Raju’s gaze dart here and there over Francis’ face, eyes narrowed, thinking. “I told you,” he decides, “that I… I knew what it was to want… to die. And I told you how I beat a man— I tortured him. He wasn’t the first. But this time, there weren’t any guards. Only me. When I stepped out he managed to capture a snake. I don’t know how. It bit me, and he said… he said I had an hour, and then I would die. And I was… I…”
But he’s already danced closer to the edge than this, hasn’t he, just in the last minute? Maybe that’s why he’s hesitating. It would have meant something different spoken on its own, without that damning How is it right that came before. He says it anyway, feeling his way through to the right word.
“I was… grateful. Relieved… Happy. I was happy, for the first time in… I don’t know. Years. Maybe longer. But here, I’m happy to live. I want to live. Because I’m here.” He’s shaking at Francis’ shirt again, or trying to with Francis’ hand over his, but even as intent as he is on convincing Francis to… on convincing him, a part of Raju is already asking what could happen after that. Francis agrees with him, says it isn’t… fair — a safer word than right, it could be right and still not fair — that all of this isn’t fair, and then… what?
Raju keeps pushing anyway, for agreement, or maybe for something more than that, no matter how impossible it might be. He can’t bear to do anything else.
“Here, where it doesn’t hurt. With you.” His gaze is darting over Francis’ face again but this time urgently, looking for something. Understanding, or agreement, or anything other than that mournful, loving acceptance that Raju can feel from him now. For Francis to fight. If Francis agrees Raju should fight this then, then… then something. Something he could put into words if only it was right to do it, if only the thought of it didn’t make all the heavy sludge and inward pointed knives and everything he feels on looking at that thread out to his home try to crawl back up his throat.
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But he’s already danced closer to the edge than this, hasn’t he, just in the last minute? Maybe that’s why he’s hesitating. It would have meant something different spoken on its own, without that damning How is it right that came before. He says it anyway, feeling his way through to the right word.
“I was… grateful. Relieved… Happy. I was happy, for the first time in… I don’t know. Years. Maybe longer. But here, I’m happy to live. I want to live. Because I’m here.” He’s shaking at Francis’ shirt again, or trying to with Francis’ hand over his, but even as intent as he is on convincing Francis to… on convincing him, a part of Raju is already asking what could happen after that. Francis agrees with him, says it isn’t… fair — a safer word than right, it could be right and still not fair — that all of this isn’t fair, and then… what?
Raju keeps pushing anyway, for agreement, or maybe for something more than that, no matter how impossible it might be. He can’t bear to do anything else.
“Here, where it doesn’t hurt. With you.” His gaze is darting over Francis’ face again but this time urgently, looking for something. Understanding, or agreement, or anything other than that mournful, loving acceptance that Raju can feel from him now. For Francis to fight. If Francis agrees Raju should fight this then, then… then something. Something he could put into words if only it was right to do it, if only the thought of it didn’t make all the heavy sludge and inward pointed knives and everything he feels on looking at that thread out to his home try to crawl back up his throat.