The sun had only just faded from the sky, leaving behind a vulnerable twilight through which the first stars could be seen. Having completed the barricade, piled high with plundered furniture – tables and chairs from the café and even an old cart wedged into the chaos – the students were awaiting their battle with gusto, calling for bottles of wine from the café's cellars. They sat down behind the barricade, their guns leaning against their knees, drinking from freshly-opened bottles, savouring the smell of the saturated corks, rolling the nectar in their mouths as if it had a different taste on the eve of revolution.
Two stood aloof: Enjolras, of course, who could not abide the thought of drinking on a night as important as this, and Grantaire, who had quietly slipped away some time ago to find a corner of his own inside the café. From here, shrouded in shadow, he listened to his friends' singing as he poured glass after glass of absinthe. His head began to spin, and the hand clutching the glass started trembling, but he doggedly continued. Why worry after the after-effects? He had counted eight glasses by the time he saw a shadow darken the threshold and Enjolras stepped into the room.
"What are you doing in here, Grantaire?" the leader asked. "I thought you never missed an opportunity to be in the company of a bottle of wine". Grantaire, eyes fixed on the far wall, poured another glass of absinthe, threw it back, grimaced.
"I'd rather listened to my own songs than those of the schoolboys out there". He saw Enjolras' figure shift in the corner of his eye and pull out a chair beside him. "They have no idea, do they?" Grantaire said softly. "You've fooled them. Bon travail, mon capitaine".
"I don't understand". Enjolras glanced pointedly and disapprovingly at the absinthe. Grantaire ignored him and provocatively poured another glass. He did not drink it, but held it half-raised to his lips, watching the light catch the glass and the liquid within. Of course you don't understand, Apollo. You never understand anything which isn't fitting for a revolutionary to believe. Failure. What did that word ever mean to you? Do you even understand that?
"Tell me," he said levelly, "how are you going to fight this battle? How are you going to win it? With words?" He looked askance at Enjolras' face, which was set like a statue's. "Words," Grantaire continued, setting the glass back down again, "are the only weapons you understand. They have won you your only victories, and what were they? Triumphs over the doubts of a small group of young men."
"They follow the same cause which draws me," Enjolras said stubbornly. "Amongst them, there is only one dissenter, only one who wouldn't be glad to give up his life for a new world. And that's you".
Such words hurt Grantaire more than he cared to show. He twisted the glass on the tabletop, feeling the colours of the world blurring and blending in front of his eyes. All these colours, Apollo. And you can only see three of them: black, white and red. Of all his friends, he loved Enjolras the most. There was something about the depth of commitment and dedication in the young man's nature that Grantaire could not understand, but could admire, something which responded so fiercely to ideals of death and bravery, but left human relationships cold. Enjolras would always be the leader, not only because his oratorical skills were better than any of theirs, but because a leader had to be solitary. The students who had taken up his cause as their own came more for the feeling of fraternity than any revolutionary desires.
"Would you be glad to give up your life?" Grantaire asked, as though absently.
"Of course". There was no hesitation in the reply, and the drinker gave a bitter smile.
"Of course. In fact, you would take it as a personal affront if you survive this, wouldn't you? You've spent so much time constructing your own legend that you'll be half disappointed if you don't die in the attempt". He knew he had touched a nerve, for Enjolras drew sharply back from the table.
"I believe in what is right and true, Grantaire. Few people seem to share my beliefs, but I will defend them to the death. If we do succeed, it will be a triumph for justice".
"What is justice?" Grantaire suddenly swung around in the chair, gripping the back with such force that he felt his knuckles whitening. "Tell me what your definition of justice is. Is it just to lead these schoolboys to their death? Is it to instil them with false delusions of grandeur?" Enjolras' lips had drawn tight and his eyes had lost their colour. They pierced Grantaire with an almost inhuman determination, but the young drinker didn't stop. "Why did you ever think this would succeed?" he demanded in a low voice, leaning forward as if his confidence wasn't already a fear nurtured in the heart of everyone at the barricade. "None of us has ever fired a gun before. We don't know how to fight. We know how to talk, and we know how to make pretty speeches and wave flags and convince others that our cause is true, but…"
"I didn't realise you were so against the Cause," Enjolras interrupted. He stood up sharply, averting his gaze from Grantaire as if those eyes were only worthy to look on higher things. "I would understand if you want to withdraw now. There is no point in your being with us if all you can do is beat us down and predict defeat. You may as well leave".
Grantaire looked up at him from where he sat. You are indeed fearful when you're angry, Apollo. But instead of springing up to reassure Enjolras, as he knew he was meant to do, he slowly and deliberately raised the glass of absinthe to his lips and drank it in one go.
"I merely meant to ask whether you've considered that some of these boys actually value their lives. They have promising futures. One day they may come to something. Much of the time you talk as if you're the only sacrifice". He paused and saw that Enjolras had not walked away, as he expected. Instead he remained standing, his eyes slipping back down to meet his friend's. "They are all sacrifices," Grantaire said. "Each and every one of them is prepared to give up his life, but it's not for your grande cause. It's for you". Enjolras started forward, but Grantaire ploughed on defiantly. "None of them care at all about the real cause, but about this imaginary ideal you've created! They don't want a new world. Many of them are perfectly happy with the world they have. Yet you inspired them, through your speeches, through your words, to offer up what is most precious to them." Grantaire stopped, considered, reached for the absinthe and poured another glass. As he drank, he saw Enjolras slowly consider.
"They would not be here if there were not some inner conviction in their souls".
"Conviction, mon capitaine, that you instilled". Grantaire saw the faintest flicker of emotion in Enjolras' eyes, the first hint of a heart which could feel something other than the lust for revolution. "It's no fault," he said after a slight pause. "You could have been a great politician. In a perfect world". The old façade returned to Enjolras' face and he smiled sardonically. "And I," Grantaire said, "could have been a wonderful wine-merchant".
"You drink yourself romantic, Grantaire," Enjolras said, turning. This time it was to leave, taking the fire of his eyes and of his red and gold waistcoat to the door of the café, and meaning to take them further out into the night, had Grantaire not also risen to his feet and said,
"Mon capitaine Apollo?"
Enjolras stopped and turned, the impatience already showing in his gait. Grantaire studied him for a moment, studied the flashing eyes, the open waistcoat, the long-barrelled gun held in one firm hand, the ordered hair. Even at this moment, he thought sadly, he prepares himself to be a martyr.
"Tell me something else," he said. "The others are singing out there. They say that friendship can carry them through any troubles, any difficulties. Tomorrow will be a new dawn, a new day. There is no question in their minds". He could not prevent himself from sounding bitter. Why should they be innocent, while he saw so much? "I want to know," he said. "Do their lives really mean nothing at all?"
"To the Revolution, every life is important," Enjolras said, as Grantaire had known he would.
"But to the world, Apollo. Will our friends at the café remember you? What can you manage?"
Enjolras didn't answer. Grantaire then knew that his leader faced the same demons. Nothing I say, he realised with a sinking heart, can change his mind if his own conscience cannot. He glanced at the absinthe, but resisted the lure. It was growing too late for that now. Instead, he moved slowly towards the door and towards Enjolras.
"So are you going to leave us?" Enjolras asked suddenly, stepping away from the doorway, leaving it clear. Grantaire looked outside, felt the freedom of the night, the fresh air and the emptiness of the Parisian streets. Then he sighed with a grim smile.
"Apollo, you have always had my service. Even in the moments of deepest despair, I would not have deserted you. What would I have left if you died? You are my only friends". He forced a more confident tone into his voice. "Besides, when we succeed, imagine how the others would laugh at me for being too cowardly to join them!"
Enjolras smiled too, but it was a sad smile. He reached out a hand to Grantaire's shoulder and let it rest there, staring into his friend's eyes with the stare that had convinced a group of young men to lay down their lives. For a moment, they simply looked at each other. Grantaire knew that Enjolras understood the things he couldn't bring himself to say. Eventually the leader broke the eye contact, and gazed out through the doorway at the street.
"It is a fine night, Grantaire," he said. "An auspicious night. Liberty brightens the stars for us".
A fine night, Grantaire added privately, to die.
"Let us go and cheer the others," Enjolras said, tightening his grip on Grantaire's slumped shoulder. "Soon the watch will change". Seeing the resigned expression on Grantaire's face, he smiled. "You are the most loyal dissident I have ever met".
Before they left the café, Grantaire leaned over and solemnly kissed him once on each cheek.