Triptych - part 2 - Death walks inside of me
*
Silent and lightning swift the Blackbird flies over white white
white and grey black blue deep ocean waters. Inside, a tableau
of rage and grief. Scott's hand rock steady on the wheel, Jean a
blazing flame of rage and Logan? Logan lost in a nightmare of
bewilderment cannot stop repeating over and over again `he was
not bound' He was not bound he was not bound he was not
bound he was not bound… his mind cannot accept it cannot
wrap itself around it cannot deny it cannot refuse the images it
makes rise like acrid vomit up a troath - he was not bound –not
his hellfire beloved fight-to-the-death-and-beyond crazy
indomitable beloved beloved man kid child baby darling… But he
was not bound, but he had accepted, but he was *not* bound.
*
The mansion the running the stretcher like a stupid soap a badly
made and melodramatic soap. The voices the reactions –
where's the director? he can't make soaps – The cliché things to
rush a body to the infirmary. But he was not bound, Logan, he
wasn't, there's no way out of this. Stretched on the table arms
open wide legs open wide letting that unspeakable man do…
He says it out loud in a disbelieving croack "He was not bound"
and his own voice sounds lost and terrified even to him. The
others turn to him stopping Scott's urgent voice telling Hank as
much as he can, Jean doesn't dare speak, this is no place for
Death to speak, and the killing rage is still too hot in her. "He
wanted to die?" tentative, like a foot testing water. Logan hanging
for dear life, dear death, on the infirmary bed whispers "Don't tie
him up, for mercy's sake don't tie him up."
*
Later, tests done to check the damage, airways freed, body
cleaned, Remy lies on the table as if already dead. Logan - or is
it the Wolverine? – is crouching near the abandoned head,
intently watching not touching, Hank's voice is a meaningless
sound all his ears hear is the whisper of breathing from the
table… "This is what we call a pseudocoma or wakeful coma.
We don't need to hook him to a machine yet. It may worsen if he
doesn't wake up in the next 48 hours…" Then suddenly Logan
hears "… talk to him, show him he's safe and in a friendly place,
talk of everyday things, maybe play his favourite music.. I don't
know it has been known to…"
Talk to him? Say the love words the caring words the
I-will-make-it-glory words? Can he? Can you, human and
animal, strong and weak, can you use words as medicine,
words as healing like a shaman of old? Can you Logan? "You
know, my love, I don't quite *see* things like humans do." His
despair forces him to try, but he's no talker, but he can't say
things out loud, but he must, must try, must sing the mating
song the love song the life song to draw his mate to him "My
nose is better than my eyes at seeing, you know? It's weird, I'm
no good with words and I don't think there are any, nobody asks
a dog how it *sees* things. Now you see weirdly enough, I would
say, with those infrared pupils of yours, but I see with my nose,
mostly." A bit more sure, on safe ground – do you know he's
never said anybody this, Remy? Do you care? Do you hear the
mating song the love song the life song or is it too much for you?
– "Smells are colours are taste are texture, smells are the shape
of the things that left the smell. I can smell the past as well as
the present, you know, I can tell what people do in a room over
several hours. And I can always say, I always know, where you've
been. You know how my nose sees you, my beloved? You know
why and how I fell in love with you?" Crouching near the
abandoned head, intently watching, never touching "You are
russett streaked with gold, all that's best of Autumn, all that's
good of Autumn, slow soft sharp hard and gentle. Never smelled
such a warm generous smell, never loved like I love you, never
never, this my body *knows*, not my false uncertain memories,
never loved like I love you. Silk and velvet, russett and gold and a
tang of applejack, your burning courage, your iron will, your steel
integrity… You don't know what applejack is, love? Let me tell
you. In Autumn you take the juicest apples acidsweet smell and
glass peel and you press them slowly slowly slowly so they drip
their juice heady perfumed juice like a lazy afternoon on a sunny
river, then you put the juice in a barrel and let it age, all growing
fermenting things turning sweet laziness to dizzying alcohol. So
you have cider, not you, cider is too bland for what you are, my
darling, no strength no real tang of danger and laughter. You
came after. You know, you take the barrel of cider and put it
under the snow. Ah, but yes, snow can be friendly, even useful,
smells feels tastes like the clear waters of yesterday like the
clear waters of tomorrow…"
*
"He's gone, is he?" Hank shakes his head – damn he has a
headache – he didn't expect this he hadn't wanted this when he
allowed Rogue to leave Gambit in the snow. He just wanted rid
of a problem, wanted not to have to choose between his old
friend Warren and this obnoxious newcomer, wanted not to take
sides, and the problem is back in his lap huge and terrible,
cannot be ignored, it came back literally stinking to high heaven
forcing him to shame and regret. "How the hell do I know?
Logan's talking to the kid, it may work." Yes and that you don't
like that at all, do you? To see your image of Logan distorted and
darkened into something you don't like. Normal people don't do
*those* things, even normal mutants don't do *those* things.
*
"… then you take out the barrel and scrape away the snow. Clear
water is fine but it waters the potency, you know, it's still cider, a
little better but still weak and you're not weak, strongest person I
ever met, strong inside, I mean, where I'm weak as a pup where
I fear to face my feelings leaving you alone in the dark and cold…
Nonono. Oh, my beloved you *know* I can't talk, told me often
enough, wasn't able to tell you it didn't matter, just adored you to
talk to me was joy, so witty and sharp tongued the taste lingered
for days, like pepper and rosemary and silver and leather all at
once, and the perfume of applejack. So good, so lovely, real and
supple strength. Anyway, what was I telling you? Ah, yes, about
applejack, nice name too isn't it? Like your acrobatic flights, a
jump a spin a twist a landing and wham. Applejack, apples
made lethal by distilling their essence. So you scrape the snow
and bury it again in the snow…
*
The cold sleep before death has no sounds, no senses, no
feelings. The cold sleep before death is dark and impersonal
hiding the spark of self from the encroaching world. But the
spark of self is slowly being entwined in a soft sticky not quite
warm cloud, a mellow cloud spinning a gluey gentle hoarse –
hoarse? – whispy honey vine like a memory of cobwebs like a
memory of silk threads like a memory of of a heartbeat…
"… and the tang of it the russett burnt honey spice of it the tender
acrid heady perfume of it…"
In the cold sleep before death this thin snaking enticing feel of
small wings beating of soft wings beating of rustlings of
swirlings of falling light leaves of… apples?
*
Remy's eyes slam open, the suddenly tensing body an emphatic
refusal of life an emphatic denial of life. You want to play God,
Logan? You want to wake the dead? Where does it say that the
dead are grateful for interrupting their cold sleep?
*
"This meeting is not to appportion guilt. The guilt is mine, I'm
responsible for the group. This meeting is called to determine
our attitude in the future. When Remy wakes… *When*, I refuse
to contemplate the alternatives, I want you all to treat him with all
due respect and courtesy, in acts not only in words. This is not
open for discussion. You do this or you're out. If the majorioty is
against, then I'm out. What is open for discussion are the
reasons for not wanting to obey this command. I will listen and if
some are valid I will try to mediate." Warren cannot be silent "He
caused the massacre of the Morlocks, do you need any other
reason?" "LIAR." says the voice of death and Warren looks at
Jean, shocked by what he sees he gulps and goes on, doggedly
"I lost my wings because of him…" "LIAR." "Damn you, Jean!"
goaded beyond fear "Stay out of my head!" "I am not into your
head." says the Goddess of Death "It's fairly screaming these
are lies, oh, they may be true things but they are not the true
reason for your hatred." Warren is panting but can only open and
close his mouth like a fish. "Alright" he gasps, having abruptly
decided "You're right. These are true reasons but not the true
reason. Wanta know what he did? What your lily white murderer
did? He killed my mother."
*
Suddenly the tension slacks the body sags but the eyes are still
open and empty, reflecting the ceiling of the lab, empty open
dead. There, here is your creature, your creation, what monster
have you created doctor Logan? How can you breathe and see
that?
*
"He seduced my father, my father couldn't think of anything else
after a while. Didn't think of me didn't think of my mother, left her
alone because all he could think of was this red haired red eyed
whore who's got his hooks into him" - But he was a child, Scott
thinks out of balance out of breath - "He spent lots of money on
the little leech, lots of time with the little leech, he didn't come
home, he faked business trips and my mother couldn't take it
anymore. She took sleeping pills instead, lots and lots of
sleeping pills and I called and called and called her but she was
cold and never answered! And he never looked at me, the freak,
he paid for things but never looked at me all his life, only at the
red eyed whore who got into his poor guts…" " I remember your
father. Remy called him the Tower Man. The Tower Man not so
very big but liked to say `Look at my tower Wawy'. He said `Lick
my tower Wawy'. He said `Sit on my tower Wawy'. He said `All the
way down Wawy'" The voice is empty of all feelings an indifferent
monotone, the eyes are empty of all life, so empty they look blind.
"Remy always had to have his hair curled for the Tower Man"
Hand up takes soft golden curl and Warren wants to kill to
scream to rage like a beast, but is paralysed by empty eyes
empty voice empty hand, can only manage a strangled scream
"He never called you that! He called me Wawy when I was little!
My daddy called me Wawy when I was 3!" The dead voice goes
on as if he hadn't spoken: "Remy was always 3 for the Tower
Man. He wanted Remy to be 3 and so he was 3. The colonel
wanted Remy to be 7 so he was always 7 for the colonel. The
Dogcatcher Man wanted Remy to be 5 so Remy was always 5 for
the Dogcatcher Man. The Tower man was very rich. He once
bought Remy for a whole week all the hours day and night. Remy
had to have a perm for the Tower Man, Remy's hair too straight.
He paid tens of thousands for Remy. He played many games
with Remy the whole week. Remy always had to say yes daddy
to the Tower Man. Every time the Tower Man stopped speaking
Remy had to say yes daddy. Remy could say nothing else. The
colonel said `nod for yes or scream for no as you please', but it
never made any difference. The Dogcatcher man wanted Remy
to bark nothing else. Remy had to learn how to bark for the
Dogcatcher Man. But the Tower man always wanted yes daddy"
The hand drops like a leaf in autumn the dead unfeeling voice is
unchanged, eyes filled with a nameless horror Warren hears the
red haired robot say: "You are lucky Warren, he never touched
you." Remy stops like a wound down toy and doesn't move.
*
So they – Logan, he never lets anyone else do it – have to tell the
shell that once housed a mind to do everything. But he does. Eat.
And he does. Drink. And he does. Piss. And he does. Sleep. And
he does.The wound down toy never speaks again, but that was
surely life, that dead defense of a ruined childhood was life.
Words have made him waken and words will make him come
out from hiding. Not even Jean, whose rage has collapsed into
inchoate pity, can enter that shielded and sheltered mind. He is
a hawk of the lure, he has to be teased out of hiding, enticed
attracted drawn in, lured back to life. And Logan talks and talks
and talks some more…
*
But Hank has taken a decision, anything to get rid of that
problem and besides the man's father is a basic figure in his
life, he will cope, let his family cope.
*
"… and then I would take you to Japan, you would have liked the
cool formality of the place hiding deep feelings hiding deep
honour deep integrity like yours no compromise to justice but all
clear ordered intense formality. And I would have loved you in
Japan like making tea, a slow elegant ritual slow and precise
and like a slow motion dance, I would have loved you like that in
hours ans hours of bliss and tenderness…" They are in bed, in
Logan's bed, Logan'a arms tenderly and very lightly encircling
the still body not refusing not accepting, but tenderly encircling
the still body as if it were paper thin crystal "then I would take you
to Figi and we would make love like otters, slick and frisky and
fleet in the water, snorting mewing gasping in the warm
transparent green waters, more slippery than water snakes
more joyiously abandoned than seals and dolphins and you
would laugh at my clumsiness and laugh at the delight of it. But
you can't now, my beloved, I know you can't, so it won't happen,
but it doesn't matter, that's not the point of love, it's the joy of love
but not the point of love the point of love is love so I will love you,
day and night every second I will love you and hold you and
defend you and hope that you come back to me even to spurn
me even to kick me away even to deny me, just so you come
back to yourself and live and laugh and jump turn twist caper
land on your sure feet. You are my mate my love my life my all but
you don't have to be tied up in my clumsyness, you just spread
your wings and fly, my hatchling, nevermind this short runt
gasping thing wishing only to see you fly…
*
Warren is sick, puke puke puke, sick to his soul, puke puke
puke, you can't puke away what you are, what you've been made
into. Little slimy toad, little envious slimy toad now you know what
you envied all those lost years. You say `I have wings I can fly'
you say `I am better than you earthbound creatures' you say `I
can soar higher than any bird beating my white wings my strong
wings' you say `I can take you all you groundlings and fly over
your heads and spit at you' you say `I am special better stronger,
you cannot get me you cannot stop me you cannot be me' you
say `weep because you cannot be me'. Those things may be
true, but they are not the true thing. The true thing is 3 and he's
weeping terrified asking why his daddy cannot love him. The true
thing is 3 but now suddenly he knows why. The true thing is 3
and cannot encompass the revelation of what his daddy's love
would mean. The true thing is 3 and is puking his little soul out.
*
TBC?