No Sólo el Fuego / Not Only the Fire
Inspired by jennycaakes' portrayal of Gale and Katniss as Latino/a, particularly in her lovely college AU, Under the Same Sun. I'm also coincidentally in the midst of reading Pablo Neruda's The Captain's Verses. Highly recommend!
He likes to read her Neruda in the dark.
That's what makes her think that maybe, whatever this is, whatever they're doing, isn't just temporary, isn't just to pass the time. Jo calls him her "sex idiot" but she's never heard him like this, his Latin tongue sliding over syllables and purring into her ear in the dark.
"Toda la noche he dormido contigo
junto al mar, en la isla.
Salvaje y dulce eras entre el placer y el sueño,
entre el fuego y el agua."1
It was the third night they stumbled into her apartment, drunk on beer and each other, when he noticed what was on her nightstand. The orange streetlight that filtered into the room illuminated The Captain's Verses and, intrigued, he picked it up.
"Bilingual version," he said, with that archness of tone and eyebrow that she found irresistible and infuriating, depending on the context. "Impressive."
Madge squirmed, trying not to beam with pleasure. It was hard to impress Gale. Still, she didn't want to be given too much credit. "I'm planning on spending a semester abroad," she said, "and wanted to brush up on my high school Spanish."
She knew he and Katniss were bilingual, although they very politely didn't speak Spanish in front of their non-bilingual friends. Still, even before they started sleeping together, she always internally swooned a little in those rare moments when she heard him speak Spanish.
He was silent for a moment, stroking her shoulder idly. The first two times they'd had sex he stayed for a little bit, indulging her in cuddling and the afterglow, but he soon slid out of bed and left. Tonight he seemed content and stationary, flipping through the book, pausing when he saw which phrases she underlined and seemed to like best.
"Yo no sufrí, amor mío,
yo sólo te esperaba."2
She understands enough, when he speaks to her, and it's hard not to take it personally, not to pretend that he's speaking those words because he means them, because he loves her with a burning passion.
No, outside of this quiet room, they're barely friends, almost acquaintances. For the longest time she didn't even think he liked her all that much, but he is so much more charming when intoxicated, and she is always charming, to his chagrin.
Still, something in her warms and spreads, like a glow, when he picks up her book and reads her a poem. Soon, as the weeks go by, they sleep together often enough—usually at her place, she has no roommates—that it turns into a habit, him picking a poem at random to read, and Madge leaves the book on her nightstand, even though she'd finished it weeks before.
"Quiero tu risa como
la flor que yo esperaba,
la flor azul, la rosa
de mi patria sonora.
Ríete de la noche,
del día, de la luna,
ríete de las calles
torcidas de la isla,
ríete de este torpe
muchacho que te quiere,
pero cuando yo abro
los ojos y los cierro,
cuando mis pasos van,
cuando vuelven mis pasos,
niégame el pan, el aire,
la luz, la primavera,
pero tu risa nunca
porque me moriría."3
Madge yawns, sleepy and content. "I like that one," she murmurs.
"Do you?" His hand smoothes her hair, then lifts a lock and twirls it round his finger. "Me, too."
He stays some nights, and they talk and laugh and make love all night, and others he doesn't, leaving after a poem and some cuddling—Madge doesn't know his class schedule by heart but she figures his lack of pattern is because of that. She doesn't want to read too much into his actions, or inactions.
He's never asked her for a proper date; they've never even talked about what they've been doing, even if they've been regularly sleeping together once a week for awhile now. They use condoms every time and Madge knows she needs to ask him how many other people he's sleeping with, but her courage only goes so far.
She listens to him recite Neruda and she likes to pretend.
She and Katniss are having lunch and Madge, intent on writing an essay, looks up when she hears Katniss scoff.
Katniss rolls her eyes at Madge's questioning look. "Sorry," she says. "It's just— Gale's over there and I just hate when he does this."
Madge twists around, and sees Gale, leaning in close to a girl, looking like he's murmuring something in her ear. Something in her freezes.
"I bet he's speaking Spanish to her," Katniss mutters with disdain. "I don't know why, but I hate when he does that. It's so… smarmy. It's like, 'oh, I don't have to be smart or interesting or pretend like I want to get to know you, I have a good body and can speak Spanish, wanna fuck?'" She shakes her head and looks a little sheepish at Madge's blinking, bemused face. "Sorry," she says again. "I think it bothers me because I was hoping Gale would grow out of sleeping around by now. I mean, do what you want to do, but I just—I don't know. It's disappointing to me."
Madge feels like her chest is going to cave in and she struggles to take deep, even breaths. She's disappointed, too.
She goes home and stares at Neruda and wonders what to do.
Because she's weak, she sleeps with him again. But this time she plucks up the courage to ask, "Gale, what are we doing?"
He's got Neruda in his hand already, and he's picked his poem but hasn't spoken yet. He freezes and his tense body tells her the answer before he does. "I… we're having fun. Being casual."
Madge sits up, looking down on him. Her eyes flicker to the page he picked out.
"Hay más altas que tú, más altas.
Hay más puras que tú, más puras.
Hay más bellas que tú, hay más bellas."4
She flinches, slightly. She nods. "I see," she says, evenly. "So you haven't considered, in these past months, becoming more than casual? At all?"
"I…" he blinks. "I have," he says, slowly, "but…" He trails off and the silence cuts into her like tiny shards of glass.
"You like being single too much," Madge says, flatly. "You like flirting and playing the field. That's fine. But Gale—I'm not like that. I don't want that. If you don't think you could even try being serious with me, then I think it's best we end this now." It was tempting to add an "I'm sorry" in there, because she doesn't like being given or giving ultimatums, but she realized at some point that she isn't going to apologize for her feelings or be ashamed of what she wants.
He nods, jerkily, sitting the Neruda back on the stand and swinging his legs out of bed. It hurts Madge to see him go, but she doesn't say a word as he pulls on his clothes.
"I don't…" he says, in the door way, haltingly. "Can I have some time?"
Madge shrugs, but she keeps her eyes on him. She doesn't take his words to heart; she doesn't expect to see him back. "Okay," she says, and he looks more pained than she does, his eyes pleading at her blank, numb face.
He leaves and she throws Neruda in the trash.
Katniss's grey eyes are sharp and wary when Madge sits down at their usual study spot. "So," she says, "you and Gale, huh?"
A politician's daughter through and through, Madge's heart jumps but her expression is blank as she says coolly, "Yup." She wonders why he told Katniss.
Katniss's lips purse. "He fucked up," Katniss says. "Didn't he?"
Madge shrugs. "There's no blame," she says. "We wanted different things."
Katniss almost looks guilty. "If I had known," she starts.
"Don't," Madge says, softly, although the word is sharp and brusque in her mind, "it's fine. Things don't work out. He's happy being single and I will be happier with someone who isn't."
Katniss's eyes narrow. "You make it sound like it's over," she says. "He makes it sound like there's still…"
Madge rolls her eyes, opening her book roughly. "We both saw how happy he was with that other girl the other day. He's not going to give that up now, if he didn't give it up, then."
"Still," Katnis shifts in her chair, "last I saw him he looked pretty—he didn't look like himself."
"Are you sure he wasn't hung over?" Madge asks with a raised brow, cool bitterness.
"You're deflecting," Katniss says flatly, "and you're hurt and you're angry. You don't need to pretend with me, Madge. It sucks. He sucks."
"Yeah," Madge barks out a laugh and her eyes fill with tears against her will. "He does."
"I'm just going to say this," Katniss says, "he hasn't let this go yet. I think he's just realizing how much you affect him. You might have given this up, but he hasn't."
It's late when he knocks on her door, and she answers it quickly because she doesn't want him to wake up anyone—mainly the man on her couch.
"Can I talk to you?" He looks rumpled, his five o'clock shadow thick, his hair unruly. Shadows darken under his eyes.
Madge glances behind her, quickly, and his eyes follow her gaze and he freezes when he sees the top of a man's head, golden curls, on her couch, the rest of his body hidden by a blanket. It might be cruel, but Madge makes up her mind when she sees his reaction, wide, pained eyes, sharp, tense shoulders, clenched fists. There's a muscle in his jaw that she'd never noticed before. "I see," he says. "I'll go—"
Madge rolls her eyes and tugs him in, shutting the door gently behind him. Without speaking she drags him to her bedroom, and limply, in shock, he follows.
She closes the door behind him. "Not that it's your business," she says, "but that's my cousin Peeta. He's in town for the weekend."
His shoulders relax for a second before his gaze snaps up to hers. "It might not be right now," he says, "but I plan on making it my business."
"Oh, do you?" Madge says tartly. "What makes you think I'd let you?"
He opens his mouth to speak, but his eyes catch on something behind her. "You threw it away," he says, sounding dazed. "Neruda."
Madge waits until his gaze is back on hers before she says, "I didn't think I'd read it again."
He swallows. "I want to," he says, "I want to finish it. But—but only with you."
Madge raises an eyebrow. "Have you been reading Neruda to other people?"
He shakes his head. "Not for a while. I don't—I don't know why I've been so scared. I like you so much and I didn't know how to handle it. I, just…" he looks at her helplessly. "I'm in," he says. "I'm sorry it took me so long to realize it, but you're the only one that I want. If you could give me a second chance, I'll show you."
Madge pauses for a moment. Neruda wasn't a constant lover, either, but a fierce, passionate one.
She takes Gale in. But he is not Neruda, she thinks. She cannot judge him like the Chilean poet, although they bore similarities. Gale—and any love she might have with him—is a risk. All love is.
She crosses over to the room and fishes out Neruda from the wired wastebasket. She stands in front of him and holds out the book.
"If you still want to read it," she says. "I'll listen."
That night, they don't make love, but he stays the whole night, Madge burrowed into his side, his arm wrapped around her, and he, propped up in bed, reads Neruda by the goldenrod light.
"Ay vida mía,
no sólo el fuego entre nosotros arde
sino toda la vida,
la simple historia,
el simple amor
de una mujer y un hombre
parecidos a todos."5
TRANSLATIONS:
1 La Noche en la Isla / The Night on the Island
"All night I have slept with you
Next to the sea, on the island.
Wild and sweet you were between pleasure and sleep,
Between fire and water."
2 Tú Venias / You Would Come
"I did not suffer, my love,
I was only waiting for you."
3 Tu Risa / Your Laughter
"I want your laughter like
the flower I was waiting for,
the blue flower, the rose
of my echoing country.
Laugh at the night,
at the day, at the moon,
laugh at the twisted
streets of the island,
laugh at this clumsy
boy who loves you,
but when I open
my eyes and close them,
when my steps go,
when my steps return
deny me bread, air, light, spring,
but never your laughter
for I would die."
4 La Reina / The Queen
"There are taller than you, taller.
There are purer than you, purer.
There are lovelier than you, lovelier."
5 No Sólo el Fuego / Not Only the Fire
"All my life,
it is not only the fire that burns between us
but all of life,
the simple story,
the simple love
of a woman and a man
like everyone."