Prince of Liars 10
And so Valjean read.
It was not an entirely dry and academic text, being an old soldier's personal account of the American Rebellion, peppered here and there with comments about the people and countryside encountered. Javert listened passively, gazing at the foot of his bed through eyes with heavy lids. The convict's voice, in tone and pace, was not at all unpleasant. Not the sort of song one would expect from a crow, he thought-- gruff, rasping croaks would seem more fitting for a man who had spent life in prison and on the run. Instead there was an almost genteel quality to the words, somehow more suited to a man of breeding and education. Perhaps Javert would need to re-evaluate his notions of criminals and their behavior-- unless of course Valjean was merely better skilled in deception than previously considered.
"Inspector?" the inquiry drew Javert's full attention again.
"Yes?"
"I asked if I should continue."
"Of course." Javert hadn't heard the question, lost in his own thoughts and perhaps lulled by the pleasant tone. "Unless you are tired?"
"Not at all."
A soft smile came briefly to Valjean's lips, unnoticed by the patient. It was strangely comforting to be sitting there, sharing an almost brotherly moment of domesticity. If Javert had not been so injured and incapacitated, such would have been inconceivable. He resumed the recitation, satisfied that their differences had been set aside due to circumstance. The Inspector continued to gaze off without focus, grateful that he was not for the time being harassed by delusions and visions.
The reader was now describing, through the author's experience, certain lush farmlands and the new fertile earth of the former colonies, that seemed to him like a paradise. It was remarked that the whole countryside seemed like an endless garden, and Javert wrinkled his brow as he tried to envision such a place, this America. A place where war had raged, and where no man would go hungry; as much a paradox as man himself.
"We are creatures of endless possibility." The whisper escaped him before he realized it. Valjean stopped reading.
"Inspector?" he asked again.
"Just a thought." Javert rolled his head on the pillow, to face his associate. "How we mortals are full of potential."
A curious statement coming from so strictly bound an imagination. It almost seemed something Valjean would have said, regarding man's connection to the Divine.
"We are that." Jean agreed.
"There is something I have been meaning to ask." The book was closed in preparation for conversation, as Javert diverted his eyes again. "What is this thing, this trial that I am being subjected to?"
Valjean studied the man stretched out on the bed, tucked under blankets and wrapped in bandages. His reply was hushed and almost reverent.
"I'm afraid I don't know."
He was distracted by the morning light as it poured through the panes, illuminating the bed with an almost heavenly glow. The bright light and pale bedcovers created the illusion of an aura around the stark contrast of Javert's black hair. As the patient was not aware of the indiscreet stare, Valjean would not look away. This man who had once reviled him, and had in turn been an object of hate, had been miraculously delivered into his care. The Inspector's wounds were not the only things that needed healing.
There stirred with Valjean the desire to smooth all troubles, straighten all roads and remove all pain from the life of Inspector Javert. The mysterious bond between them had been none of Jean's forging, but he would hold to it tenaciously nonetheless.
The patient had merely nodded slightly at the convict's reply and paused before speaking again.
"Yet you were there." Javert observed. "You-- and countless others--- were there for no other cause than my being there. Surely, there must have been some reason. And then you stepped forward to defend me." He turned his head again, and the convict was forced to look away. "From what?"
"Please. You need to rest. You mustn't trouble yourself about such things now."
"Then when? Be assured, Valjean, if I were not to mention these things for the sake of your comfort, they would still be present in my mind. I thought I would at least provide you with the opportunity to answer."
"As to the charges--" Jean began to pace the room slowly as he spoke. Javert smirked, as it looked like the courtroom diversion of a barrister. "I know only what was discussed in court. There are a multitude of charges against you, brought about by those present, for grievous wrongs done against them in the name of the law."
"That is too ridiculous to comprehend." the Inspector grumbled. "Such thinking is completely backward. They have brought about their own ruin, and that of their…. families ."
"And so a man is fully responsible for the evil that befalls him?"
"Certainly,"
"This includes all men?"
"Of course."
"Then it is by your own law, your own responsibility, you are accused."
Javert frowned. Despite the illogical example, the premise was sound. He could only hope Valjean was clever enough in turning a phrase to likewise entrap the court.
"Is this to be your method of defense, then? Accusation of me?"
"The accusations have already been made. The argument remains, whether or not you should be subject to punishment for crimes committed in the name of your law."
"It is not my law." Javert's tone was calm and steady, and chilling as a result. "It is the law of all men. Each one is subject to its order. Obedience is required, not optional. Stray from the letter in the smallest step, and you might as well be guilty of all." As always, he stated this opinion in the staunch and unwavering belief that his was the only-- and ultimate-- truth.
"Which is the precise thing that has brought you before the judges." Jean presented his side with patience and care. "Your duty gives no room for charity, understanding, pardon---"
"That is the business of the church."
Valjean shook his head, thick locks of hair shifting softly with the motion.
"The church is merely an instrument---"
"Under the direction of the Supreme?" It was that same stale debate as always. "I certainly hope you have a better plan of attack for trial."
Again, the convict shook his head, this time not so much in disagreement as in frustration. Why could Javert not see the greater Law above all others? But wasn't that cause behind all of the present calamity? A blindness to the whole truth and single-minded vision to but a small part had caused a frightening reality to rush in with force. Little wonder he had been seeing things.
"I have promised to defend you against overwhelming evidence." Valjean assured.
"There is no evidence--"
"Let me finish, please. Whether or not you believe there exists any evidence, the fact remains there are a number of people who claim just the opposite."
"Their insanity-- or ignorance-- isn't my--"
"Please!"
Javert was silenced, and once more staring at the foot of his bed.
"None of that is the point, Inspector." Jean's words became more forceful. "You have been called to answer for certain things, and your denial of those things does not change the fact that you were called. Any defense must be made on those grounds and rules that the court decides. One does not survive in a foreign country unless one speaks the language."
There was enough of a pause to convince Javert that the convict had concluded his speech. Only after another moment did he finally speak.
"I see. And by this thinking, if I am to deal with fools, I must become a fool, myself?"
Valjean gave a heavy sigh, and realized it was futile to continue in this fashion. He might lose his temper, or say something to regret if this was to be prolonged. Javert was so firmly set in his ways there would be no swaying him. It would perhaps be better to put space between them for the time being.
"I must see to that dram the doctor prescribed for you."
Javert looked toward the door, in time to see it close in the convict's wake. He gripped the sheets with the realization that he was indeed in a foreign land, and did not want to be left there, alone.