As Francis unwraps the blanket from him, sets up the things he needs all at hand and organised, rubs a cloth over his fingers, his fingernails, his knuckles, the ramrod line of Raju's back and shoulders starts, minutely, to curve. His attention on Francis' hand moving over his is very close, intent on the sight and the feeling there as if it's the centre of the world. After a few minutes, when Francis isn't working on one particular finger or another Raju wiggles it, hoping if he draws more attention in himself to the way that the cold hurts, it will start to matter more.
Francis is here, and cleaning off his hand. Things are better than they were. Maybe Raju won't get it wrong this time.
"You said... most would crumble under the, ah... the pressures. But I— when it's... hard. I..." Raju's eyebrows pull closer together. There's still mud under his nails. Francis needs to know, where no one else ever has. Uncle's guessed some of this, he thinks. But he's never asked. It hurts Uncle to watch it, Raju thinks, when he allows himself to. What Uncle sees of it hurts him, and he doesn't want to know the rest. It won't hurt Francis, not in the same way. Not away from everything the way they are. There must be a way to say it somewhere. "...Maybe I do. I've never thought about it. I'm not myself. Maybe it really is humanity I'm losing when I... become whatever I am, when I feel that way. Maybe that's what it is. But I don't feel like the man you know. It's easier to follow orders that way, and to... talk about things. Like my father."
His father, and other things. If he's going to say any of those other things before he's thinking clearly enough to hurt with it, now would be the time. The next few sentences almost trip over each other coming out, and then he settles into explaining again. "I had a mother. And a brother. A little brother, before. That wasn't— that was the soldiers. I want you to know everything, but I don't think about it. So if I tell you I have to stop thinking, and stop feeling. But then you said those... those beautiful things..."
Raju pauses, frowning again, wondering over the word. It feels like the right word, now, and so it'll have to do.
"I want... I want to feel. For that. For you. That's what I meant. But you must have thought I wanted you to leave."
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Francis is here, and cleaning off his hand. Things are better than they were. Maybe Raju won't get it wrong this time.
"You said... most would crumble under the, ah... the pressures. But I— when it's... hard. I..." Raju's eyebrows pull closer together. There's still mud under his nails. Francis needs to know, where no one else ever has. Uncle's guessed some of this, he thinks. But he's never asked. It hurts Uncle to watch it, Raju thinks, when he allows himself to. What Uncle sees of it hurts him, and he doesn't want to know the rest. It won't hurt Francis, not in the same way. Not away from everything the way they are. There must be a way to say it somewhere. "...Maybe I do. I've never thought about it. I'm not myself. Maybe it really is humanity I'm losing when I... become whatever I am, when I feel that way. Maybe that's what it is. But I don't feel like the man you know. It's easier to follow orders that way, and to... talk about things. Like my father."
His father, and other things. If he's going to say any of those other things before he's thinking clearly enough to hurt with it, now would be the time. The next few sentences almost trip over each other coming out, and then he settles into explaining again. "I had a mother. And a brother. A little brother, before. That wasn't— that was the soldiers. I want you to know everything, but I don't think about it. So if I tell you I have to stop thinking, and stop feeling. But then you said those... those beautiful things..."
Raju pauses, frowning again, wondering over the word. It feels like the right word, now, and so it'll have to do.
"I want... I want to feel. For that. For you. That's what I meant. But you must have thought I wanted you to leave."