Comment: "Requiem", and yes, it's angsty, but it has parts I quite like.
5. Promise
She's sleeping. I'm glad now that I brought this book with me. It listens so patiently to my story. It's nice to have a friend. Especially one that is so quiet.
Why do I have the feeling I'm writing the last chapter of this story? If anything, this should be a beginning. We've been together, and we've done all those things, and whispered all those words that no one should ever know about, not even the best of friends. When I said to her "there is so much more than this", what I wanted was to set her free, to let her know it was all right to let go of all this, of me. Again, predictable little moron that I am. Who am I to set her free? Do I posess her? Do I even want to?
Oh, she would have had all the right to slap me in the face, to laugh at me, scorn me. But she did nothing of the sort. She was sick and small in my arms, she turned to me and said "no there isn't. There isn't".
There isn't. Nothing more important than us, than this, this night, our bodies under this blanket, our hands joined, our eyes seeing each other. Now there is silence in me, it seems like there is nothing more to say. I know we are here for an important reason, we have to find out what happened to those people, important revelations are about to made, I'm sure, and yet... what do I care? I have what I wanted. Her body there, on the bed. I only have to strech out my hand to touch her, and if I do, she will stir, maybe open her eyes just a little bit and smile when she sees me, then go back to sleep. What more could I possibly want?
In Goethe's "Faust", Mephistopheles' bet with God is about making Faust say: "Moment, rest, you are so beautiful!" If, using all his evil power, all the temptations of the flesh and the mind he can think of, he can offer Faust one moment he wants to live in forever, his soul will be damned. Well, this is the moment I want to live in forever, why do I feel as if my soul was damned? When did I seal this pact with the devil? Why don't I deserve this happiness?
I am restless. I should be sleeping, but I don't want to miss this, every second is slicing away a piece from my life. I have to fight the urge to wake her, to tell her to dress herself (quietly, quietly, lest we should waken the shadows and furies that are chasing us), and then run away together, just run, far, far away, somewhere where no one can find us. A childish notion, I know, yet a very powerful one. To fight it, I have opened this book, trying to conjure the evil spirits. The magic of words to counteract whatever spell has been laid upon us.
And if I have to promise, promise I will. What do I promise?
I will be good.
I will be true.
I will love her forever
I will try to make her happy.
I will marry her, and buy her a house, and we'll have a dog, or two, and a horse, if she wants one. Oh God please, all this I promise, just don't let it happen, whatever it is that you have in store for us, don't let it happen. Let her sleep peacefully, let us lead a completely fruitless investigation tomorrow, let us return to Washington and forget about alien invasions and spaceships and abductions.
Now I'm writing myself into a frenzy. I don't mean half of what I write. I don't want the investigation to be fruitless, I do care about alien invasions and spaceships and abductions, and so does she, if only because our future can't begin if our past hasn't been concluded. And then there's the tiny detail of the destiny of humanity and all that. Plus the very obvious notion that the past can *never* reach its conclusion, since it is constantly chasing us in the form of that bitch, the present.
So, what I *should* do is lay myself down beside her and catch a few hours of sleep, there's a long day ahead of us. But I already know that I won't do that. I will lay beside her with my eyes open, stare at the ceiling and then back at her and then back at the ceiling, until the sun creeps under the curtains.
Heaven help us.
5. Promise
She's sleeping. I'm glad now that I brought this book with me. It listens so patiently to my story. It's nice to have a friend. Especially one that is so quiet.
Why do I have the feeling I'm writing the last chapter of this story? If anything, this should be a beginning. We've been together, and we've done all those things, and whispered all those words that no one should ever know about, not even the best of friends. When I said to her "there is so much more than this", what I wanted was to set her free, to let her know it was all right to let go of all this, of me. Again, predictable little moron that I am. Who am I to set her free? Do I posess her? Do I even want to?
Oh, she would have had all the right to slap me in the face, to laugh at me, scorn me. But she did nothing of the sort. She was sick and small in my arms, she turned to me and said "no there isn't. There isn't".
There isn't. Nothing more important than us, than this, this night, our bodies under this blanket, our hands joined, our eyes seeing each other. Now there is silence in me, it seems like there is nothing more to say. I know we are here for an important reason, we have to find out what happened to those people, important revelations are about to made, I'm sure, and yet... what do I care? I have what I wanted. Her body there, on the bed. I only have to strech out my hand to touch her, and if I do, she will stir, maybe open her eyes just a little bit and smile when she sees me, then go back to sleep. What more could I possibly want?
In Goethe's "Faust", Mephistopheles' bet with God is about making Faust say: "Moment, rest, you are so beautiful!" If, using all his evil power, all the temptations of the flesh and the mind he can think of, he can offer Faust one moment he wants to live in forever, his soul will be damned. Well, this is the moment I want to live in forever, why do I feel as if my soul was damned? When did I seal this pact with the devil? Why don't I deserve this happiness?
I am restless. I should be sleeping, but I don't want to miss this, every second is slicing away a piece from my life. I have to fight the urge to wake her, to tell her to dress herself (quietly, quietly, lest we should waken the shadows and furies that are chasing us), and then run away together, just run, far, far away, somewhere where no one can find us. A childish notion, I know, yet a very powerful one. To fight it, I have opened this book, trying to conjure the evil spirits. The magic of words to counteract whatever spell has been laid upon us.
And if I have to promise, promise I will. What do I promise?
I will be good.
I will be true.
I will love her forever
I will try to make her happy.
I will marry her, and buy her a house, and we'll have a dog, or two, and a horse, if she wants one. Oh God please, all this I promise, just don't let it happen, whatever it is that you have in store for us, don't let it happen. Let her sleep peacefully, let us lead a completely fruitless investigation tomorrow, let us return to Washington and forget about alien invasions and spaceships and abductions.
Now I'm writing myself into a frenzy. I don't mean half of what I write. I don't want the investigation to be fruitless, I do care about alien invasions and spaceships and abductions, and so does she, if only because our future can't begin if our past hasn't been concluded. And then there's the tiny detail of the destiny of humanity and all that. Plus the very obvious notion that the past can *never* reach its conclusion, since it is constantly chasing us in the form of that bitch, the present.
So, what I *should* do is lay myself down beside her and catch a few hours of sleep, there's a long day ahead of us. But I already know that I won't do that. I will lay beside her with my eyes open, stare at the ceiling and then back at her and then back at the ceiling, until the sun creeps under the curtains.
Heaven help us.