Laus Oma, Mere Tauthua
Tom closed his eyes. Gathering himself? Aremu wondered. Could he close the distance in time? And if he did?
He knew the answer. He had known it for some time; he had known it much longer than he should have. Aremu didn’t move; he held onto the knife. He wondered, aching, if Tom had died bloody, with his knife in his hand. He did not know what he hoped for. He was grateful not to know.
The man at his feet was tangled in the roots, and his blood was washing through the trees.
Aremu watched as Tom put the pistol down, and took the ring off. A wedding ring, he realized, suddenly. He had not thought - in the grove, he had not worn it - he - Aremu felt a painful shock, wondering for the first time about Vauquelin - the owner, he thought, aching, of all those sneers, of the pale hands, of the wedding ring. Was he still there, somewhere? Was - who - he knew so little, he thought; he did not even know what to ask. He did not know even if he wanted to ask.
When Tom spoke again, Aremu did not understand. Not at first. It caught him slowly; it crept up on him, and yet still it took him by surprise, when the net closed. He stared at Tom across the dark gloom.
He felt hurt, at first. It was a deep, aching sort of hurt, somewhere inside him. He put his knife away behind his back, looking through the moonlight at Tom. There was fury, then, sudden and sharp, as if lacking the ability to act allowed him to feel.
”How dare you,” Aremu said, his voice harsh and bitter. “I am a liar - but - to save a life with one hand, and take it with the other,” he shook his head, his left hand clenched tight into the fabric of his pants. The hypocrisy was bitter on his tongue; he couldn’t sustain the anger, and it slid off his face like a mask. The liar’s mask, he thought, aching. He understood; he was sorry. Of course Tom could not trust him. He was a liar; he was empty inside. Did Tom think it all a lie? Did he think -
Of course he did, Aremu thought, aching. His hand relaxed. How could he think otherwise? How could anyone? He had bared himself to Tom; he had shown him the places deep inside. The anger flared again, hot and sustaining; it felt good.
But Aremu thought of the dream; he thought of Tom watching him shining through with stars. He couldn’t unsee it. Could a man lie in his dreams? Aremu didn’t think so. He knew too much; he did not want to understand. He thought perhaps he did regardless, and he could not unknow it. He thought perhaps -
He could not bear for Tom to feel this way. He could not bear it.
Aremu stepped forward once, twice, to cover the distance between them. He had thought them of a height; he realized now he was a little taller than Tom. A little taller than Vauquelin, Aremu thought. He didn’t know.
He came; he stepped close into Tom’s field, into the angry buzzing reminder of his death. Moonlight spilled over them both. Aremu met Tom’s gray gaze, and held - close enough to touch, he thought. Close enough to feel the warmth of Tom’s body.
Aremu waited, and let himself feel. “You think yourself a monster,” he said, quietly, not more than six inches from Tom. His lips pressed together, firm, then loosened; the tightness of his shoulders eased, and Aremu sighed, but didn’t pull away. He did not know if he would be believed; he knew that he had to speak regardless. “I should prefer to decide for myself.”