The Best Man
Straighten your tie, boy---shoulders back, yes. Such a straight back, so erect, that white string of bones that runs up your back and tries to push through the skin of your white neck. And isn't it fitting? White bones, white blank mind and white pure heart, white skin and now your white face above such a white shirt. What's black about you, my boy, is the hair that falls so thickly around your face, almost obscuring your black eyes, and grazes your black-jacketed shoulders, your black trousers so neatly pressed, such a fine razor's edge on them that I want to run my finger down and see if it slices a bright streak, as deep red as that rosebud in your buttonhole or your rosebud mouth.
But come, it is time. I am your best man. Oh---the irony. Yes, through this curtain here, into the church. Oh so softly lit, glowing so golden-warm, and the pews filled with Sunday suits all smiling. Yes, just there, my boy, stand just there before the holy altar, look up the aisle. I'll stand by you side, as always. There lies your future, my boy, in a swell of music. Coming through that door, oh God, is your future. Look upon her well, as she walks the aisle, look how she trembles, how she is so luminous in her white dress! I look upon her, I do, as she approaches, such gentle curves and flowing hair, and such a nice nervous smile she gives you. One hand in another, one ring for another, one heart given to another! One life given over! God, that I must hold my piece. And now a little kiss, oh so chaste, oh so sweet, and then off down the aisle, and off to the hall down the street. And I follow, and I have my own future leaning on my arm.
You dance with her now, the glowing bride. She is basking in her love of you, in her childhood dream of marriage. The room wavers and spins, and each step of your feet resounds in my ears.
I must get up now, excuse myself, stumble slightly out the back door to an alley of grey brick. I must sit here for a while now. I have lost my balance. I have lost my tears long ago. And I may have lost my mind before the holy altar.
But soon, my boy, you come---I feel your black-sleeve arms around me, and I look up at your white face, so pale and sacred, and must take refuge in you and feel your red mouth upon my neck and face and then in my own mouth that tongue tasting of celebration wine.
* * *
Must it be it be this way? Are you really sure?
Yes. He must not find out, he must not suspect. I will not risk your life. You will marry this Lily girl? There'll be a muggle wedding?
Yes. And will you marry her? Narcissa?
I will. God, I will. What does it matter?
When I put the ring on----on Lily, I will imagine her finger is yours.
When it's over, when he's defeated...it'll be safe.
We'll be together then, Lucius, my love. We'll leave them, these women of ours. Kiss me once more. Be careful, be very careful around him. Don't go and get yourself killed for that stupid man.
* * *
I am twenty years old, and already it is too late. And now this is my future, this thin-faced wife and this small son. Oh----the irony. Gone and dead. Dead and dead. "All my life's buried there----heap earth upon it."
Straighten your tie, boy---shoulders back, yes. Such a straight back, so erect, that white string of bones that runs up your back and tries to push through the skin of your white neck. And isn't it fitting? White bones, white blank mind and white pure heart, white skin and now your white face above such a white shirt. What's black about you, my boy, is the hair that falls so thickly around your face, almost obscuring your black eyes, and grazes your black-jacketed shoulders, your black trousers so neatly pressed, such a fine razor's edge on them that I want to run my finger down and see if it slices a bright streak, as deep red as that rosebud in your buttonhole or your rosebud mouth.
But come, it is time. I am your best man. Oh---the irony. Yes, through this curtain here, into the church. Oh so softly lit, glowing so golden-warm, and the pews filled with Sunday suits all smiling. Yes, just there, my boy, stand just there before the holy altar, look up the aisle. I'll stand by you side, as always. There lies your future, my boy, in a swell of music. Coming through that door, oh God, is your future. Look upon her well, as she walks the aisle, look how she trembles, how she is so luminous in her white dress! I look upon her, I do, as she approaches, such gentle curves and flowing hair, and such a nice nervous smile she gives you. One hand in another, one ring for another, one heart given to another! One life given over! God, that I must hold my piece. And now a little kiss, oh so chaste, oh so sweet, and then off down the aisle, and off to the hall down the street. And I follow, and I have my own future leaning on my arm.
You dance with her now, the glowing bride. She is basking in her love of you, in her childhood dream of marriage. The room wavers and spins, and each step of your feet resounds in my ears.
I must get up now, excuse myself, stumble slightly out the back door to an alley of grey brick. I must sit here for a while now. I have lost my balance. I have lost my tears long ago. And I may have lost my mind before the holy altar.
But soon, my boy, you come---I feel your black-sleeve arms around me, and I look up at your white face, so pale and sacred, and must take refuge in you and feel your red mouth upon my neck and face and then in my own mouth that tongue tasting of celebration wine.
* * *
Must it be it be this way? Are you really sure?
Yes. He must not find out, he must not suspect. I will not risk your life. You will marry this Lily girl? There'll be a muggle wedding?
Yes. And will you marry her? Narcissa?
I will. God, I will. What does it matter?
When I put the ring on----on Lily, I will imagine her finger is yours.
When it's over, when he's defeated...it'll be safe.
We'll be together then, Lucius, my love. We'll leave them, these women of ours. Kiss me once more. Be careful, be very careful around him. Don't go and get yourself killed for that stupid man.
* * *
I am twenty years old, and already it is too late. And now this is my future, this thin-faced wife and this small son. Oh----the irony. Gone and dead. Dead and dead. "All my life's buried there----heap earth upon it."