Winding Down the Day
Stephanie
November 12, 2001
Part 1
WARNING: Shounen-ai 1+3
(Rating and warning applies to the overall story)
Not everything is written down in the history books. It is an old saying I had heard long ago, but had never given much thought to until embarking upon this collection of memoirs. For those of us who fought in the Eve Wars, a certain amount of pages are to be expected in our academic journals, in our popular fiction and in our poetry.
For better or worse, those pages are thought by some to have been earned; fought for, paid for in blood and the God given right of all who sacrificed and died in the struggle for peace. Perhaps this is true, or perhaps it is something we, as a whole people, simply need to hear and believe in order to keep going in our daily tasks. Years ago I would have turned my head at such thoughts, and silently remembered the wars as they happened, as we fought them, in my own mind's eye, knowing the truth for what it was. Today, I cannot say that I truly understood such a truth. I cannot look back this day and tell you what was for the good and what was evil or to be despised. The fruit of those wars are only now being discovered and I stand ever amazed at my own thoughts at this strange fruit. This fruit, which for me, juxtaposed those ideals I held so tightly with that of my enemies. This fruit handed to me by him. Only an offering, nothing more or less.
In this chapter, I wish to recite a poem as taught to me by a man I met during the wars, but only grew to know and understand in the first few decades following the last battle for peace. He is not to be found in the text books. He is not to be remembered in the great epics of our time. He is footnoted only as a Gundam pilot during the two Eve Wars. He is in the little things - a turn of a phrase, a look, a lifestyle - that which shapes the things we are to become, but seldom seen. It is too little, too trite to be recorded, but is the essential building blocks for without such a foundation nothing would stand, or be worth standing for.
He is ever with me, ever haunting my thoughts and my actions, and so too the lives of those who called him friend. When the rest of us are gone, his name will disappear completely despite our efforts to share with him our own small portion of immortality. The world has only a limited capacity for what it can remember.
Not everything is written down in the history books. Such thoughts are expressed only in our poetry and read after the generation in which is was written has passed. When it is again safe.
Listen:
Trowa Barton came to me three years after the Mariemaia uprising, or what was to be called the second Eve War. To the exact date, he arrived at my office on the L4 colony of my birth.
He was a sight to see. Almost exactly how I remembered him, only taller. Not really noticeable since our proportionate sizes remained the same. All things being relative, there was no change at all you can say. Not physically.
Trowa, never one to mince words, told me up front that he would like my help in a project concerning both he and his sister Catherine. He told me it would involve money, but not much considering my wealth. He would be grateful for my assistance if I chose to help him in such a matter.
It was all very straight forward and to the point. His sister had a dream of one day quitting her work at the circus, which Trowa explained to me only had a limited life span of a few decades before they would have to quit anyway - if they were lucky - and opening a café of her own somewhere in either France or the United States. It was a moderate dream, nothing extravagant. The wages of circus performers, however, would only buy them enough food and clothing to live on, but not supply much in terms of a retirement savings. He wanted to give his sister her dream, but could not do so without help. He went on to say that he investigated the Preventors, but did not wish to work in a line that might leave Catherine without family.
Besides, he added, it too did not pay enough. Nor did any other job he was qualified to work that did not involve war or violence. He wanted none of that, even at the expense of his sister's dreams. There were other alternatives, and I happened to be the most promising one. He would of course pay me back before he or Catherine would see a profit. Honor prevented anything less than that. Trowa was merely being practical, and I never had a doubt that he had spent some time weighing his options.
"I wish you had come to me sooner, Trowa," I told him. "It's been three years since we've really talked."
"There have been letters," he countered. It was true. Trowa had indeed kept up a correspondence with me over the years in the form of letters. His traveling and long work hours with the circus made actual meetings and phone messages impossible. My own work with my family corporation did not make it easier, and the preparations for my wedding the year before had made me rather inaccessible. Still, I had to admit a disappointment when he was unable to attend the wedding. Of the pilots, only Duo showed and took on the role of best man.
Trowa was on earth at the time, traveling with his job, and I suspect now that he could not afford a price of a ticket that was not paid for by the circus or scientists funding terrorist attacks. With the collapse of the economy during the first years of reconstruction, space flight was neither cheap nor easy. It shames me now that I did not think to send him a ticket.
"Yes, there have been letters," I nodded in agreement. "You could have mentioned it in a letter."
"It didn't seem right to ask you in a letter," he said. I thought on this for a moment. Coming to L4 had been a risk for him. It had certainly cost him a nice chunk of his savings to make it to my colony. This was more to him than following up on a dream of his sister's.
"No, I guess not." I folded my hands behind my back and turned to look out my window, as was my habit with mulling over matters. "It's yours, you know," I said. "Anything you or the others would ever ask. It's yours."
He made not a sound and I turned back to see his reaction, if any. He remained standing in front of my desk expressionless, waiting, and in that moment I wish the desk were gone, it made it seem so impersonal, when before it was my security.
"Would you like help in setting up the business, or would you just like the money," I asked.
He gestured to me with his palm extended out and said, "All your input and help, would be greatly appreciated." And I understood that it was not merely a matter of a business transaction for him, but an acceptance of friendship and an offer of his own in return.
I stepped out in front of the desk and took his hand, accepting what I know was not something he gave away lightly. It took a little dignity to gain some. "I would not recommend France," I said. "The climate isn't right for new entrepreneurs. Perhaps the United States would be better. I know of a place that would offer a flavor of France and Spain, while still being thoroughly American."
Trowa clasped his hand around mine and shook it. "And where is that?"
"The city of New Orleans," I said. "It's an odd place. The whole country, actually. You'll need to speak fluent English and they still haven't adopted the metric system. They aren't ones for change, but I guess they have a certain charm about them."
Trowa backed away and contemplated that for a moment. "I know," he said. "I've been there before, remember?"
"Well, yes, but that was during the war, I don't recall you interacting with the local populations much," I reminded him in polite banter.
"No. .. no, I suppose I didn't. We shall settle in New Orleans then," he said with a nod. His trust in my opinion was so complete in those early days. "I know English and I can learn their measurement system, I suppose." He sat down in the leather chair, crossing one leg over the other and placing his hands on his knee. "I think Catherine will like it."
"Have you given any thought to a name yet?" I asked, sure that Catherine had the actual café detailed down to the croissant recipe she would use.
He nodded and smiled a little. Then he told me. If I agreed to help them with the financial end, Catherine insisted on naming the place after me. I think Trowa knew I would be bit self-conscious about it, so a name was chosen that would honor me, while not actually referring directly to me or my family. "We decided on Café Q," he said. "And I would like it if we could invite the other pilots to the grand opening."
I smiled. "Of course we'll invite them! I insist!"
"Good," he said.
"Have you seen any of the others since the war?" I asked.
"Just Duo a few times," he replied. "He travels the Earth Sphere now with his art and. . . I think he might call it `social activism'. A push for a single world economy, I think."
I laughed a little. "Yes, I've heard about it. I printed this news clipping the other day." I picked up the paper from my desk and handed it to him. Trowa looked it over for a minute before handing it back.
"I've never understood that sign he carries. What does he mean by `The last war virgin'?"
I shrugged and set the paper back down. "I'm not sure. I assumed it was some sort of American idiom. I suppose we can both find out once we get to New Orleans."
He nodded and stood. "Thank you," he said. "For everything."
Christmas Eve, 199 AC, was to begin the next twenty-seven years of our friendship.
