Chapter XXIX
Enjolras is dead… Enjolras is dead. He's dead. Oh God, he's dead! He's dead! I waited too long, and now he's dead! It's my fault! I killed him! He's dead!
Grantaire suddenly raised his eyes and looked wildly around him. He saw the gendarme looking at him, the many face of the people around him, the dead man's body, which was still dangling from the noose from which it hung. He did not know any of these things. To him, they were shadows, black figures forming out of a world of darkness, demons swarming around him in the pits of hell, the world of never-ending torment of which he was trapped in.
Grantaire suddenly felt the word caving in around him. The air, itself, seemed to suffocate him. He could not breathe. All at once, his heart was racing, pounding in his chest, hammering against his ribs, beating so fast that it was painfully. His lungs struggled to pull in air, but it seemed that all the air had turned to poison and when he tried to breathe it closed in around his lungs, constricting them like a snake and making it impossible. He could feel his blood pulsing through his veins, hear it pounding in his head, feel it going cold in his flesh. His limbs went weak, and a strange sensation came over his legs, as if they wanted to collapse and run at the same time.
The feeling, the life drained out of his hands, and he watched the paper slipped out of his grasp, slide away from his fingers, and sunk to the ground. The gendarme rose to his feet and said something, but Grantaire did not hear him.
He turned away, desperately looking around, like a frightened animal surrounded by hunters, madly trying to find a way to safety. Everywhere he looked there were faces staring at him, but he did not know any of them. He did not know anything around him. He was alone, trapped in a world where everything was dark and ominous. There was no happiness and no goodness. There was no light, but only darkness.
Before he was aware of what he was doing, Grantaire was moving, pushing through the crowd, desperate to get away. He was trapped. He had to get away. Everyone around against him. He had to get away…
"Monsieur, are you alright?" a young woman asked, seeing Grantaire stumble past her, his face pale and terrified, like someone who does not understand anything that was going on around him.
Grantaire did not answer her. He did not hear her. He pushed past her and past the rest of the people. He broke free of the crowd and started running. He did not know where he was going; only that he had to get away. There was something terrible that he was running from. This was a monster and a murder. Something dark, hideous, and disgusting, so repulsively distorted and deformed by sin. This was a creature of which had come forth from the black oblivion of hell. This thing was so wretched and disgusting that Grantaire was scared to look upon it.
What was this terrible creature from which he was running? At first, he was not sure himself. He could feel the presence of this terrible being all around him, like a demon haunting him, and his first impulse was to run and get away from it. But as he ran, this devil followed him, tormenting him still. Then, he realized that this was something that he could not escape. No matter how hard he tried, he could never escape. He was doomed to this fate for the rest of his life. This creature, this demon, this devil, which he was running from, was himself. It was his own soul.
The burden of guilt is a terrible load to carry. It weighs heavily on the mind, and heart, and soul. It pounds and hammers at the mind more terribly than a storm that wrecks and destroys all life; it pierces the heart with blades more painful than daggers; and it will tear the soul apart until it becomes shriveled, and dark, and weak. Even as time elapses, it will never go away, but remain always a phantom looming in the mind, always tormenting and haunting he who bares this burden. He who bares this burden must bare it for the rest of his life and until his death.
Grantaire ran down the empty streets, running as fast as his legs could carry him, making every turn he could find, as if trying his hardest to get away from some terrible being that pursued him. He had to get away… He kept running, never slowing, never stopping. He kept running from what he could not escape. He knew that it was over, that he had failed Enjolras, that he could not escape. But still, he kept running.
Marius pushed through he crowed of people and ran up to the place in front of the desk, where Grantaire had stood moments before. The gendarme was on his feet saying somethin, but Marius was not listening. He looked down and saw the list of names laying facedown on the stone ground, slowly rippling with the wind. Marius snatched it up and looked down at the list. The first name he read was "86592, Enjolras." This name had already been crossed off.
Marius felt as if lightning has struck his heart, and a terrible reverberation like thunder shook through his body. A deep feeling of emptiness filled him, flowing in like the tide. But as the tide comes in, it is only a short while before it goes back out again.
Enjolras is dead… These words came into his mind, and at first came, they came to him as a shock. But after the first moment, this did not seem like such a shock, after all. Enjolras was gone, but hadn't he already been gone since the rebellion? Enjolras was dead, but hadn't they all been dead since the day they decided to rebel? It was only a matter of seconds before the shock faded away, and his heart began to throb with sadness as understanding set in. Enjolras was dead. He would never see him again. It was over.
Tears began to surface in Marius eyes, but they did not spill out. He suddenly thought about Grantaire. He had lost Enjolras, but he still had one friend left. He could not lose him, too. He suddenly raised his head and looked around. The gendarme, wearing a very angry face, was saying something to him, but he was not listening. His eyes darted around the street, searching through the ocean of faces around him. He could not find Grantaire.
"Grantaire?" Marius let the paper fall limply out of his hands as he turned his back on the gendarme and started forward, his neck stretched and his head raised as he tried to see over the crowd, moving at a fast walk, at first, which quickly changed into a jog, and then a run. "Grantaire?" Marius called out again, raising his voice a bit. He pushed through the crowd, watching the wave of faces pass by. Grantaire was no where. He was gone. He must have left. He left without Marius!
"Grantaire!" Marius ran broke away from the crowd, past the many people who filled this space before the gallows, and out onto the empty streets. He started running as fast as he could, though he had no idea which way to go. "Grantaire!" he shouted as he ran. There was no answered. He yelled in a loud voice, not thinking or worrying about who might hear him. "Grantaire! Grantaire, where are you?! GRANTAIRE!" But there was never an answer.
The streets were dark and empty. The sky was growing blacker and Paris was getting darker as night fell over the city. Rain was falling again. It started gentle, so that Marius barely noticed it. But it was scarily a minute before the skies pored all of their water out onto the earth. The rain fell heavily and thick. It seemed to form a barrier around Marius, disabling his vision. He could barely see through it. But still, he kept running. Raindrops pelted against him, soaking his body, and slapping his face. When they hit him, it was like being struck with a tiny bullet of ice, painful and cold. Bitter water began to soak through his clothing and he shivered. He could hear thunder brewing in the clouds overhead, rolling in like waves hitting the shore, but deeper and more ominous.
His lungs were burning, screaming for air; his heart was hammering painfully in his chest, and his pulse pounding in his temples. His legs began to slow and he came to a stop. He stood in the middle of the empty street, panting and his head swirling as he struggled to see through the storm. He raised his eyes and looked up at the sky. Flashes of lightning could be seen flickering within the grey clouds, like the ominous sparks that emit when coals are thrown into the furnaces of perdition. As more coals are added, the fire grows larger and stronger. Marius could see that the storm was only about to begin.
Despair began to close in on him, like the dark clouds that were closing in over him. He lowered his eye and looked down the empty street ahead of him. He could see nothing but rain, and, though the dark veil that it created, the vacant streets. He could hear nothing but the pounding of his own heart and the blood pulsing through his veins, his own heavy breath as his lungs panted, and the roll of thunder overhead, which was growing louder by the moments. He was alone.
He would never find Grantaire tonight. It would be close to impossible to find him at any time, but in this storm there was no chance at all. He could have to go home,—no, not home, but somewhere else—get out of the storm, and then look for Grantaire in the morning once the rain and darkness had cleared.
He let out a heavy breath, and any hope he had left he seemed to exhale with it. He opened his lips and made one last attempt to call his friend. "Grantaire! Grantaire, it's me! Grantaire, answer me! Grantaire!"
Marius could hear his own voice echoing through the streets, and coming back at him as if to taunt him. There was no answer. Marius was alone. Enjolras was dead. Grantaire was gone. It was over. He had failed. He had lost everything.
Marius closed his eyes and bowed his head. The tears that had been in his eyes all of this time finally slipped out and rolled down his cheeks, as quiet sobs escaped his lips. His eyes still shut, he opened his lips and whispered, "Grantaire, please… Please! You're all I have left…"
But Grantaire could not hear him. He was far away, sitting alone in a dark corner, leaning against the stone wall of a small building at the very end of a narrow and dark alley, the windows of which were completely black. He sat completely unsheltered from the rain, which fell heavily upon him, but he made no attempt to get out of it. He did not bow his head to shelter his face or pull up his hood to cover his head.
He sat there much the way that Enjolras used to sit curled up in the corner of his cell, silent, still, and alone. His face was expressionless, his eyes empty. A dark shadow had fallen upon his face, turning it cold and grey, as if the grasp of death which had taken Enjolras was now ascending upon Grantaire, taking him, as well.
Grantaire's eyes gazed lifelessly into the rain, watching it fall. The rain fell on him, hitting his face, rolling down his cheeks, soaking his hair, his clothes, and his body. It was like ice upon his flesh, chilling his body, his blood, his bones, but he was already to cold to shiver. So he sat there as cold and lifeless as the dead man. The only thing that would set the two apart was the tears that streamed down Grantaire's face, mixing with the rain as they rolling down his cheeks.
Grantaire felt so empty. It was as if his soul had left him, and now his body was trapped in this woeful world, hollow and barren. For a long time, he could feel nothing. Shock numbed and paralyzed him, so that he could do nothing but sit there inertly as the same words repeated themselves in his head.
Enjolras is dead. Enjolras is dead. He's gone. He's dead. Its over. He's dead. It's my fault he's dead. I waited too long. I failed him. I killed him.
Lightning split the sky, flashing like the spark of the muskets, and thunder roared, exploding like the eruption of the cannons that fired at the barricade. It struck like an earthquake in the sky that shook all three worlds, heaven, earth, and hell.
This strike of lightning, this crack of thunder, the images of the barricade that flashed through his mind when he saw this light and heard this sound, suddenly awoke Grantaire from this world of lifelessness. The numbness of the shock was gone and now he could feel the pain. It was terrible. Worse than any pain that he had felt before, worse than even the pain of being shot. He felt bullets piercing his flesh, daggers stabbing his heart, a pair of black claws ripping apart his soul.
Grantaire doubled over, clutching at his chest, where the pain was worst, screaming out in anger and in pain. The thunder roared, the lightning broke the sky, the rain fell, Grantaire screamed, yelling at the top of his voice. "GOD DAMN! DAMN! DAMN IT! NO! Enjolras, no!"
That was all. This sudden burst of anger only lasted for a few seconds. He screamed and cursed, and in only a few moments, this had drained him of all of the energy and life that he had left. He could not be angry any longer, and the blazing fire that had burned within him moments before had gone out. All of his anger drained out of him, and only sadness remained. This was even worse.
He leaned over, burying his face in his knees, clutching his chest, and his sides, and his stomach where sharp pains of grief stabbed him again and again. Tears burst out of his eyes and streamed down his face, as if the dams had just been broken and released the flow of the rivers. He wept terribly and bitterly. Sobs shook his body, his insides quivered and his heart trembled. He breathed rapidly with broken, cutoff gasps for air, his lungs shaking with the rest of his body. His lips were open and constant sounds of weeping pored out of them.
Enjolras is dead. He thought these words again, and they were like a bullet to his heart. It is my fault he died. If only I went in sooner! He might have been alive yesterday… But I waited too long, and now he is dead. This is my fault! I killed him! I failed him!
"Enjolras…" Grantaire opened his red, tear-filled eyes and looked up at the stormy sky. He did not know where Enjolras was now. If the soul died with the body, or if it lived on after. But he remembered that Enjolras believed in a God and a place, a Paradise, where a man could live after he died. If that was what Enjolras believed in, what Enjolras wanted, then Grantaire knew it had to be true. Enjolras had to be there, in that place where he would be free.
Grantaire did not know if Enjolras, wherever he was, would still be able to hear him in this treacherous world of the living. But he spoke anyway. Speaking though sobs, he opened his lips and whispered, "Enjolras, I'm sorry… I promised that I would save you, but I failed you. I'm sorry! I failed you... I tried but I couldn't save you…" More tears burst out of his eyes and sobs shook him so violently that he could barely speak. "Enjolras, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…"
That was all he could manage or bare to say. He lowered his head back to his knees and buried his face, weeping more bitterly and harder than before.
Enjolras was dead. He was gone. It was over. He had made a promise to Enjolras, but he had failed. Now, Enjolras was dead. And all was lost.
