Chapter 10
Malky was waiting when she returned, his tail swishing from atop the ledge, his eyes piercing through the darkness.
"You don't look good," Was his blunt observation.
Elphaba huffed and threw herself into the corner. Sliding the broom behind her, she slid off her hat and made an attempt to run her fingers through her unruly hair. She was thoroughly unsuccessful.
The Cat jumped down with a soft thump and crossed to sit beside her on the edge of the cloak. Neither spoke for a long time.
"Frederick is—"She stopped, finding the words didn't come as easily as she expected. "Frederick is dead," She whispered.
Malky nodded, taking it in. "A martyr for the cause?" He questioned.
Elphaba simply nodded.
"You and I both know this is to be expected," He did not attempt to sugar-coat the truth.
"I know!" She snapped, "But I was…if I had only been…if it weren't for…" She started, stopped, sputtered, and finally just screamed. Elphaba tugged at her hair and wailed obscenely for a moment.
"Feel better?" Malky asked.
"A little," she whispered,
"There's nothing wrong with a good scream. You've earned it."
The fact that Malky did not think she was crazy calmed Elphaba's nerves significantly. Ludicrous as might be, his opinion mattered. He'd lost his whole family, after all. He was no stranger to suffering.
"I can see your head working," He started, "and I'll tell you, you cannot make sense of this. Our world, by nature, doesn't make sense. The best you can do is find what you can take from it that betters you. That is the only good that is wrought from tragedy."
Elphaba sat for a long while, unable to argue. She considered the day, with its deliverance of justice, and its lack of satisfaction. She considered Frederick, who he was and his persistent driving for her to be good. What had he said to her?
I fear what you have the power to become, for good or for evil. What can I do to make it be for good?
Frederick had died for his cause, for the belief that every creature deserved its rights and its freedom. He died defending an Animal that utterly deserved to hang, because the freedom of all Animals was the greater good.
An image of Hadrick, hung and made a spectacle, flashed through Elphaba's mind. She fixed on it. That was it. Unknowingly, that was what Frederick was trying to save her from. Even without knowing her story, he somehow sensed that she was precariously close to giving into anger and bitterness. The scars of her past threatened to overwhelm her, to make her hate stronger than she could love. She imaged that, for Hadrick, the humans who had wronged him had become so overwhelming to him, that they blocked the possibility that any human might wish to save him. He had succumbed to hatred, prejudice and cruel stereotyping. And Elphaba herself was entirely capable of becoming the same person.
Frederick's legacy to her was the image of the Bison, hung at the end of his hateful, wasted life. She would not allow that to be her fate.
"For Frederick's sake," She whispered, "I'll make good."
Malky curled up at her feet, not understanding, yet not needing to.
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Elphaba absentmindedly stroked Malky's fur, grateful he allowed her the privilege. She wasn't sure how many days it had been. She had hardly moved, sleeping in spurts and staring at the patterns in the stone trusses. Lying on the uneven stone had begun to take its toll, and the cloak yielded little comfort. Her back ached, accentuated by the occasional stabbing pain. She supposed she would have to live with it, having no other prospects when it came to living arrangements.
Malky proved himself to have a remarkable loyalty, for all his aloofness. He brought food somewhat regularly. Granted, it was bits and pieces of things he was quick enough to steal. He did not speak when scavenging, however, which occasionally afforded him generous handouts. Humans were so much more willing to give to a cat.
"I suppose I've sold my soul, quite literally," He commented one evening, having scored a whole, roasted quail from a sympathetic chef in an upper class borough.
Elphaba simply gave her best attempt at a grateful smile, and scratched behind his ear, which made him purr.
She knew she should get up, get out. She should be finding a new contact with the Resistance, finding a more suitable shelter. Yet the prospect seemed daunting. It seemed that some of her bravery and bravado had been lost, and replaced with sour skepticism and distrust. She wanted to believe she could withstand anything, that her calloused strength was enough to get her through whatever life might throw at her. But the prospect of stumbling into the home, or even companionship, of another Hadrick made her nauseous. Elphaba also knew she should be seeking out the Resistance, finding a new contact who could communicate she was not, in fact, dead. Yet, in spite of herself, she could not bring herself to do that, either. It seemed that to reconnect would wipe out the memory of Frederick entirely, and she wasn't ready for that.
Once the numbness of Frederick's death had worn off, she realized the extent to which his friendship had affected her. He had peeled away some of the layers of hardness, and exposed her wounds, if just a little. She found she wanted to feel the goodness he saw in her, and pressed on her. The momentary thrill at Peirory's demise had cracked her façade further, showing her she still had a heart underneath the scars.
Like a scab removed prematurely, what was underneath didn't seem ready for the world. The Elphaba under the wounds was new and different and changed. Like fresh, rosy new skin that is painful to the touch, she hurt.
The ache in her chest had also begun the day after Frederick died, and had persisted, ceasing only when she slept. It sometimes overwhelmed her, resonating from deep within and catching her breath. Other times, it was dull, like a heaviness in her stomach. It was a physical pain, which at first surprised her, yet it was entirely different than the nagging pain in her back. It also drug up tears, which pooled behind her eyes and threatened to spill. She cursed them and willed them away, often working up a throbbing headache trying to stem their flow. The only thing that eased the ache was to climb out into the night, clinging precariously to the underbelly of the bridge, and scream. With all that was in her, she wailed until she was exhausted, and then she would sleep some more.
When Malky questioned her, she stumbled over her words until she spit out a description of how she felt, feeling somewhat ashamed.
He looked at her for a long moment, before placing a tiny paw on her emerald hand, "There is no shame in that, my dear. That ache is grief. A person has to grieve, whether they are human or Animal," He thought for a moment before he continued, "Perhaps that is why I was left here, to grieve with you."
The sentiment touched her, but not nearly so much as his word choice.
A person.
Elphaba realized she had not been called a person since Hadrick had stripped her of that title and all its rights. She was a person who could grieve. Though her ability to love, to completely trust, even to forgive, were all in great question, she could grieve. She could, indeed, feel.
She looked Malky straight in the eyes before she spoke, "You're right. You're here to grieve with me. But you are also what I'm fighting for. Your wisdom, your kindness, they are the very essence of why Animals should be saved," She stopped for a moment, "I don't know if I can find my way back into the Resistance, but if fate deals me the chance, I accept."
With that, she swished out into the night to sit, grieving under the stars, but silently this time, with Malky at her side.