Almost Easy – A Suman/Wife One-shot
The hardwood box lay open on the play room floor, dim light barely illuminating its inside. She prided herself on the way her hands barely shook as she laid out the contents on the tattered rug, spreading them out before her like the greatest of treasures. The smell of warm paper drifted up to her from the well-thumbed pages, catching in her throat like smoke, like tears.
They all started the same, greetings, platitudes that she can almost hear him whisper, amongst the rustling of paper.
"Dear Abigail... my dearest Abigail... oh, Abigail..." She traced the swirls of ink gently, like the touch of fingers on skin. The dates are all blacked out by the heavy hand of the Order, but she knows instinctively which order they go.
"Dear Abigail,
I watched the town till it disappeared on the horizon, out on the footplate like we did the day we left for our wedding. It was like you were there, leaning in to my shoulder, laughing at the kestrels overhead. The sun is setting now, hours away from you I can only hope you see it too. The day is far from over, my journey incomplete and here I am now, at a station in -----, caught between you and my duty. I do what I must, and I can only hope that it doesn't part me from you for too long.
Still, it already pulls me away and I must keep this short.
Kiss Rebecca for me, tell her to be good and pray that God is kind enough to keep my absence short.
Most beloved,
Suman."
"Abigail,
I don't know whether you'll receive this, or what state it will be in if you do. My General doesn't approve and is surprisingly vocal in this, censorship is likely.
I don't mind the life, I can't lie and pretend that it's good, but it is God's will, and so I endure. Our tour of duty has taken us to ----, and I've never felt so sick. The heat never lets up, I swelter in our uniform. It forces me to wander at night, whilst we're put up well, I can't bear the thought of sleeping without you beside me. So often have I paced the docks in this place, the foreigners take me for a local, ask me for directions. The locals steer clear, mutter about us behind our backs, spit where we walk. I feel like a damned man.
There's a girl, about Rebecca's age. She sleeps in the wharf, amidst the ropes and cages and begs food sometimes. I am ashamed. I am ashamed because I can't help her. I cannot bring her home to you, for food, for love and for comfort. I am ashamed because I see Rebecca in her face when she smiles at me. I am ashamed because I cannot provide for her with Rebecca so sick.
All I can do is trust that God will provide, for me and for her, and bring me home to the ones I love soon.
Yours,
Suman"
True enough, the letters bear the black marks of the Order. Places, names, dates, all blocked from h is words. She never used to mind, saw it as duty, but now it seems like a violation.
"I miss the rain. My skin tautens and blackens in this filthy heat, where the sun barely sets only to rise again with further torment for me. I never thought I'd want for the storms of our youth, but I do. Do you remember your twentieth birthday? Running down the lanes with my coat over your head, laughing and shivering as we got soaked? I remember. I remember falling asleep in your father's hayloft, your breath on my neck, warm in the hay as we listened to the rain. I told you I love you. For the first time. God, I miss you, I miss you, I miss you.
My companion has taken a woman to his bed. I can't judge him. He doesn't talk much of home, turns away when I speak of you. Not everyone has been as lucky as us, my love. For us to meet, to love and when we needed it most, for God to place this gift in my hands and allow me to protect you and my daughter... As hard as it is now, I know we have been blessed and it helps somewhat.
I must hope that my words help you too. Remember that I love you so much,
Suman"
She remembers, alone in the dark, listening to the rain dribble down the windows, drip from the ceiling into a discarded pan on the floor. In the room next to her, Rebecca snuffles in her sleep. She longs to go to her, to wrap the blankets around her more. But she can't. Her blessed daughter has so much of Suman in her features, the way her eyebrows crease when she's dreaming, the way her face lights up when voices drift through her sleep. She struggles sometimes, not to resent the God that struck her down, that took her husband away. The God that he hoped would bring her strength without him.
She looked at the bible in the box, snatched it up and rifled through at random. The words melded into blurs, unhelpful, mocking blurs. Trust in God, he used to say, trust in his word and the answers will come. The answers weren't there – had they ever been?
She flung it away from her, as hard as she could manage, tears streaming down her face as the candles flickered at it's passage. It skidded to a halt by the door, pages stirring in the draft.
"Fuck you." She whispered, hiding her face in her hands, staring at the muted gold of her wedding band. "Fuck you."
"Dear Abigail,
For the moment my mission is over, but I am not allowed to return to you just yet. We've returned to HeadQuarters for the meantime and I'm pleased to have discovered friends here. Finally I can keep up with my chess games! Are you and Rebecca keeping up with yours? Supervisor Komui informed me that doctors are in attendance. Finally some good has come out of this separation!"
She hissed, angry. The doctors had done little, soothed the pain but left her uncured and alone. Every night Rebecca woke up crying for her father and he had thought there was some good in their separation? She laid the letter aside, angry at its jaunty tone in the midst of her heartbreak.
"Abigail,
Absence gets harder with everyday. The more I fight, the more I am told that I must fight more. My knowledge of our turmoil has expanded and it seems the fight will grow harder once more. It used to ease my heart that at least I fought for you and Rebecca, but lately I grow weary. The battles grow more bloody and I see more companions laid out.
I'm scared. I shouldn't admit it, should fight the fear and trust in God, but I'm so very scared Abby. I don't think I'm strong enough alone, I can't... I can't keep doing this forever. All I want is to return home, return to you and I can't. More and more I think that I won't return at all.
I am sorry to scare you with my ramblings, but writing these letters is all that gives me a routine, something to cling to..."
The next few are sparse enquiries about Rebecca's health, about their well-being. God ceases to figure, love ceases to figure. She can feel the man she loved, loves, changing under her fingertips. The battles got harder, and it became harder to love him. The panic set in for both of them, letters as much pleading as promises.
"I love you, I love you, I will always love you."
"I miss you."
"I just want to hold you once more."
And then:
"I'm coming home. June 14th. I'm coming home."
The last letter, the letter she slept with for two months, the letter so read the ink faded, the creases so worn that daylight shines through the woolly edges. She never cried when the day came and went. Just folded it once more and tucked it under her pillow.
The letters spill from her hands and into her lap as she tries to stop the shaking, tries to pretend that he'll walk through the door any minute and wrap his arms around her, carry her away. Frantically she shuffled them, stuffed them back into the box.
One more fell at her feet. Barely read, because she knew, she knew from the grim face of the postman, from the sorrowful eyes of the women in the road, exactly what it would say. Barely read because the handwriting on the envelope isn't his. Barely read because it doesn't smell like him.
She laid the last letter on top of the pile with reverent hands, smoothing the creases flat with closed eyes. She didn't want to look, to confirm that it was real, that it was final.
"We regret to inform you that your husband, Suman Dark, died in the fulfillment of his duty. His body has been cremated as per regulations, but the Order will happily fund a marker for him. A pension will be allocated to you monthly, and his personal effects will be returned to you shortly.
Our deepest regrets,
Komui Lee, Supervisor."
The key clicked smoothly in the lock, sealing up five years of her life, five years of loss and confusion and love. She straightened and stared out the window into the dove-grey dawn and her red-eyed reflection. Five years. Even after so long, after all this, it's so easy to pretend he's coming back.
A/N: A High Seas prompt and a harsh from an Avenged Sevenfold song