Author's note: So, chapter three. As usual, thank you all those who have replied. That you have stated the reason why you like the story is in itself the best reward I can get from writing and publishing, and I am glad you do find it good. There are many things I wish to say before this chapter, and the last thing is important, so please read that at least. First, this has been a difficult chapter. I have been depressed lately and the chapter reflected this change in my mood, even though I can assure you the theme of the chapter has not deviated from my initial intentions. Also, there are just so many issues in one single chapter that need to be mentioned, or partly dealt with, and I find it hard to harmonise them all in this chapter. I really did my best, and here it is. Secondly, this is a warning that some ideas mentioned may be disturbing to some due to the dark theme, though this should not be a problem. Finally, and most importantly, there are some religious implications that some may find offensive. These statements do not necessarily reflect my view. Other than that, enjoy the chapter.
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Chapter 3: Rose are red…
Dégel fiddled with the cup in front of him, eyes glued to the brown liquid that looked as though it was swirling in its near-black shade. The silence that stretched between them was of an awful sort, one that made Dégel feel like choking on his own tongue and dying if only to avoid the oppression on his own mind. There was a pressure on his chest, weighing against his heavy mind, adding to the turmoil of warring ideas within himself. Faith, morality, social ideals, desire, need, realisation, recognition, persecution, terror, joy, contentment, all mixed into a storm that ravaged his consciousness, making him light-headed and almost feverish, not knowing what he was thinking or should be thinking anymore. The heavy stare of the other on him was still there, unwavering. Finally, with great pain, he opened his mouth: 'I… missed you too, Kardia. Terribly. But I cannot…'
'Do not say anymore, my dear Dégel. You understand as well as I do that I have been so very obvious in my advances, and my boldness is vulgar in polite company. I have overstepped my boundaries, when all I should have been entitled to feel is contentment just to be like this, a quarter of an hour every day. This feeling I bear towards you, or whatever it is I fancy myself capable of bearing, for I am yet uncertain of it, need not be named, for our friendship is much too valuable to me to be risked for something so capricious and dangerous. I, too, understand that a man of your stature cannot sit with a commoner such as myself, much less to even contemplate such a monstrosity, yet it is an unbearable thing not to be able to see you again, for me at least. The only thing I would ask of you, therefore, as a friend, is to forget what happened today. Let the unspoken remain quiet. If you could only remember me as a friend whom you are comfortable spending your spare time with, I would be happy.'
Dégel snapped his head up just in time to see Kardia's face distorting into a marble statue of grief and suffering, as if he was being tortured horribly. Perhaps he was, Dégel mused, for who could understand the feeling of being pulled in two opposing directions by myriads of feelings and principles and obligations until one could not but be shredded into a million pieces and more better than he himself, who had spent night after night dreaming of bright afternoons for an entire week that may have lasted an eternity, before realising he had not been sleeping at all? Yet as quickly as the look came, it disappeared as an illusion Dégel's mind was conjuring up just to spite him. The bottomless depths of the other's eyes were still boring into him, this time diving straight into Dégel's own ones, as if wanting to pry him apart and analyse what he was thinking, to see into his very soul, bare and unprotected under the layers of logic he built as a fortress separating himself from the world. Dégel was stunned in his place, his mind a blank sheet as to what to say. It had been the most direct approach to the forbidden topic between themselves, always dangling there, never approached, and it caught Dégel in his most unprepared moment, when all emotions were still chaotic within himself. What Kardia suggested had inexplicably caused him pain, more so than he could remember ever feeling. Then something terrible crossed his mind, one that involved a chaos where everything was forgotten, united in the void that was eternal rest. The idea excited and terrified in at the same time, so that even as his face burnt in a fever, his fingertips became chilled as ice.
Dégel was jolted out of his musing by a wet cough coming from the other side of the table. Kardia was holding his mouth with both hands, a wild look in his eyes. In a flash, he was up and running out of the café, disappearing down the lane. As if on instinct, Dégel started running after the man, though it all happened so fast he did not even have time to think about what he was doing. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he fancied a voice telling him there was something important to discover, one he would forever regret should he miss. It was thus that Dégel chased the man to back of the church abutting his flower stand, where he caught sight of blue hair flying wildly and Kardia kneeling at a tree, his heaving back facing Dégel. Loud coughing could still be heard, the sound coming out as if Kardia was choking – it was as if he was drowning. As he advanced towards the man, Dégel could see his fingers frantically clawing at the tree bark till they bled, the coughing wracking his body in violent jolts. As if on automatism, he sprang towards the man in a single bound, his entire consciousness seized in terror.
' Kardia? What's wrong? Please, tell me!' In the frantic rush of his thought process, Dégel was not aware that he was shouting, his voice utterly devoid of the calm he always possessed.
'Don't worry; it'll pass in a minute.' In between his coughs, the other managed to say with difficulty, before bending in half again. In a split second, Dégel made up his mind to go get help, yet before he could turn back, a trembling hand shot out to cling to his own in a bone-crushing grip.
'Don't! It's happened before. Explain later!' The despair in the blue eyes directed at him nailed Dégel to the spot, while the coughing that followed crushed his heart much the way his hand was being held. Those eyes were still staring at him with a pleading undertone, as if begging him not to tell anybody of his ailment. The look shook him to the core, leaving him quivering in a pain almost sympathetic to the other, one that left him breathless and installing a cold deep within himself.
Kneeling to the other's level, Dégel clumsily laid a hand on his heaving back in an attempt to ameliorate the coughing. Then a sight caught his eyes, freezing up his thought process in an instant. Blood was dripping from Kardia's closed fingers onto his white shirt, blooming as roses in a morning garden. The contrast of red and white imprinted itself onto Dégel's retinas; it was beautiful and deeply terrifying at the same time, and for a fleeting moment something inside Dégel had thought it fitting, though he knew not what was. The morbid idea quickly left him, though, for his attention was again captured in finding a way to stop the fit. The only solution he knew was to rub the other's back in gentle circles, the same way he had always rubbed his brother's back, only this time with much more care and something else he could not place; but that seemed not to help at the time, and then he could not tell if it was Kardia who was shuddering or his own hand that was trembling as a leaf. Then he nearly stood up to go find help again, when the hand still holding his own tightened its grip, tugging him back to the ground urgently, as if the other could not bear to let him go. The thoughts of what he should do and the desire not to upset the other warred within his chaotic mind, adding to the pain in his chest every time Kardia shook with a particularly violent cough. At last, he settled to stay with Kardia, his hand never stopping its comforting, yet knowing there was nothing he could do for the man. The worry he was subjected to became something like an insect eating away part of his mind, as a flame slowly, carefully burning within, one which he could not put out despite his best efforts. At the same time, a sense of helplessness overcame him, and the only thing he could think of to do then was to pray to whoever that would listen, that this man's suffering would stop. Running again and again through his feverish mind were the lines in his native language he had been taught since young, jumbled and disconnected, yet fervent and earnest as he had never prayed. Dégel realised he had never known true despair till he saw for himself what it was.
At long last, the coughing subsided into harsh panting. Kardia's lips had almost turned blue from lack of air, a constant shiver wracking his body still. Sweat was running down his face in streams, but Dégel imagined he was finally seeing the end of the fit, and was infinitely glad for that small grace.
'Perhaps we should go inside the church for you to recover. Come, pray let me help you.' With a trembling voice, he lifted his hand to place it under Kardia's arm while carefully extracting his other hand from the other's grip. The shaken feeling never left him, but hope was starting to illuminate the part of his mind that still managed to remain rational now that he could see that the man was in no mortal danger.
Kardia nodded weakly, before attempting to stand. His legs failed him, however, and he almost tumbled down had it not been for Dégel's support. A fresh wave of panic washed through him as the weight in his hands increased when the other fell, before instinct took over once again so that he instantly pulled the man against himself, supporting him with his own body.
'Pardon me.' Quietly, Dégel slipped the arm around his shoulders, his other hand placing itself firmly onto Kardia's waist. The heat emanating from the man burnt as a fire at his side, while the heaving breaths shook Dégel's own body in jerking shudders. The idea was distracting, yet Dégel could not but give a part of his mind to savouring the warmth of a human body next to his, the one contact he had missed for so long, all the while cursing himself for failing to focus solely on the simple task of getting Kardia into the building. How base, how licentious of him, he had thought, to even let himself think of such carnality when the other was suffering from so much torment. And even if he was not suffering, it was still an abomination to think of another man in such a way; he was an abomination, for it was against all the morality accepted by a civilised society and everything he had known since his childhood. The thought weighed as a boulder against his heart, which still throbbed every time he looked up and saw Kardia's face contorted in pain, while the wheezing sound of his laboured breath bore into his soul. All the same, Dégel could feel himself getting even more sensitive, for every time they halted in their steps, jostling the body leaning against him, it was once that electricity ran through his entire being, repeating again and again with escalating intensity until it made him blush in embarrassment at his body's reactions, something which he could not control despite the usual stoicism he was so proud of.
Before he knew it, they were already inside the church, the atmosphere thick and cold. Slowly lowering the other man onto a pew, Dégel could not take his eyes off his pallid countenance. He was particularly drew to the crunched together eyebrows and could not but be fascinated by the honest emotions they could convey. At that point, he knew Kardia was in indescribable agony. Judging from the amount of blood the other coughed up, he could at least guess that his lungs were filled with the liquid. Dégel wondered how it would feel like, to drown in one's own blood, suffocated by that which sustained one's very life, day after day, to feel excruciating pain every time one drew in a breath, or speak, or laugh, for that matter. The thought that occurred to him was a terrible one, yet he could but wish he could take Kardia's place right then, to suffer instead of him who could laugh so freely and shine with so much life. What he would not do to see Kardia free from that torment; though his heart ached in empathy and his breathing hitched every time Kardia's did, it was of no help to the man, and that, above all, hurt Dégel the most.
He suddenly noticed the sweat still drying on Kardia's face, and as his eyes moved lower, the vivid colour of the blood on the other's lips and chin caught his attention in a sort of morbid fascination. Slowly, not realising what he was trying to do, Dégel reached out his hand to touch the liquid. It was sticky against his skin, and losing its warmth already; queer how it had been so heated before, flowing inside that man, radiating such heat that might have burnt his own delicate skin on contact before. Now, though, it looked wrong, because that was the same blood Kardia had coughed out in utmost agony. To smear his countenance in such deadly redness, when all that should have been there should have been a bright smile and nothing more, the sight of the blood made for a picture in which everything was wrong, as one in which the sun had lost its light to darkness. Dégel wanted nothing then but to wipe that wrongness away, to restore to the man in front of him the image he should have had, because it pained him, too, to see and understand the implications of what he was seeing. His mind still a blank, but with great care, as if he was touching something so fragile it would break should he breathed loudly, Dégel again raised his hand to dab at the blood on the other's lips, marvelling at the feeling pricking at his fingertips without meaning to.
'Dégel.' All of a sudden, Kardia's eyes snapped open, frightening Dégel out of his trance. Yet, even as he snatched his hand back as if bitten, his eyes were already captured in the piercing gaze boring into himself only. For that whole second, unblinkingly, Kardia had looked straight at him, and the swirling storm within those depths caused a blush to instantly rush to his cheeks, catching his breath somewhere he could not remember, before the man averted his eyes to the side, letting the spell between them break. In a small, ragged voice, he said: 'Thank you. I shall need a few minutes to recuperate, but I am well now. I would hate to delay you…'
'What nonsense you speak, my Kardia.' Before he could finish, Dégel had interjected in bewilderment and utter dismay, 'I shall stay with you till you can stand again; you cannot reasonably expect me to leave you thus, can you? Yet, if you want me to inform your… colleague of this illness, I shall be glad to comply.'
'No, that will be unnecessary, but I am much obliged.' At long last, a small but sincere smile was granted to him, and somehow, Dégel suddenly felt it was easier to breathe.
Nodding his acknowledgement, Dégel turned away, refusing to recognise what he had almost done in his frenzied state. He suddenly caught sight of the altar, with a stone cross upon it, resting in the shadow of a niche, and the idea that he had not prayed occurred to him. And so he went to do his duty, and partly to relieve what was in his heavy heart. With his forehead against his clasped hands, Dégel pray with a fervour he had never known. He prayed for Kardia's life, for his happiness, for salvation from danger, and that he himself could be free from impiety, so that his connection with the other man, undefined as it was, would not be defiled by his covetousness. He envisioned the City of God in his prayer, imagining Kardia to be there, in his rightful place, as he was supposed to be. In his vision of the heavenly kingdom, the good and the kind would live in eternal tranquility; yet, if so, it would be most unjust if someone who shone like the sun on a clear day had to suffer from so much agony. Even in his prayers, Dégel could feel his emotions starting to overwhelm his calm. He questioned the goodness he was praying towards, for surely if something was ever good, it must have been Kardia, who had been writhing as he coughed up blood only moments ago. The doubt quickly left him, though, and in its place he could feel a silent fury rising. Fury against what he knew not, yet all he could comprehend was that that man should not have been suffering as he did then. As his breathing started to increase, Dégel became more excited by the obsessive idea; what he would not do – indeed what monstrous crime he would not commit – to have that one man healthy again, to see him in his lively disposition amongst all that was good and beautiful. What it would be like, to be nailed to a cross to save another, to feel one's blood freely flowing from one's side, and a thousand thorns as a crown on one's head; Dégel was certain he would have been glad to do it, over and over, for as long as it would take, if only to save that one man. Another part of him shrunk from the awful notion he was getting lost in, insisting to himself that he could never in his right mind even entertain such dark intentions. He was revolted at himself, and at the same time the intensity of his feelings for the man despite what little contact they had shared installed in him an amazement so profound he had never been quite able to forget after that. Then, as quickly as it came, the thought vanished from his mind, replaced by an uncontrollable panic that squeezed his heart in an awfully tight clamp. Unlike the preceding fury, this terror seized his entire being as a plague, slowing sinking into his consciousness in droplet followed by droplet, filling up the turmoil within him, as wine filling up a goblet slowly, carefully, before the last drop overflowed the whole cup in an unstoppable flood. As he kneeled, his eyes still closing, Dégel fancied the air was getting colder; there was something akin to a winter gale gliding over his skin, and the cold seeped in through his flesh and bones, dropping into the pit of his stomach as a boulder. If the world would be like that should Kardia succumb to his illness, though what it was he knew not, then Dégel thought it would have been better for time to stop there for an eternity after all; the prospect of enduring the kind of cold that he was experiencing, one that cut through his insides with what felt like an icy blade, was not something he looked forward to; he dreaded it, in fact.
With a violent shudder, Dégel opened his eyes to observe his surroundings again. It was still too early for the candles to be lit; the church was enveloped in a half-twilight, with shadows dancing over everything in sight. Feeble rays of light streamed in through the stained glass windows on the east side, showering a spectrum of glinting colours upon the ground of grey stone. Somehow, Dégel noted, the shades had appeared dull to him. The image of flowers flashed through his mind, before receding, leaving behind it a void in the shape of a rose window. In the light, he could see tiny particles of dust floating around, light as feathers. Dégel was tempted to come towards the light, to bathe himself in it and let it wash away all of his worries and his fears, though another part of him well knew that it was impossible, and that it was foolish of him to even consider such folly in the first place. The imposing arches of stone stretched through the length of the church, as a dome smothering up Dégel's light. Columns followed by columns led to the dark door at the other end of the aisle, the repetition making his head swim, dividing the space into small plots as bars on windows, whereas the high space in between the two columns was starkly empty; the contrast left Dégel feeling small, shrinking into himself before the enclosed vastness. It was almost like a cage, and the comparison sent an unpleasant feeling down his spine. That feeling soon developed into a sense of desolation that overcame him, and his feet moved on their own to seek out the other, if only to have silent comfort in his presence and nothing more – then Dégel swore he would be contented.
He walked without walking towards Kardia, who was sitting where he had been left, his head on his chest in a position akin to when one was praying, his body obscured in darkness. Yet, it was then that the sun moved just right, so that the window behind the man lit up as the sun, before light steadily trickled through, string by delicate string, until Kardia was swallowed in blinding brightness. His bowed head cast a shadow on his face, but the half that was turned towards the sun was gilt in silver and gold, and the man stood out amongst his grey and dull surrounding as an angel just descended from the far heavens, here praying towards his Lord's grace and mercy. Dégel had to squint his eyes for a moment; he stood there, absolutely stunned, and not believing such beauty could exist on earth. Surely, this must have been the work of the Lord? Then, realisation dawned upon him; it was as though he was having an epiphany, one which sent his blood roaring in his ears and his heart fluttering. Determination settled in him.
Dégel approached Kardia, still in his blinding halo, and took his face between his hands. The action startled the man, who opened his eyes to stare at him, a wondering look in his eyes. Dégel merely stared straight back, before kissing him on both cheeks, light as the touch of a butterfly. He was blushing furiously, but refused to avert his gaze all the same.
'Listen well, Kardia. This ailment of yours bothers me; it is very serious, from the look of it. I cannot ignore it, whatever you may say, for you are precious to me as a friend. My own covetousness is not worth mentioning; yet I am a coward not to be able to keep away from you; I yearn too much for your company for that. If you could forgive me this impropriety, I shall come tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that, until time does not matter anymore. Nor will I forget this day; I will admit I have been shaken, and these feelings within me cannot be named, for they are too numerous and complicated, yet if I forget them, I would better not live at all. Your words shall stay a treasure to me, what you have said shall be my happiness. You are my happiness. What befell Sodom and Gomorrah, I shall bear on my own shoulders, but I beseech you not to deprive me of this happiness also. I am afraid, Kardia, that one day you will die from this terrible condition of yours. Pray do not leave me in the dark about it; I may be able to do something about it; I may not; yet I need to know what to do to help you when you are suffering. Not being to ameliorate your pain pains me, but at least grant me comprehension, so that I may stay with you through it.'
At first there was no reaction from Kardia, but then the man suddenly drew in a shuddering breath, before catching the hand holding his face in his still blood-stained own. Drawing that white hand within his towards his own heart, their joint hands placed a single scarlet rose of blood on the pristine white fabric, as a symbol neither dared to recognise, yet knowing all the while what it was that underlied their strange relationship. Dégel was mesmerised by that bloody rose; it was beautiful in a deadly sort of way, casting a shadow of dread upon him even as warmth bloomed inside his heart as sunlight upon a morning garden. The idea that perhaps he should try wearing a red rose from then on occurred to him, yet even as he dismissed it as a folly of naivety, unlike his previous other ideas and fluctuating states of emotions, it stayed in the back of his mind, always ready to surface, for he could not make himself let go of the hope that perhaps, just perhaps, finally, that single scarlet rose would be what connected the two of them. Standing there in the blinding white light, with his hand still on the other's heart, held under the scorching heat of a fevered palm, Dégel could not envision a more perfect place for him to be. The dark about them faded away; in that moment it was only him, this man, and the steady thumping of his heart.
Kardia smiled, as he had always smiled, and pulled Dégel down beside him. His voice rang as a hymn in the quiet of the hollow void which was beginning to light up in a rainbow of colours; it was as though the mere presence of the man had chased away the shadows with what brilliant warmth he exuded. Dégel basked in Kardia's fire, and he was happy.
'Very well, my Dégel. I shall tell you about this illness of mine. Remember only, that tomorrow, at two, you shall come, as you have done, as you would do, for if only for that brief moment, your time is mine. You are claimed.'
'Yes' – was Dégel's breathless reply.
And their joint hands upon the scarlet bloody rose stayed as they were, for an eternity.
