DIVINE AFFLATUS (uh-FLAY-tus)
A creative inspiration, as that of a poet; a divine imparting of knowledge.
Disclaimer: I do not own Juvenile Orion but I own the name of the city, Gaaz. It's another city from my original fiction.
This chapter is thanks to the song Rei I from the Neon Genesis Evangelion: Refrain of Evangelion soundtrack. It helped me get some of the parts of this chapter the way I wanted them.
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He came back. He always came back. When he left everyday, there was always another door repaired or an awkward table that was taken apart or stashed in the attic. The house was changing.
Sakaurai had not known he had grown used to the house's musty-sweet smell until he whitewashed the walls. The maids had not known they had grown used to the dirty house till they had seen the dust beaten from the rugs and wiped from the furniture. Hell, the whole hired help had not known they had grown used to their employer's odd habits: the newspaper never read, the food never eaten, the long hours inside the house. It was so easy to grow used to Gabriel Merethi.
It was so dangerous to grow used to Gabriel Merethi. One might spend a month with him, or a year, then suddenly wake to find that there were holes in the clothing, bones sticking out from the wrists and a fine layer of dust upon the skin. Like a fairytale; a princess that wakes to find a hundred years passed and cobwebs as her bedroom canopy.
Sakaurai imagined Gabriel Merethi lying on his bed, staring up listlessly to the ceiling as he watched birds and spiders construct his canopy. Sakaurai imagined the roof cracking and letting in beads of rain to decorate the spiderwebs; he imagined the birds swooping over Merethi to pluck out strands of his golden hair to add to their twigs and leaves. He imagined the spiders spooling downward to make curtains, the birds following. He imagined them encasing the poet in a box, a chrysalis. A tomb.
Suddenly, Sakaurai was frightened. Horribly irrationally frightened.
"I…I might look over the third floor today," he told one of the maids and dashed up the stairs. Down he fled, past the storage closets and guest suite. Past crumbling wallpaper and three-legged basin tables.
"Mr. Merethi?" He knocked on the door jerkily, loudly. "Mr. Merethi!"
The door opened and Gabriel Merethi found his employee leaning against the doorframe, breath coming in short.
"Ah…Kuro Sakaurai, was it?" the poet asked mildly.
"Room…canopy…" Sakaurai gasped, wheezing. "…sp-spiders…"
"I see you've found the cellar," Merethi commented dryly.
Sakaurai laughed, his breath steadying. "No! No, I…I was hoping I could look at your room and see if it needs fixing up."
"Very well," he replied and stepped aside to let him in.
Sakaurai stepped inside cautiously. He had secretly wondered what Merethi's room was like; it was his great workshop, after all. It was where he stayed up till dawn writing his poems.
He was surprised.
He had expected specimens flowers and leaves wilting on a desk, forgotten after brief hours of intense scrutiny. He had expected hundreds of papers and scraps tacked onto the walls, some words and ideas circled in bold red ink; he had expected untidy stacks of books piled against the walls. He had expected open windows, so that birds and butterflies could come and go as they pleased. He had expected half-written journals lying open on top of Merethi's bedstand and ink spots on his sheets and pillows that could not be purged.
It was bare.
Nothing.
A plain chair and a desk with a single dirty electric lamp. An empty dusty bookshelf whose shelves had fallen. A plain bed with thin uncoloured sheets and a nubby blanket.
And then,
Nothing.
Merethi had never parted his heavy mismatched curtains to let the breeze through. He had never hoarded bits of twigs and silken petals in a drawer of his desk. He had never shared his bed with someone warm and smiling who smelled of amber and afternoon sunlight. He had never stayed awake reading from his favourite book or manuscript.
Sakaurai wanted to sink down to his knees and weep. Even his own room, poor and sparse as it was, had more joy to it than this. How can a man live this way, he wanted to know. How can he write so enchantingly and live so austerely?
No, not austerely. That would have implied that Merethi had willed himself to a monk's existence. No, this room…it had nothing. It felt nothing. Merethi had not taken the simplest effort to live.
Sakaurai stole a look at him. How could he have first thought Merethi handsome? He was too thin and pallid, like a convalescent. Every movement was careful and controlled, as if he were made of porcelain or fine glass and was bound to fall apart at any moment. His hair was ragged and faded. His face…it was too lean. Sakaurai had once thought it resembled an archaic statue from a museum; now he found that the likeness was too much. He half-expected to find a century's old fissure near Merethi's eyebrow. He half-expected to find dust on his nose.
How could he have thought Merethi had such poise, such grace? He had nothing of the kind. No, he had a tragic elegance. A thing beautiful because it is fleeting, because of the dangerous intoxicating knowledge that it can come unglued at any moment and cease to be.
Sakaurai thought again of the spider-spun sarcophagus and thought that the birds and insects would be entombing a doll. A thing. Any prince who came to kiss Merethi awake would bruise his lips on a cold mouth of marble and gouge out his eyes upon eyelashes of needles and pins.
Sakaurai turned back to face Merethi and was afraid of him.
"Well?" Merethi said.
His heart lurched. The marble lips were moving. It was a gross parody of a human, but he knew it was just a doll. A monster. He cringed from its cold sightless eyes. They were just little orbs of brass held inside eerily perfect eyesockets.
"I…I…"
"It is a bit shabby, I must admit," the simulacrum said and began to walk about, blinking its brass eyes and chewing its synthetic lip in a perfect imitation, but Sakaurai knew of the gears and cogwheels spinning beneath its skin.
He watched the doll warily. "N-No…"
A flash.
Sakaurai blinked. For a moment…for a moment Gabriel Merethi had been…lovely again. For a moment, his fear had melted.
"I suppose you might repair the bookshelf or move it to the library," the doll sighed and fingered a strand of its lustreless hair in a human-like gesture that was completely wrong. Sakaurai felt sickened just watching it.
"Perhaps," he replied, scanning the place where the doll had been walking a moment ago.
Ah.
There it was.
A patch of sunlight creeping through the crack in one of the curtains. He walked towards it and inspected the curtains. "Why are your windows always shut?"
"Hmm?"
Sakaurai threw open the heavy smothering curtains; the clean morning sun was shining through the bare dusty windowpanes.
The doll put its hand over its mouth and coughed hoarsely. "What are you doing?"
But it was not a doll. It was Gabriel Merethi, as lovely as day. His hair was still ragged, but it had bright bits of light entangled in it. His skin looked dusty, but pleasingly soft to the touch. His eyes had a brilliance to them. His mouth was like a scrap of pink satin.
The rusty latch was curled up like a finger over the knob. Sakaurai undid it gratefully and the shutters swung out lazily and smacked against the outside walls with a clatter. A warm breeze came through the window and stirred Merethi's hair.
"That feels much better," Sakaurai remarked, pleased to see the doll had vanished for now. It frightened him more than he could have imagined. He knew he would have nightmares about it tonight; he would jolt out of bed in a cold sweat, screaming silently. He did not think of it for now.
"I suppose it does," Merethi agreed warily. He looked on curiously as Sakaurai dragged his desk chair over. Speculatively, he looked at the bookshelf and wondered when Sakaurai would fix it up and take it down to the library. It would be the best place for it, he decided after a long look.
"Sakaurai, I-"
His employee had disappeared.
Merethi ran to the window. "Sakaurai!"
"Yes?" His silken unruly hair fell around his impish upside-down face as he peered down from the edge of the roof.
Merethi went ashen. "Sakaurai, come down from there this instant, damn it!"
"It is pleasant up here."
"Do you think I'm joking?" Merethi demanded frantically. "I said, come down!"
"I wonder if you would rid yourself of that poet's block if you came up here."
"What?"
Sakaurai grinned. "Come now, Mr. Merethi; what else but dreary poetry will come from being cloistered up in a dreary house?"
"I have no block!"
"Then why haven't you been able to write a scrap in months, hmm?"
Merethi scowled. "What makes you think that?"
"You have nothing in your rooms."
"So?"
"Your last book was published three years ago."
A long silence.
"Come out onto the ledge, at the least," Sakaurai cajoled.
The poet thought of it for a second; he was curious, in spite of himself. Slowly, he boosted himself up from the chair to the window. Taking a deep breath, he stepped out onto the wide window ledge.
And saw the wall under the sill drop away to the street three stories below.
His gold eyes widened in horror. "Oh my sweet gods!" he cried out.
"Turn around," Sakaurai said gently. "Do not look down."
"I…I.."
"Slowly…slowly.."
Merethi reached around for the edge of a roof shingle and froze as a wayward wind stirred his jacket. To his imagination, it had almost blown him over.
"Keep on," Sakaurai said encouragingly.
He moved one centimetre. Then another. Carefully. Carefully. One…small…movement…at a time. His heart was flapping frantically like a bird with a broken wing. Turn one foot. Then the other. One. Then the other. Do not look down, no. Move. Slightly. Turn. Slightly.
After what seemed like eternity, he felt the roof under his fingers. He clung to it like drowning man clings to land. He looked up and saw Sakaurai crouched above him. "Not so terrible, eh?" he asked brightly; Merethi scoffed sardonically but his employee smiled back amiably, not insulted in the least. "Give me your hand."
"Why?" Merethi asked suspiciously.
"Too many questions," he chided. "Small wonder you cannot write anything; you think too much. Come on!"
"We shall fall to our deaths."
"Maybe," Sakaurai agreed amiably. He held out a hand. After a moment's hesitation, Merethi accepted it.
"Ah!" he cried as his balance swung dangerously outward; his feet shifted on the smooth stone ledge. His other hand clenched the roof edge until his fingers turned white.
"It is nothing, it is nothing," Sakaurai told him soothingly. He took his other arm. "Here, I have you; you will not fall. I shall tell you when to leap-"
"-Leap?"
"It is not much of a distance. Trust me, Mr. Merethi- I'll hoist you up, I swear on it. Come now, from count of three."
"I cannot do this," the poet exclaimed. "I'm going back." At that moment, the back of one foot titled off the ledge. Merethi gasped and shut his eyes tightly.
"Steady," Sakaurai told him encouragingly. "Steady now. One."
"No no. I have never-"
"Two."
"I cannot- you must understand. Truly."
"Three."
Merethi held his breath and leapt up from the window ledge. Instead of plummeting downward helplessly into the busy street, he instead found himself being lifted to the roof with great ease. He felt the warmth of sun-baked tile against his arms and scrambled up. In a moment of panic, one of his feet slipped on the shingles and he banged his knee very painfully.
"Steady," Sakaurai said and Merethi felt a strong grip on his elbow. "Come on; there's a good spot." Then, a laugh. "It would be easier if you opened your eyes."
Merethi blinked. "Oh."
He could see the bustling city for blocks around. People, wagons, and animals went about their business unaware of two pairs of eyes watching them from a great height; the whole city was their theatre. A breeze whipped up, carrying the smell of harsh chimney smoke, sweet overripe fruit, pungent street litter, and cool bakery bread.
It was his city, his dearest. Gaaz.
He gasped softly. "Sakaurai, look." A great marble blue expanse stretched over his head like a god's ceiling. "You can see the sky from up here."
"Yes," he replied, smiling at his employer's wonder.
I never knew…" the poet murmured. "The streets and alleys always blot out the sun and the sky. The city is oppressive, I've always thought; the buildings bear down on me as if they mean to snatch away my wings."
It was the other's turn to be enchanted. "You are a poet," he breathed. When Merethi gave him a curious glance, Sakaurai lowered his eyes self-consciously for a moment, but then his fathomless dark eyes snapped up again. "Do you really have wings, sir?" he asked jauntily.
To his surprise, Merethi coloured hotly. "Whatever would give you such an idea? Wings! Really." He shook his head. What would…
He thought about it for a moment. Carefully finding a secure footing, Merethi rose to his feet uneasily but found that he could hold his balance well enough; encouraged, he slowly spread out his arms. The sun stroked his face like an old friend. The wind buffeted him playfully; it teased golden strands from his hair tie and they swirled around his face like bright ribbons. He felt weightless- his heart was a ticklish burst of radiance that sent streams of glowing of amber liquor through his veins. It warmed him. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine that he was-
"-Flying again," he whispered sadly. Tears pricked at his eyes but the breeze's gentle fingers dried them before they spilled down his cheeks.
"What?"
"Hmm?" He blinked and looked down. Sakaurai was staring up at him with an odd expression on his face. "Nothing." He sat down with a sigh. For a moment, they both gazed out into the horizon of buildings and sky.
"Thank you," the poet said finally. "Thank you for showing me this. I feel…" He inhaled deeply and broke out into a dazzling smile. "Inspired." Suddenly industrious, he searched around in the pockets of his jacket and found an old red notebook he had almost forgotten about. A quick search in his other pockets relinquished a battered looking pencil, and he began scribbling rapidly.
Sakaurai stretched out onto the warm shingles with his arms folded behind his head and watched his employer for a moment.
Merethi was craning over the notepad resting on his drawn up knees. His pen scripted on and on as if possessed, and his eyes had a soft far away look; Sakaurai thought that if Merethi turned to him now, the poet would not recognise him. Those gold eyes would see bits of words making up his fluttering strands of dark hair. He would touch a verse outlining the contours of Sakaurai's cheekbone and brow- rhymes in the curve of his soft eyelashes; he would taste a sonnet in the cupid's bow of his lip.
Sakaurai must have fallen asleep for when he awoke the young morning sunlight had ripened into a heavy glare the tint and texture of peaches. The early sun had highlighted strands of soft honey and amber in Merethi's pale hair, but now his hair was the colour of liquid gold so hot that it was blanched white in some places.
"Good afternoon," Merethi said without glancing up from his writing.
Afternoon?" Sakaurai asked. "How long have I been asleep?"
"Through noon," his employer replied. "It is near teatime."
"Have you not eaten since morning?" Ah, but he would not risk climbing down by himself, he realised as he remembered the desperate way Merethi had clutched his hand despite the nominal distance that spanned from the sill to the roof. Abruptly, he felt tremendously guilty for dozing off and leaving his employer to his own devices. "I apologi-"
"-No need." He chuckled ruefully. "I did not notice the time passing. I have been rather caught up with my work."
More than half the notebook was crammed with writing. Caught up, indeed.
"But Mr. Merethi," he protested in dismay. "You still should have woken me."
"I would never." Merethi smiled gently. "I only wish I could sleep so peaceably." He abandoned his notebook for a moment; he rested his elbows on his knees and propped up his chin in his hands. "What did you dream?"
"I…I do not remember; I do not remember dreams well," Sakaurai replied slowly, thinking it an odd sort of question.
"You were smiling in your sleep," the poet told him quietly.
Sakaurai shrugged, uneasy that he had been so thoroughly scrutinised, unawares. It was not an unpleasant feeling, but…"The sky is clear today," he remarked instead and squinted up. "We must come up again sometime to cloud-gaze. My brother and I used to pass our leisure time that way."
"I would like that," Merethi replied.
"So," –Sakaurai brushed himself off- "Are you ready to go back?"
Merethi grew decidedly pale but stowed away his notebook and pen and accepted Sakaurai's hand trustingly.
He discovered that the distance down wasn't as great as before- it was only a few feet, at the most.
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Review if it pleases you. It pleases me much.