The Sick Rose
O rose, thou art sick! Has found out thy bed
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,
Of crimson joy,
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.
- From Songs of Experience by William Blake
For Q,
the love of my life
If I had doubts on the existence of God in the past, then your death had wiped all remaining traces of faith I had in a higher, merciful being. If there be a God, then He was too cruel to take you away from me in the most ironic of ways. It hurt too much. It hurt when I had defied all my elders and went against the very core beliefs which my family had held on for centuries (1) - to give my daughters the gift of having the privilege to give birth to children safely - and had it smacked right back in my face. My father told me that to genetically modify babies would be the act of usurping God's power. I admit, it was defiance and passion that drove me to create twenty-nine genetically modified daughters at once - a bit to spite my father, but mostly to end that illogical Winner tradition that cursed all daughters bearing our name. But I still don't see why women in space should have to be cursed to not being able to have the child they want so badly.
And you wanted my son so badly, my Quaterina. When you died having my child, I couldn't help but wonder if God was punishing me for my arrogance. Was he angered at me for being the Prometheus(2) who stole natural childbirth for my daughters - so furious that he had to take you through childbirth, and to spite me with the greatest of irony?
I could not bear it.
The only way for me to survive your death was to deny God and be an atheist. I simply could not live with the notion that God took you because of my actions.
You once said that love is a source of infinite bravery - that was why you were willing to face the 55 percent maternal mortality rate combined with the 79 percent infant mortality rate of birth complications (3). Did you remember how I begged and begged for you to abort the child? It was insane - there was only a 9.5 percent chance for both you and our child to survive. I wanted to have a son to call our own too, but we could achieve that by much, much safer means! Did you believe me when I said that all that mattered was you, and you only? Have you ever for a moment, thought for me, and considered the amount of intolerable torture you were inflicting on me - a torture that continued to this day, to this very shuddering breath that I just exhaled for you?
I saw you everywhere in these ten years - on my desk, in our room, in the curled horizon of the colony, at the breakfast table and the late drive home - I felt your presence constantly - I could almost touch you, and yet I could not! The entire world was a cruel memorandum of the fact that I lost you!
And worse, and the worst of it all, was that I saw you in our Quatre.
Could you forgive me?
He was your child in every sense - he inherited your soft blonde locks, your clear turquoise eyes, your pale colouration with that unearthly shine, so untouched by this dusty weary world. Sometimes I wonder where my part in him was. If he had, say, just a tiny mix of my brown hair or my tanned skin-colour in him, I could have loved him with all I had - I would have been the best father in the universe. Yet he wasn't mine, he was yours, entirely, so every time I look at him I was reminded of you, and the fact that he stole all those perfect, perfect features from you!
Could you forgive me?
You sacrificed yourself in exchange for this one last gift to the world, yet I could not even look at his face without that painful constriction in my chest. I flung myself into endless work, trying my best to avoid our son, and to avoid my responsibilities as a father. It became worse. Who could I blame? With the lack of attention he parodied you in the most hideous of ways - pulling your hair while throwing temper tantrums, crying your eyes out in his selfish requests - he turned you into a brat, and I could never love him as much you wished me to.
Forgive me, my darling Quaterina! I said, forgive me!
I would say that love is a source of infinite weakness if you asked me now. Your love destroyed you, and my love destroyed your legacy. Love, and the lost of it made me into a freaking coward who didn't dare recognize his own son.
I took Quatre to an amusement park today - the first time in his ten years. We were truly sharing happiness together - not joy, not jubilee - but real, gut-wretching type of happiness. I could swear that I didn't know what have gotten into me that moment we got off the roller-coaster, and before I could stop myself I saw your eyes, and damn! what was wrong with me?
I knelt in front of him and looked right into your eyes, smiling, smiling as I said, "I love you so much, Quaterina!"
He trembled - and his smile just freezed over when he heard that. The very air itself turned humid and moist with bitterness - it was raining bitterness - from me, and from him. The atmosphere tasted sour, almost like vomit. And I abruptly shot up and turned to leave him standing there - refusing to face the hurt in his eyes - walking away like the coward that I was.
Later the servants told me that Quatre had flung their hands away when they attempted to lead him by his hand back to the car. He walked with his head held high, dignified, and proud, like you had done, when you found out that the child you were carrying was a boy.
He had even inherited your pride. I knew too well - he must had longed for my smile as much as I had longed for yours, but he would not suck up a smile meant for another person. You would refuse to be a subsitute too, wouldn't you?
He had locked himself in his room, but I could hear the deliberately stifled sobs from within.
I am a rotten man, my Quaterina. Forgive me. Oh please, do forgive me! For I am a despairing man!
I hated you and Quatre from the very bottom of my heart, you two did torture me so. Yet I loved both of you with all the volume of the sea - and more! It hurts - even breathing hurts sometimes - love is as destructive as can be.
I'm sorry.
Please allow me to burn another letter that you could never read - never again, I suppose, never again you could read anything. But when had that stopped me from writting to you?
forever yours, and guilty,
Sa'id (4)
(1) - In the Endless Waltz novel, the Winner family is against gentically modifying women so that they can give birth naturally due to religious resons. Quatre's father said that people should not come to live in space in the first place if they are afraid of defying God, and he said that God will allow his actions of genetically modifying his daughters if he respected life. It is not stated whether Quatre's father became an atheist, or if the Winner family believed in a Christian or Islamic God.
(2) - Prometheus stole fire for human in Greek mythology. He was punished by Zeus to be chained to Mount Caucasus where an eagle will pick at his liver everyday.
(3) - the mortality rates are from Endless Waltz novel, so they official. Yes, it wasn't a very smart move for Quaterina to make.
(4) - In the series novel Quatre's father does have a given name. In romaji it will spell "za-ii-do" I'm guessing that it is the Arabian name sa'id.
I'm sorry if this turned out to be wuthering Heights-ish. Next chapter will probably be a new story on Q's episode zero. (finally, some action!)