Nobuo Uematsu - Anxious Heart
…
In another place…
— What is this? – I notice a scent other than mine. Kinda familiar. – Lavender, isn't it?
— Only now that you took notice? – Said Hrist, from where that scent came from. Nice, unlike most of her words.
— A while ago. Just had to ask.
— Is that your way of saying 'I'm feeling better'?
— Maybe. – My head is still waving around. I think it would be worse had I been able to see anything but black.
— Good. Now get out my shoulder. – I felt the pull of her arms, but I couldn't feel my legs. Then I fall, and I feel slimy mud between my hands. I think I shouted when I fell, so I thought when I hold Hrist's hand, shivers on each of her fingertips. – Oh!… I'm sorry, Fratley.
— It's okay. I just have to believe… – My foot, the one who kicked that door, is bleeding. If there's blood in my foot, then that means my legs are alive. They belong to me. I was born with them, lost so many people on the way… except for my… my… – I need you, Hrist.
— Geez. – Hrist let her sassy breath come out. She ain't tired, just fed up. – Okay. But please, your smell…
— Any complaints? – As far as I know, I'm not stinking.
— No, no. It's just that it… it's all over my clothes, Fratley. You smell like an old man.
— I am not that old, Hrist. – I said, as soon as we began to walk.
— Well, you can barely walk, you are blind, and you stand near young girls. – There's something enigmatic about Hrist's smile. I wonder how many muscles she uses to make it come out. This one, specifically. In this case, she's the only one smiling
— Does the third point shed any relevance?
— It was a joke. I'll improve next time. Now, mind if I ask where are we going, Sir Fratley? – Only a few times Hrist calls me by 'Sir'. I can't tell if by irony, or respect. I only have a pair of ears, after all. – The Jugend is on the other side.
— I know. And I have no need to be there. Zack must have received the corpse by now. – Nobody wanted to see Johnny's body. They just wanted to see the poor guy fall down, as a sort of sick joke. How repugnant it is to feel something other than blood come out of the dead. Blood ain't supposed to be green, one of them said.
— I wonder what's worse for daddy: to be at the morgue, or to sign papers with the same dead stare. – Said Hrist, worried about her father. It isn't usual to feel worryness out of her, unless she is in my company. – At least, none of the papers are blank pages, so he must feel entertained somehow. Like, a machine could do these and more without complaining.
— A machine? – So I hear the noise of a rambling carcass, its roar unlike any other beast I've faced before. They had a heart, but this wooden, carved with steel devil has a source of power in place. Hearing better, tolerating its presence on Burmecian grounds if preferred, I can tell that it's claws are collecting wheat, its tubes fertilizing barren fields. In my mind, it has the size of a house, on wheels. Hrist stood quiet, as we stood alongside the fence. So much noise… is there someone guiding it, or does it have free will? I want to hide, but the grass that used to hide the green of my clothes is gone. This darkness ain't comfortable.
— Not everyone has one of these. – Hrist said, speaking about the Burmecians. People outside borrow a lot of these machines, I'm sure that I heard these noises during my travels. It moves slower than a train, yet it spits that same breath taking smoke.
— I wouldn't like to. I prefer when I have something to do with my own hands.
— But wasn't that thing made by hand too?
— These machines do what our hands do in less time, but they also make any use of a hand very unuseful by comparison. – I made my statement, to which Hrist nodded. However, she doesn't agree with me fully. If that was the case, that wouldn't be the Hrist I know.
— You use your feet in a loom, as much as you hold a needle to sew.
— That's not what I meant, Hrist. What bothers me is that all craft is gone in exchange for a standardized method.
— Honestly, you weren't supposed to see any human value in cold steel. Well, that's what we earned from Lindblum in exchange for nothing.
— Lindblum… I once went there. Beautiful place, the last I ever saw with these eyes.
— And why did you come back? – 'Why would I come back to this awful place?' That's what she meant. For many reasons, Hrist. Same old story. One of them… right here. I may not be able to see, but that doesn't mean that I can feel. Lavender… not only that scent belongs to Hrist, but someone whom I shared my life with. Before the gates of a city of stone, I stand. A wind invites me to a place without life, weren't for the grass and the people that come in and out. Or my heightened senses. A lot of unknown faces, for a place where so many are well known.
— … pant… pant… Pant. Whoa, Fratley. You've walked this far on your own, without falling. To this place… – I heard Hrist on my back, sweating and losing breath. Other than walking all the way to the graveyard, I found it strange that I heard no more of her voice. Her voice, scent…
— Lavender… – I feel this scent. With the tip of my fingers, I have the touch to tell where her name is written. Here… lies… Sophia Highwind. – They were mom's favorites. One of the few things I can remember about her is the scent of these flowers. Everywhere, Hrist.
I kneeled before the grave. The petals of lavender were drying up, despite a lot of rain falling. Something fell out of my eye. Do blind people cry? Of course they do. Like children.
— I only feel the scent of rain. – Hrist's senses are limited, compared to mine. For better or for worse. I kinda miss the scent of rain pouring on dust, without the things in between. I never liked soup, just a yellow boiling liquid with carrots floating. Had I this tongue, what would I think about mom's food?
— …'Sure. Travel the world, but be back at dinner', so mom said. I mean, father and I never went back. If it wasn't for me, only father. – I murmured, very loud. Why is everything so loud?... – He left home, and I made company. All the times he left Burmecia, I was there at his side. Doyle too, and how that Chocobo beck hurt… Anyway, despite the knowledge and amusement I acquired, I couldn't see, or refused to, that things weren't any wonderful at home. Rarely mom and pops fought each other, and with time, a silly reason was enough for them to discuss. Despite that, they were good people, never laid a hand on another. Know when you take a walk alone to bring relief? Well, father chose the world. One day, he left home for real. Didn't want my company, but I insisted. Funny how none of my friends noticed I was gone, except for mom.
— She was more than a friend, I see. – Then I felt Hrist's hand laying upon my left shoulder.
— She died alone. And I wasn't there. Everyone, except for me. – I hear the vermins crawling beneath me. That's all I hear. There are things I shouldn't hear, like the crowd of each morning devouring my spirit, or the vermin taking away what remained of mom.
— And what would you do if you were? – Everything, except what is inside of me.
— It would be useless to save her. But to say some words, on the other hand… say something to make her feel better. – Leaning on mom's grave, slowly I try to stand up on my own. Joints crippling, fingers twitching, I hear something inside of me, louder than any yell, quiet like a whisper. Hrist is behind me, standing by my side until now.
— I would like to know your mother. I didn't even have one.
— And what about Lenneth?
— Right there. – Hrist said, as she pointed to a grave to which we walked and came close at. – Well, Lenneth took care of me like she did with her own offspring. While my father fought in the streets, I was in her arms, this when a spear wasn't being held by the same, and that's it. I wouldn't ask for a better life, never fought for Lennie's attention. Maybe a bit, but that's beside the point. How I liked her… Without Lenneth, or daddy, what would I be, other than an orphan?
— Who knows.
— Yeah, who knows. Hey, now I see that a lot of us Knights are orphans. So why not, instead of Dragoon, call us Orphan Knights?
— "Guess we are all orphans in a way. Of the sun, the moon, the stars"… Father used to say it when we crossed the hills. – I said, as Hrist and I left that awful place, full of good people. – I made company for him, and said what I had to. This until I lost him, my sight and my childhood. In his place, another man raised me. Vincent Irontail… Oh, forgive me for being too sentimental. I don't feel right today, after what happened.
— With the whole world in your ears, who wouldn't feel like this?
— I feel a lot better when I am able to only hear a voice, Hrist. – And to feel the hold of a hand, too.
