant girl who speaks no French. She has a large, indigo burn covering the right half her face. L eats no more than once a day. Sometimes less frequently.
The roof of L’s room slopes, his bed positioned where it is the shallowest. He has his lute tuned such that it emits the same low chord whenever jostled. An E-minor chord.
“Thank you,” says L.
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