LARDER FOR A LEAN WINTER
I. (he spoke the truth)
He used to say, let me store you up, let me drink you full, let me hold you close; and I would wonder why he would wish to take so much of me, as if there would be a time when I would not be there.
Perhaps he was storing his memories of me, but I doubt it.
I thought I knew that what he said and what he meant were different, so different that you might as well call them different things. I thought I knew.
He always said he wanted me.
I believed him, because I thought he always said what he meant.
Perhaps he meant it, when he asked for my forgiveness. Perhaps he felt sorry for me, when the dagger slid kindly between my ribs, when he pushed me off the wall. Perhaps he meant it.
Perhaps, I think sometimes, he really was storing me up; a larder for a lean winter.
II. (to make much of time)
And even I, poor stupid John, poor faithful John, following blindly after him like a hound, like a moth dazzled by by his flame, that follows the torch that will singe its wings -- even I know that he is flaming to his death, even as I am blinded.
But if he has little time, I have none, for I will follow, and even if he lives, I will not. If I live it will be only because of his will, and I am powerless before it. I want to pray that I will not survive, but he will not grant such a prayer.
So I will make much of my time, and store him within me, that I may have something bright to hold to myself at my end. I will store him up, silver-brightness, shadow-darkness, steel-hardness; I will lay all this in my heart. He will be my larder for a lean winter, and the winter is coming more quickly than I can bear.
III. (tyger, tyger, burning bright)
And always he was a force of nature, if you like; a tiger of bright gold and absolute darkness. I followed him because he dazzled me so, his hardness and his unexpected pity. I did not expect to see that pity in his eyes, that rage, that horror, when he brought down that woman. He held that limp thing close like she was all he had between himself and death, rocking her silently, gently, his eyes staring out at nothing at all.
And he changed then, as if he could not bear the thought of remaining the same, as if he had looked himself in the eye and found something there that repulsed even the hardened killer they had made of him, and of me; I did not understand, and do not understand. I do not want to understand.
He has something I do not, and I cannot understand where he found it or where he stored it up, and I want it more than anything else in the world. He will live and I will starve, all for the want of some larder for a lean winter he has found.
notes: I've had this hanging around in my hard drive, since, uh, about a year before Bastard Hizuki died on me? For such a short thing I had a heck of a time trying to get it out. It did help that I finally got a PS and the game. =D
It should be fairly obvious who is speaking which part about whom. I think. --meg