Disclaimer: Berusaiyu no Bara & all characters © ® All Rights Reserved Ikeda
Productions 1972-1973, Tokyo Movie Shinsha Co. 1979-1980.
Cold
by Aria(crune@coui.net)
Oscar sat with her knees drawn against her chest on the cold earth.
The wind was painfully cold around her. She felt it rake across her skin,
but didn't shiver. She sat utterly still.
The leaves fluttered and the wind made a small whistling sound. The
river in front of her was blue-black in the darkness, flowing with
tranquility even with the occasional whistling wind. Without even thinking,
she began walking towards the river. She shivered at the biting wind
assaulting her skin. Suppressing it quickly, she dived in.
She hissed though gritted teeth as the icy water flowed around her,
the sound lost in the small splash she made as she dove in.
Cold...
She closed her eyes, willing herself to make the coldness her own bit
by painful bit.
Almost there...*there*.
Oscar could feel her body grow numb. Luckily the part of the river
she was in was shallow and she floated gently. Oscar closed her eyes.
"Soon you will have to come to a decision," she heard her father's
voice in her head.
"What does that mean?" she had asked Andre later, faking ignorance
and mild curiousity.
"Haven't you realized why you're different from all the other girls?"
"Oh, that's nothing," she had answered dismissively. "Everyone's
different in his or her own way."
"Oscar you have been taught to act like a boy."
"So?"
He had sighed with exasperation.
Oscar opened her eyes; she had known very well what her father had
asked. But by her question to Andre, she had in her way voiced her
disapproval for it. That, she didn't understand.
Why does it bother me? What they imply that my destiny will be--why
does it trouble me? I have been trained nonstop. I have spent endless hours,
now more than ever, wanting to be the best. Why does it...pain me to comply
with what they have asked of me? Why can't I accept it passively? In the
darkness, she closed her eyes, willing the coldness to penetrate all of her
being.
Maybe then things wouldn't be so difficult.
***
Andre searched for Oscar. She had been acting strangely those past
few days--extremely withdrawn, almost shut out from the rest of the world,
but almost silently begging people to ask, not that she would have admitted
or in her way been pleased if anyone intruded on her self-imposed solitude.
Oscar was a paradox and that was all there was.
She had excused herself after dinner and left. The event wasn't
strange at all, Oscar probably had gone to read, but when he knocked on her
door he found that she wasn't her room. A half an hour later, after
tirelessly looking for her, he realized she wasn't in the house either.
Maybe it was something to do with the fact that she had been enduring
heavy practice almost everyday with all sorts of instructors. Or maybe that
talk the General had with her recently--about her responsibilities...
"You have developed into a sharp individual, Oscar. I want others to
benefit from that--including Versailles. You will honor us all."
The tall blonde had stared at her father while he continued, "However
, success will not come without a price. Soon you will have to come to a
decision."
Andre spied surprise in Oscar's eyes. She truly had no idea of what
was to come. Andre felt sorry for her. In a way he had always known what
was to happen, however he stifled the sentiment. Pity should have no part of
him; he had long been instructed in how to help Oscar.
Help Oscar, the words grated on his mind. Help her adapt now that
everything would get more difficult.
Help her become what she isn't.
He squelched the thought immediately. Oscar was raised like a boy,
she could have hardly hoped to be anything but a boy. But...
But the General yanked her free will away; he's fooling Oscar by
telling her that she has a decision. The word is meaningless when she has
lived under one option and has one choice alone.
That was none of his business, he was Andre Grandier, friend of Oscar
and above all--a servant. He had no right to question anything.
With this firmly in mind he opened the door to the stable. He
frowned, not seeing Oscar's slim silhouette and closed the door quickly.
Where was she? He was beginning to get worried. Where could she be?
An image of the nearby river came to mind and he started sprinting
off to the woods.
***
//You wanted coldness and you came when I had it to offer, therefore you
shall be granted your wish, provided that I can also have your warmth//
Leaves rustled and the foliage around was alive...
***
After a while there were no words, no pictures. There was a vast and
painfully beautiful *nothing*--an utterly formless type of calm. Oscar
drifted in it--she reveled in it until she felt harshly pulled away from her
cocoon of comfort. The coldness attacked her skin with a vengeance then and
over the hard chatter of her teeth, she heard a familiar voice--almost
hysterical in its urgent tone.
"Oscar wake up, damn you! What the hell do you think you're doing?
In a night this cold! You idiot, open you eyes! Open your eyes, Oscar!"
She obliged, blinking out the icy water. Oh, it was Andre, she
gathered from the voice. That was nothing, she thought and closed them again.
"You moron! Wake the hell up!" her friend shook her hard enough to
make her head snap back painfully.
Oscar opened her eyes once more, this time instead of a drowsy
languor; they held a drop of annoyance.
I guess I have to wake up now, she thought mildly.
Employing rigid self-control, she stopped shivering. She swallowed;
all of a sudden feeling her throat parched and dry.
"I'm thirsty," she said hoarsely in a low tone.
She was unprepared for the blow that sent her sprawling on her back.
Gathering her wits about her, Oscar blinked and stood.
"For goodness sake, Oscar," Andre said harshly, "why?"
"Why what?"
He semi-ignored the question, "Why did you try to kill yourself?"
Oscar's eyes widened unknown to Andre in the darkness, who could only
see her silhouette--grayish in the thick blackness. Despite his previous
blow, she felt no need to retaliate. Somehow that worried her.
"I didn't try to kill myself, I wouldn't do such a thing," she said
calmly rubbing at her jaw.
"Then why are you here?"
"I just came to think."
"And you threw yourself into the river? Is that a better way to
think?"
Oscar countered Andre's acid tone with stoicness, "I thought so."
"What's wrong with you!" he yelled at her.
Another aloof answer, "What do you mean?"
"All this week, you've been acting melancholy. That isn't like you."
"I'm fine," she said calmly.
"I've heard that before."
"It's true."
Andre shook his head vehemently, "This--this isn't you. React!
Get angry!" Her lack of emotion surprised and upset him. It wasn't like her
at all.
"There's nothing to react to," she said.
With a hoarse cry of frustration, Andre slapped her.
She didn't react and there was silence between them.
"Does this have to do with your father and when he talked to you?"
"I don't know. Maybe."
"Do--do you understand what he meant?"
"I do, I figured it out. Living like a boy, the rest of my life,"
she shrugged again, "He only has to ask and I will do it."
Andre stayed silent.
***
I thought I wanted this, but now...I don't want to stay this way,
Oscar recoiled at the events, uncomfortable with this indifferent, utterly
feelingless version of her. She banged at the wall that kept her from taking
possession of her own body.
//This is what you wanted...// a soothing voice told her.
Who are you? Oscar asked.
//What is around you//
The forest? she asked. A few seconds later she felt rather than
heard the assent. But...
//I do live//
And why this? This coldness is...your doing. Why?
//So that I can have your warmth. It is a fair exchange//
But...
//This is what you wanted...//
No, no, no...
The flicker of light that was Oscar became dim.
***
The wind had long stopped whistling and there was a stillness on the
banks of the river where both Andre and Oscar were.
Andre couldn't cling to a palpable explanation. The only thing that
came into his mind was that Oscar wasn't herself.
His head reeled. What was she then? She was physically there, but
the Oscar he knew--the fighter, the one who had such a clever mind--she just
wasn't there. It was painfully obvious from the tonelessness of her voice,
the aloofness.
"Oscar..." he half-whispered.
In the darkness, all he saw was her face turn towards him, suddenly
she sat down crosslegged on the ground.
He took a hesitant step towards her.
"Are you going to hit me again?" she asked indifferently, looking
up.
"Maybe," he said trying to rile her anger, but her bent, sitting
figure only conveyed resignation. It frustrated him to no end. He pulled his
fist back and let it fly, surprised to feel it connect, hear a yelp of pain
and see a blur of gray as she fell.
Guilt coiled within him, then. She was supposed to have moved away--
or at least blocked his punch! Why hadn't she been doing that? The
stiffling guilt grew. He had already hit her three times without her making
a move to defend herself. Something was very wrong.
"Oscar!" He cried out, leaning down to her. "I'm sorry. I thought
you'd move away or block," he spoke fast. "I didn't mean to..."
Her figure lay prone on the grass.
He gathered her gently into his arms. The whole motion seemed a
awful parody of that time long ago when he had saved her from drowning.
He felt her lightness and the wetness of her clothing, but above all the
terrifying, unnatural coldness of her skin.
We have to get back, I forgot her clothes were wet--she could catch a
cold and then Grandma would never let me off the hook! He thought quickly.
Even as he thought that, he couldn't help, but notice that the night had
become warm. How could Oscar be that cold?
The moon emerged through clouds. Andre saw clearly then when Oscar
opened her eyes. There was barely any blue in her eyes, just the consuming
blackness of her pupils. Andre was so started by the sight that he almost
dropped her.
She definitely isn't feeling right, he thought, alarmed.
"You hit me," she said in an odd tone.
Andre was puzzled. "I've hit you before."
She didn't say anything, but Andre could sense her disapproval.
"Please let me go."
He placed her on the ground. "Sorry," he said clumsily, "I thought
you were out cold."
She didn't answer. Andre felt as he was dealing with a stranger.
"I'm sorry I hit you," he said feeling a bit more than sheepish.
They fought constantly--why should it have made him feel so guilty?
She turned away from him and began walking away.
"Hey--where are you going?"
Oscar still didn't answer and Andre reached out to grab her arm
forcefully.
"I asked--where are you going!" he said and was confronted again by
that black gaze. His eyes were playing tricks on him, he thought. In the
moonlight, Oscar's soaked hair was silver and her skin impossibly pale. The
true contours of her body were easily discernible through the wet clothing
which clung to her like a second skin. She looked...ethereal.
Involuntarily, Andre let go of her and took a step back.
"You--you're not Oscar."
Oscar didn't react to the irrationality of his statement.
Two parts within her screamed out their own answers, one yelling a
fierce denial and the other it's agreement. They were both right, in their
own way--but Oscar wouldn't realize it until much later.
"Andre..." she moved towards him with small steps and he fought the
urge to run away.
"Why are you scared?" she asked, looking up at him with those
fathomless eyes.
He laughed uneasily, but his eyes betrayed him. "I'm not scared of
anything. Especially not of you."
She extended her hand to his face and he flinched. Andre closed his
eyes, expecting her to laugh, but there was no sound, only the coldness of
her small palm cupping his cheek.
He gingerly opened one eye, still tense, but Oscar's face was
unreadable. Frozen.
At that moment, he decided that he hated that coldness--loathed it.
He stretched his hand towards her mirroring her motion and placed it on her
own cold cheek.
Oscar blinked, for a half-second Andre had a respite against that
hollow black gaze. But with the lifting of her eyelids, it was back and he
stifled the urge to hide from it.
Not knowing what to do, he moved his palm away. He opted then to
trace her features with his index finger, the smooth slope of her nose, the
roundness of her cheek, the curve of her jaw where, he spied; an ugly bruise
would soon form. He wondered why he felt disgusted with himself for being
the cause.
Andre scrutinized her face for any reaction, but there was none. He
gently removed her icy palm off his cheek and held it for a moment between
his own hands.
"Aren't you cold?" he asked gently.
She didn't reply and Andre brought her close. She leaned against him
limply, resting her forehead against his shoulder. He was very aware of her
then, her weight, the wet clothes and the scent of the river. Impulsively,
he pressed his lips lightly on her shoulder, placing a small kiss there--
ignoring the blush he knew was staining his face and the small voice that
was demanding to know exactly what he was doing.
Oscar didn't move, didn't react and he was filled with a profound
relief, replaced a few minutes later by a disappointment he could not
understand.
"Don't we have to go?" Oscar said suddenly in her cold voice.
"Not with you like this," he whispered.
"It doesn't matter."
"It does to me!" his whisper was harsh due to desesperation.
"Dammit this isn't you! You should scream at me, hit me, do anything except
just stay there. This isn't you!"
He was scared then. If she doesn't react then Oscar's dead, the
thought came unbidden, she's dead--she's broken.
She didn't react and the force of the situation hit him harder than
anything else.
His legs gave out and he fell at her feet, cradling his head on his
hands, wanting to scream, to cry, to express what she clearly could not and
wondering why. Wanting to know how that happened--what had ripped Oscar's
life out of her so brutally
He felt her kneel beside him stroke his head gently. "I'm sorry."
This time, he was pulled into her cold embrace.
"This is my fault," she said quietly, "I'm sorry."
"No, it isn't," he answered her and leaned over. He pressed his lips
lightly against hers--more than anything, as a reassurance that there was
indeed life. That there was emotion, feeling--that there was warmth instead
of cold.
He wrapped his arms around her tightly; as if trying to dispel her
coldness with his own heat, even while his lips met hers countless times in
feather-light kisses. Then, suddenly he felt her go utterly limp.
Andre pulled away, shaken. "Oscar?"
She was like a rag doll in his arms when he shook her.
He took her pulse and sighed. Calmly, he picked her motionless body
and carried it to the mansion.
***
//It was a beautiful respite against the cold//
Oscar awoke. What is it? she inquired.
//It seems that coldness doesn't suit you//
Did you wake me up?
//No//
Then who did?
//It is not my place to tell. You should already know, but perhaps you are
not ready...//
Who woke me?
The voice ignored the question.
//It seems that it is time for you to go back//
Back?
//Surely you don't think I would keep your warmth forever. Doing that could
certainly destroy you and I never harm those that are my own//
Your own?
//I have seen your depths and known your heart. I am honored to call you my
own//
Somehow that pleased Oscar very much.
The flicker of light that was Oscar became a flame.
***
"Shame on you boy!" Andre's grandmother cried. "You should have
found her sooner, a few more minutes she would have caught something more
severe."
"Aw, grandma you know that isn't true, the doctor said she was sick
even before she went to the river--that's why she was acting so weird before."
The grandmother huffed, "I certainly didn't think she was acting
weird."
Andre sighed with exasperation. "She was, it was like she was
constantly depressed."
"Humph."
"It's true!"
"So what did Monsieur Doctor prescribe?" the grandmother asked
contemptuously--still unconvinced about her Lady Oscar's disease.
Andre didn't get time to reply, before a maid came in bearing the
news that Oscar could now have visitors. In the blink of an eye, he fled the
room wanting to know firsthand about Oscar's current condition.
He made his way in her room softly, as not to disturb her.
"Hi," she said cheerily when he entered. He was relieved to see that
her eyes were back to normal.
A sudden nervousness struck Andre. Was she mad about what had
happened, did she want to know why, was she going to tell anyone?...
"Hi," he said shakily.
"What's the matter with you?" she said, "You look uncomfortable."
"U--So," he changed the subject deftly, "what did the doctor say?"
Oscar laughed, but didn't press the issue. "He said that I was
training too hard. He said that being in the sun all day doing exercise
could be harmful to a person's health. I don't remember any more of what he
said. I was half asleep. I can assume the cure involves a lot of rest," she
groaned.
"So how do you feel?"
"Hideously tired still," she smiled wearily.
Andre felt torn, as much as he feared what her reaction would be, he
was curious about her thoughts about the night before...
"So, do, ah, do you, um, remember about the river last night?" he
asked uncomfortably, even as he fidgeted.
Oscar's eyebrows furrowed in concentration. "I remember being there
and being cold and you shaking me to wake me up, but after that it's a big
dark blur. I don't know what's real and what isn't. I mean--we didn't
encounter dancing skeletons last night, did we? And I could have sworn I saw
them," she smiled sheepishly.
Andre allowed himself the luxury of laughter--more out of relief than
anything else. Everything was all right now.
"And Andre," Oscar said sharply, startling him out of his thoughts.
"As soon as I recover I'm giving you one of these back," she pointed to the
light violet bruise on her jaw, "With interest."
He plastered a worried look on his face, which wasn't as fake as he
wanted it to be, even while deep inside he was overjoyed. Oscar was fine, she
was back to herself...and she didn't remember the odd stuff that had happened
between them. Looking back, he found he couldn't explain anything at all.
But that really didn't matter, he told himself. That was just one
freak event that neither of us care to explain or repeat. He blocked the
whole thing away vowing not to ever think of it.
As the years passed, however, he found he couldn't think of anything
else.
END
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