"Antonio," he said. "It's a nice name. You were on the ship," he said, and then murmured something I couldn't hear.
It would do little good to talk about the tragedy now. "Can I get you something to eat?"
His eyes opened wide then, the eyes of a man who'd known hunger for the first time. He nodded.
The tavern kitchen stayed open late, for wandering sailors to spend the last of their coin before they found a destination. "Where you headed?" one of them slurred, as I waited for the tapster to return with Roderigo's meal. I shrugged. His eyes squinted at me. "You're too young to be lost."
I gave him my meanest glare. I've been told it makes me years older. "My destination is not your business."
He shook his head again. "What's that about?" He was silent, and his head still swayed one way, then the other, one way, then the other. I gathered the tray the tapster gave to me.
"You figure that out... or you'll end up like me."
"That is a frightening thought. Good evening." He just looked after me sadly. Drunk men often become more melancholy than anyone has a right to be, and I have learned not to heed them.
When I returned, Roderigo had curled in on himself, tight into a ball. He uncurled when the door opened and he looked up at me if as I were an angel. But when I held up a spoon full of soup, he licked his cracked lips and turned away.
"You said you were hungry."
"I am."
"If that is true, you should eat."
He licked his lips again and rubbed them together in a way that must have hurt. The pain seemed to brace him. "I'm fine."
"If you eat nothing, you will die, Roderigo." He watched the fire, dearly trying not to hear me. "No one wants that."
He looked back at me suddenly, as if my words had startled him. He had deep brown eyes, the kind that look like they go on forever, the kind a man can fall into and never come out of again. In that moment, he had heard not what I had said, but what I meant. Not, "No one wants that;" instead, "I don't want that." There was no one here beyond the two of us to wish him alive or dead.
"Thank you." And then he gave me a beautiful sad smile, like he wanted his face to light up, but knew that it could not. When I held the spoon to his lips again, he accepted it.
Though Roderigo's health improved in the week we spent at that tavern, he said little and smiled rarely. I bought him new clothes made of loose, soft material. He thanked me for them, but on the day he felt strong enough to walk again, put on his old gold brocade. He didn't want any help, he said, but in the middle of the room, his knees buckled. I caught his waist before he hit the ground. His heart pounded and sweat gathered on his lip.
"You should have let me fall."
The loud knock on the door startled him, and he grabbed my shoulders.
"Come in," I said.
The tavern keeper stood in our doorway. "I can see he's not so helpless anymore."
Roderigo's nails dug into my shoulders. His knees shook, but he would not let this man see them buckle. "You see right."
"So you gonna pay me for the night?"
"I paid for a week, and we've stayed for a week." Roderigo had long nails, and they bit into my skin. "I thought we had until the end of the day."
"That ain't policy."
"That's news to me."
"Well, not anymore, it ain't. You'll be out of this room within the hour, or you'll pay for it."
When the door slammed shut, Roderigo collapsed to the floor, panting. I circled the room, gathering our few belongings. "Think you can make it down the street with my help?"
"No."
"Don't you worry, I carried you to this place, I can carry you – "
"No! I'm not moving until I can leave on my own two feet."
"Do you have the money to stay? Because I don't." That was a lie. I had hidden the rest of my purse in a loose hearthstone, not wanting to leave this place without a penny. I pried it loose now and tied it to my belt.
Roderigo stared ahead of him. "Where would we be going?"
"Nowhere." I'd avoid Illyria. That's all I knew. "Where do you want to go? Home?"
"No," he said in such a melancholy tone that I never asked again. "But I can't just wander."
"I have. For a long time now."
"And where's it got you?" he laughed. When I said nothing to that, he sobered. "Oh, Oh God, I'm sorry. That was – " For about a full minute I considered walking out with the money and leaving him. "That was... unkind. I just..." He wouldn't look at me, but I stared at him and hated him for the tears gathering on his cheeks, hated him for not knowing what to say, hated him for his fancy clothes and the ring shining on his right hand. "It's just that... you're treating me like a child."
"You're acting like one," I snapped. "For the first time since I've known you, you're acting like a child."
"Is that all you expected from a rich boy like me?"
"I didn't expect anything from you."
"You've got minutes, Claudio," called the innkeeper.
Roderigo held out his hand, but still didn't look at me. I knelt in front of him, so he had to. "This place isn't far from the nearest town. We're sure to find better hospitality there. Try to cheer yourself a little."
Roderigo met my eyes. "Is it so important?"
"Yes, it is. Roderigo, sir - "
"Don't." He flinched at the title.
"You couldn't walk on your own all this past week. Excuse me for speaking out of turn, but I doubt your body is as weak as your mind. If you wish to walk anywhere on your own two feet, you have to want it. Badly. So try to cheer yourself a little - "
"I don't think I can do that... for you."
"Don't do it for me, do it for – "
"I want to."
I closed my mouth before I realized that it had been hanging open. "Well..." Locks of dark hair fell into his eyes, and I wanted to brush them back. "You can let me help you out of here. You can do that much for me." He took my hand and when we stood, he looked at me a long time before placing an arm around my shoulders, as if something insubstantial were holding him up.