Deity
Chapter 2 – җéртва
җéртва – dzertva (dzyehrt-vah) - victim
Many thanks go to Kokuei no Onchuu, a dear friend who helped me out with her knowledge of anatomy and whatnot. -love-
Rehearsal to Ourselves
Of a Withdrawn Delight–
Affords a Bliss like Murder–
Omnipotent–Acute–
We will not drop the Dirk–
Because we love the Wound
The Dirk Commemorates–Itself
Reminds Us that we.died.
- Emily Dickinson
-бог-боль-бог-боль-бог-боль-бог-боль-бог-боль-бог-боль-бог-боль-бог-боль-бог-боль-бог-боль-бог-бог-боль-бог-боль-бог-боль-бог-боль-бог- боль-бог-
It was early November, but the Indian Summer that had come in the night before made it feel like August, with a drowsy stickiness in the air and an unusual heat that seemed heavy in Sasuke's lungs. He leaned back against the seat of the car and tilted his head a little so the wind coming in the half-open window could slap against his cheeks and rush over his forehead to play with his bangs. Out the window and in the distance, he could see the large metal frameworks that supported swooping black hydro lines rising up from the ground. The speaker near his ear played quietly, though he could catch bits of song beneath the sound of conversation coming from the two front seats.
His brother's laughter…
"So, Sasuke?"
He opened his eyes as he heard his name, blinking twice before the picture found focus.
Shisui smiled amiably at him in the rear-view mirror in between glances at the road. "How's fourth grade going for you?"
Sasuke shrugged. "Okay…"
"Just okay?"
"Kind of boring."
"Fourth grade is always boring," Shisui said, and Itachi nodded in agreement.
"Never any fun."
"What did we do in fourth grade anyways?"
"I can't remember…"
"Right now we're doing a lot of math. Triangles… uh, Geometry and that sort of thing." Sasuke added, quietly.
"Triangles." Itachi rolled his eyes.
Shisui laughed at this and began recounting something that had happened in math class to him as a kid (something to do with a substitute teacher and glue), and Sasuke smiled, pleased with his contribution.
Of all the many places in the world, the best place – his favourite place – was in the backseat of Shisui's car, with Itachi and Shisui in the front seats. Shisui had only gotten the car a few months ago, but already it had already become routine for Shisui to drive the brothers home from school, although the three would often end up cruising aimlessly around town for however long they wanted. Itachi and Shisui talked about all sorts of things and listened to the radio; Shisui sometimes sang along, tunelessly, while Itachi fingers tapped out furious rhythms on his thighs. They did not ignore Sasuke, or treat him as if he were just another incompetent child like a lot of people did. Instead, they included him in the conversation and would sometimes even buy him ice cream (strawberry, his favourite) if none of them wanted to go home yet and just driving had gotten a little boring.
Sasuke suspected it was Itachi's favourite place too; it was, after all, the only place he would find his brother laughing and smiling without restraint. It was so very different than 'home'. Besides, their home was…
He put his thoughts on a semi-permanent halt as he laughed along with Shisui's story, soon becoming caught up in his cousin's light-hearted words. Shisui was all of sixteen years old, a year older than Itachi. He looked fairly similar as well, though his face was a bit more square (lines imprinted from his many Cheshire grins), his hair shorter and lighter, and his body bigger.
A book was suddenly dropped into Sasuke's lap, causing him to startle. Thick and slightly tattered at the edges, it seemed familiar; Sasuke thought he had seen it on Itachi's large bookshelf sometime earlier.
"Put that in my bag, would you?" said Itachi quietly, motioning to the knapsack sitting beside Sasuke in the seat.
"Add that one to the list of books we've told you to read when you're older," Shisui called back.
"Another?" Sasuke asked, feigning exasperation, and they all laughed again. The car jolted as they went over a slight bump in the road, and Sasuke's knees knocked against the back of the seat.
"So, what did you think of it?" Itachi asked Shisui.
"It was pretty good," commented Shisui. "I didn't like that one character though, what's-her-name… she bothered me. Stupid bitch, always nagging. Other than that, I thought it was great, as far as that sort of book goes. I liked that whole part at the lake, for sure, I didn't see that coming. The whole thing went along really fast and had some great dialogue…"
Itachi smiled slyly and rested his chin in his hands, raising his eyebrows at Shisui. "And the ending?"
"Seemed kind of spontaneous, but it worked."
The other shook his head and lowered his voice a little. "It was completely unrealistic, if you ask me."
"Oh?"
A falter, a small flicker of doubt could be seen in Shisui's expression (just a minute detail, but then, it is details of that sort, the peculiar and morbid, that make it beautiful, isn't it? So human of you…). Itachi had noticed. Sasuke, who was skimming the back of the book and reading along mutely at the time, didn't.
"Nii-san? What does…" he squinted, "ver-ti-gi-nous mean?"
"Dizzying," his brother replied curtly, then turned back to Shisui. "You didn't think so?"
"Well, I-"
"Such a silly way to kill yourself…" Itachi's voice dropped again to piano, reverberating lowly and incoherently to all but Shisui (who could hear painfully clearly, every syllable). "If you're going to do it with pills, you swallow them slowly, one at time. With vodka, preferably. If you swallow them all at once so recklessly you'll probably throw them all up. You know, companies have started making them with coating so if you take too many, you'll vomit. Clever, eh? But your stomach will detect the toxin if there's enough and you'll end up purging anyways.
"Strangulation without intent to sever the spinal cord is silly too, and messy. If you're going to hang yourself, make sure you break the neck. And slitting your wrists… That's mostly practice, for those not serious about it. They're usually found before they die, and its murder to rehabilitate those tendons. If you really wanted to do the whole 'bloody bracelet' deal, it would be faster to slit vertically along that vein, though that still takes a while and is quite untidy." With a pale fingernail Itachi traced up the length of his arm, where a pale green vein could be seen traveling up beneath the skin like a trapped vine. "But if you really wanted to die, you should cut the vein on your shoulder, though it's a bit hard to manoeuvre, or on your thigh; arteries everywhere, you can't tourniquet it, it doesn't clot and it bleeds fast. The jugular in your throat," he gestured a slitting motion across the paper white of his neck, "works well too. You would go much quicker those ways…
"Though with that jugular, it's easier to take the whole head off, which is where guns-"
"Stop it," Shisui hissed.
There was a bout of quiet (Sasuke turned another page in the book, not listening), before Shisui laughed. It was not his usual laugh, which was carefree, loud and contagious. No, this one was tempered, sounding not quite forced but nervous. His fingers tightened on the wheel.
"You know, you really scare me sometimes, Itachi…"
"I know."
"Then why do you keep doing it?"
"Because it's fun?" Itachi suggested, and his smile widened. It was hard to tell if the dialogue was playful or serious.
"You have a sick sense of fun," the elder mumbled, and it was Itachi's turn to laugh.
A strained silence crept in. Sasuke figured he should say something, but could not think of anything at all. The few words of the conversation he had managed to catch made little (if perverse) sense. At that point, they were three blocks from the house the brothers lived in, a large house with an even larger yard situated on the edges of a subdivision. Shisui's family lived somewhere in the middle of the labyrinth of nearly identical houses, only a bike-ride away.
"Your Mom's still gardening?" Shisui remarked as they pulled up to the house. Mikoto, bent over in the flowerbed on the front yard, looked up and waved cheerily at them. Shisui waved back.
"Some of her flowers died from the frost last week," Itachi explained. "She's probably potting them and putting them indoors before the Indian Summer finishes and it's too cold…. Sasuke, can you get my bag? Thanks."
Sasuke lifted his brother's backpack, slipping the book inside quickly without finishing the sentence he was halfway through, and pushed the bag through the space between the front two seats. It was much heavier than his own, filled to the brim with textbooks and that sort of thing. Itachi, though 15, had already managed to work his way into grade 12 and was still passing with some of the best grades his high school had seen in its entire history, and balanced various sports and other things along with that. Some called him an overachiever – Itachi would usually say it was just enough to keep him busy.
"Thank for the ride," said Sasuke as he hopped out of the car.
"No problem, kiddo," Shisui said after him, then to Itachi, "I'm picking you up Thursday for football practice, right?"
Itachi nodded, smiled. There were another few seconds of silence, this one not awkward and dragged but pushing forwards, and then Itachi was stepping out of the car and onto the pavement, giving a small wave goodbye.
Shisui drove two blocks, stopped, and brought down his forehead to crash against the wheel.
-бог-боль-бог-боль-бог-боль-бог-боль-бог-боль-бог-боль-бог-боль-бог-боль-бог-боль-бог-боль-бог-бог-боль-бог-боль-бог-боль-бог-боль-бог-боль-бог-
Home.
What a word that was.
And perhaps it was just that, then – nothing but a word. Words, of course, were just sounds with meaning tacked onto them to create language. They were then categorized and given rules, and proper usage. "Home" in another language could mean something else entirely.
Usually attached to the word were pictures of houses and families, with a sort of warmth and comfort that can be found nowhere else. Groups of people smiling out from picture frames; people that loved each other and enjoyed life with a passion, or maybe just strangers kept together by blood and shared memories (secrets), and nothing else.
Sounds of a grand piano lilted from the living room and spread itself through the house in thin, sweet layers, sinking into the wallpaper and the flowers embroidered onto the carpet. The tune was pleasant and upbeat, right hand playing long runs of melody without a second's hesitation or a wrong note. It slowed for a bit before picking up again and waltzing off towards the ending, something darker hinted at in the now pounding harmonies that faded off into the finale. Then, only the steady ticking of the metronome.
It was a minute or so after the second has ended that Itachi finally pulled his hands away from the keys, the bench creaking as he shifted his weight backwards. He flexed his fingers one at a time, feeling each muscles stretch and his tendons tighten as he unfurled his fists. Turning off the metronome, he glanced at the clock, and then let his fingers drift back to the piano, picking a tune out of the air.
Sasuke grinned to himself as the music reached the slightly cluttered kitchen table. Bored of his videogames, he had come down for a snack and ended up staying to listen to Itachi playing for a few minutes that quickly turned into an eagerly spent forty. Despite and unable to help himself, Sasuke found that he was humming along (it was infectious). The song was his favourite of all pieces he had ever heard, one he often begged Itachi to play.
"He hasn't played that one in a while…" Mikoto murmured from the kitchen sink. She twisted the tap and the sound of gushing water against dishes muffled the piano, suds billowing up to lap at the counter. "You've been quiet today, Sasuke, is something the matter?"
Sasuke stopped humming.
"No. I'm just listening, that's all…"
"You sure?"
"Yes, Mom," he said. "Nothing at all." And then to change the subject: "What's for dinner?"
She shrugged. "I'm not sure. I've been outside almost all day, so I haven't thought about it. But your father should be home in a bit, I'll ask him, maybe. Well, what do you want?"
Sasuke paused to think. "Spaghetti."
"Spaghetti sounds great."
Both looked up to find Itachi now standing on the linoleum, playing idly with one of the chimes Mikoto had hung from a shelf by the door. Sasuke had hardly noticed that the piano had gone silent and the sudden quiet was overwhelming (empty).
"I think I have some." Mikoto opened the first cupboard, shut it, and then opened the second. "We do. Spaghetti it is then, boys."
Itachi was gone as quickly as he had come into the kitchen, his footsteps so light they were almost soundless. His books were still sitting on the piano, and after glancing at them quickly, Sasuke found himself tempted to sit down and play. He had taken piano for a while, but hadn't been very good at it (No, not at all – horrible, actually, he was completely terrible and it was a waste of time and money to be spent on him when he had no talent whatsoever, not like his brother, no, not like his brother, no, no!).
Sasuke decided to go to his room instead, and stayed there until dinner was ready at seven, as it was every night. And every night they would sit, his Father at the head of the table with a glass half-full of wine, his Mother on the right. Itachi would sit opposite her, and then Sasuke on the end (after he had gotten out the cutlery and napkins; that was his job). Sometimes they would say prayer, but this night was not one of those nights and they started eating right away. The lack of conversation was, of course, attributed to the fact that their mouths were all full of food.
Sasuke was careful with his eating habits, almost able to feel his Father's eyes inspecting and judging every detail of him. He kept the napkin within a quick hand's reach, fully aware he was a little messy with his food. Sauce, a dark orange-red, was spread over the plate and the noodles wove through it like a mess of lifeless worms. He swallowed them nonetheless. He knew from experience, it would not be smiled upon to leave a large amount of food on his plate with such a feeble an excuse as 'I'm not hungry'.
"Itachi," Fugaku said eventually, "Have you gotten your University applications from the school yet?"
Itachi continued twirling his spaghetti with his fork, occasionally taking a bite of the meal. "Yes, actually, I picked them up yesterday… I wanted to look at the brochures myself before-"
"We'll discuss it tomorrow night," Fugaku cut in. "After your piano lesson. You have practiced, haven't you?"
Sometimes, questions attain habits where they start taking the form of statements. This one came as an accusation.
Itachi stared at his plate.
"Yes, Father."
"As I'd expected." There was something rather satisfactory in the grin covered by the rim of his glittering wine glass.
Sasuke (not "listening") wiped a little smear of sauce from his chin.
-бог-боль-бог-боль-бог-боль-бог-боль-бог-боль-бог-боль-бог-боль-бог-боль-бог-боль-бог-боль-бог-бог-боль-бог-боль-бог-боль-бог-боль-бог-боль-бог-
Home.
What a place…
Even when looking back on it years later, Sasuke could remember that it took him fifteen steps to get from his bedroom to the doorway of his brother's, and twenty-one to the bathroom they shared at the end of the hall. The hallway was unlit save the light that peeked through cracks beneath doors and came up the staircase from the room below in a pale flood. It wasn't late, only about 8:30, but it felt like it was later for some reason and every noise he made seemed to stand out. Sasuke had taken six cautious steps of those fifteen when the floor creaked behind him a ways.
"Sasuke."
He turned around promptly at his Father's voice, the binder and book in his arms now pressed to his chest and his feet frozen in place. Fugaku looked him over from the doorway of the bedroom he and Mikoto shared, and then took a few steps out. His gait was commanding, making Sasuke flinch. Just that critical stare, just the way his name was said, just the way…
"I was…" Sasuke tried to force his body to relax a little from the minute scare. "I needed some help with my English homework, so… I was going to ask Nii-san."
Fugaku's eyebrows crinkled a little, the chiaroscuro of his face shifting.
"Your brother is busy, Sasuke. You know that."
"I-"
"He's working very hard right now," Fugaku went on, "to keep up his averages for University. You'll have to work just as hard if not harder, when you get to where he's at, Sasuke, and you need to respect that. I doubt he really has the time to help you out with your homework; it would just be a burden to him. Besides, why does a smart boy like you need help on his homework anyways? You shouldn't need help. Surely you weren't having too much trouble…"
"N-no," said Sasuke, all too quickly. "I was just… checking the one question…. Sorry."
It sounded so small and quiet, and weak coming from his lips. What was the word? Pathetic. Yes, that was it. That word he knew the meaning of very well.
"If you need help, ask your Mother or myself in the future. I believe I've told you that before, Sasuke. I don't want to have to tell you again. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Father."
As his parent walked past at a certain distance of almost dangerous closeness – the rustling of clothing – Sasuke found his eyes squeezed tightly shut (those aren't tears, I'm not crying, I'm not crying, I'm not!) and his hands clutching his books hard until he heard his Father reach the bottom of the staircase. Only then he-
"Sasuke?"
Itachi was standing in the hallway now, in the rectangle of light cast by the open door. Music, this time coming from a stereo, was drifting out. Electric guitars and poetry – it was the CD Shisui got him for his birthday earlier that year, Sasuke recalled. He tried again to think of something to say, but ended up biting his lips shut instead.
"Are you alright?" Itachi asked, then laughed, "I sound like Mom, don't I?" and sighed, "Look, if you want help, I-"
"No," said Sasuke, now composed. "I don't really want to… I don't need any help, it's alright."
"Well, even if you don't," Itachi said, "do you want to come work in my room? I'd enjoy some company."
Rocking back on his heels, Sasuke tried to make it look like he had to stop and think about it.
"Okay. Um, thank you."
Itachi shook his head. "Don't thank me."
"But usually you don't let me…"
"Well, maybe I'm just in a good mood tonight," he suggested. And it was a lie, but neither minded if they knew. As an afterthought, Itachi began, "You know, Sasuke… it's… you…. Oh, never mind. Just come in." He reached out an arm to his brother once he was close enough and mussed his hair a little (Sasuke made a face at him), then moved his arm down to Sasuke's shoulder and squeezed. Just a little, but tightly.
