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Ramsey Manor was one of the treasures of the National Trust. The Tudor part was still immaculate, the long gallery was full of paintings collected by the Hammer family, the light rooms full of delicate furniture and carefully chosen objects were much admired.
After Armand Hammer died, without heirs, he left everything to the state and charities. He had lived as a recluse in the last twenty years of his life, all alone in the large manor.
Crowds of visitors enjoyed the famous gardens and the perennial flowering peach tree.
But when night fell, in the moonlight, a shadow always sat under the tree and cried.
“Timothée you cannot continue like this… we miss your music.”
The young satyr looked up, his pure profile etched against the large orb of a full moon. The tears sparkled trapped in the long eyelashes.
“I am sorry my Lord, but there is such sorrow in me…”
The man sat down next to Timothée, leaning against the trunk of the peach tree, that started to flower once more, delicate petals opening towards the moon.
He was large and glowed so much you could not look at him directly, his voice was music and his movements were dance.
All around, in the darkness, there was the glint of eyes watching them, all sizes and races, all in silence and sorrow.
“Timothée my son, what can I do for you? It grieves me so to see you so…” He patted the satyr’s head and ran his finger around the small horns nestled in the dark curls.
“Noting Sir, I wanted him to be with me evermore, but Hades has him now and I cannot hear his voice or touch his skin again…” A sob escaped him and he trembled.
“You knew that you would lose him, I told you so. But you wanted to risk it… I cannot give immortality. I am so sorry my love.”
Tim nodded, but still tears fell.
“I thank you for your gift Lord, it lasted but a flash, but it was pure joy. Till the end I held his hand, the most dear man ever. But I miss him, there is a black hole within me, there is no music or dance, nothing…”
The silence of the night echoed a large sigh, repeated by the still army of creatures around.
“I could not grant immortality my darling, but I can give mortality. Would you agree?”
Tim looked up at the lord, a face so beautiful and terrible, all light and flames, darkness and ice, and slowly nodded.
“Yes, I cannot bear eternal loss…”
All around them there was a sob, the trees and woodland creatures frozen by the satyr’s answer.
The peach tree shrivelled and all the blossom and leaves fell to the ground. In the morning the National Trust caretakers would find the dead tree and blame vandals.
“Sleep my darling son, sleep…”
The Lord placed his hand over Tim’s face, and slowly the satyr became smaller and smaller, till he was no more.
It was black, totally nothing, then he felt he saw red, blood red, he was in liquid. He was small, a cell, he curled, he felt a heartbeat, he was growing.
His memories were slowly evaporating as his limbs formed, as each organ was added, the forest and all the creatures were no more.
As he was pushed towards the light, resisting and feeling exposed, he was a clean slate; except for a pair of startling blue eyes. He could still remember them.
“He is so beautiful…” The man’s voice was warm.
“Timothée, I know that’s we will call him…” The woman cradled him and smiled down; he felt warmth.
“Are you sure dear, it will be a mouthful here in New York…” The man’s kindly eyes were worried.
“Yes, I know he is Timothée” The woman sounded so certain, there was no arguing.
Timothée Chalamet grew loving music and dance; sometimes he felt ill at ease among his peers, not sure why. He just felt different, as though he was written for a different script.
He went to a drama school, he was a great student, he made friends, most people who met him loved him.
But when he went to his friend’s cabin in the woods, he felt alive. The trees almost spoke to him, the sounds gave him energy back.
He slowly built a career in acting, but he had a feeling there was something missing. The blue eyes.
He saw them when watching a movie, there were two of them, but identical.
But the actor was only one, Armie Hammer.
He felt something inside, a nostalgia.
He shrugged, and continued his path.
He got drunk, kissed boys and girls, he learned about living and giving. But he never learned about love. He could act it, he could fake it, but he never felt it.
He loved his parents and sister, his friends and relatives, he felt passion, but he knew that love eluded him. A nostalgia clenched his heart.
Then in late spring 2016 he was in Crema, Italy, preparing for the role of Elio in the film Call Me By Your Name. The blue eyes was also cast, and Timmy felt a mixture of apprehension and longing.
He trusted Luca Guadagnino, the director, he had a kindly face, and knew if he chose Armie Hammer there was a good reason. He just hoped he wouldn't make a fool of himself.
Timmy and Armie met while Timmy was having the piano lesson, he was terribly embarrassed but the slight feeling of having arrived at a destination unnerved him as he looked up at the handsome man in front of him. He was huge.
“So, let’s do some preparation…” Luca stood in the overgrown garden of the villa.
Both Armie and Timmy nodded, each holding a copy of the script. Timmy’s copy was bent and messily scribbled; Armie’s was pristine with careful notes made in the margins in elegant handwriting.
They both read the part at the same time.
“Elio and Oliver make out”
Blushing, they turned and looked at each other, Luca nodded.
Tentatively they kissed, an embarrassed peck on the lips.
“No! No! More passion!” Luca shouted and they both jumped.
They sat on the grass and Armie pinched Timmy’s chin and, with his eyes closed, brought his mouth over Timmy's lips.
As Timmy opened his mouth and let it be explored by Armie’s tongue, an explosion of images flashed in front of him.
An old house, a grove in the woods, a peach tree, dancing, blue eyes, hands running along his body… Home.
He was home at last.
Time fell away, the kiss got deeper, Luca walked away.
All around them there was only the vegetation in the abandoned garden, and many eyes looking at them.
“Sir, Timothée seems happy now…” The small fawn smiled.
“Well he should be! The effort it all cost…” Silenus muttered, his large belly rippling in contented approval.
Standing in all his terrible glory Dionysus smiled. There would be difficulties ahead, but nothing Timothée couldn't overcome. Things need to be fought to have value.
He gestured to his troup, and they all moved away, dancing among the trees. His gift had been a success.
The first time Armie had felt the slight bumps on top of Timmy’s head he panicked.
Timmy laughed “I have always had them Armie! When I was small my gran said there were my horns when I misbehaved…”
But as the years passed he loved rubbing his finger around the small bumps nestled in Timmy’s curls. They reminded him of something, but he could never quite recollect.