clayforthedevil (
clayforthedevil) wrote2016-04-23 07:19 am
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Entry tags:
Photographs and Memory
Bahorel stops by Feuilly's room not too long after the weekend he can't remember, a small paper packet held lightly in one hand. He's in a fairly thoughtful mood, so he knocks extra loudly.
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"I took some photos, before everyone else grew back up. Jehan would have skinned me if I didn't try--I didn't know if any of them would turn out. once we all changed back. But they did. These are yours, if you want them; yours if you don't, too, get rid of them or whatever you like."
It's just a couple of Jeannot sleeping, a couple more where Jean had, in his usual restless sleep,thrown himself over into Jeannot's mattress, and one where in a really impressive maneuver Jean managed to herd Jean-Sebastien into the same mattress, too.
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Feuilly's face stills a bit at the explanation; he goes back to the motions of making coffee before looking over the photographs. Is that really him? Him after Joly had come along, insisting on baths and food and combed hair. Even after all that there's traces of paint on his face. And the pinched look of long-running hunger. "Thank you for bringing them," he says after a few moments. "Do you want some coffee?"
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He leafs through them again, still needing time for thought. "--Wasn't there--I remember we were playing with a, a tablet, Joly's tablet. Making pictures and videos. Did you find that?"
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But--"I still don't remember a minute of it. If I hadn't seen you all still children, I'd think it was all a very good joke." Really! It would be very impressive. He holds the flask out to Feuilly, not sealing it yet.
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Feuilly meets his gaze with a sudden rueful smile. "I wouldn't have chosen for this to happen. I'm not--ashamed--of this." He taps the pictures. "I'm not ashamed of that boy. But you know there are things that you want to--to keep private--from before coming to Paris. But it happened, and it turned out all right, here--we all made some friends, didn't we? When we were suddenly young again?"
His smile turns into a bit of a grin.
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And, because he's really not a very private person. he adds "-- It was my brother. You said I was looking for someone? I put it together, and poked Joly about it. He'd have been-- Hah, oh, five. Just." There's no great tragedy in saying it;there are surely people who grew up without any deaths in their family, but Bahorel never knew them in his lifetime. "Figured it out in good time, too, Jehan would never have talked to me otherwise. Seems I recruited half our merry crew into looking for him. So possibly we all did all right by ourselves." Another sip. I"m sorry I don't remember it."
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But he's smiling a little now, at Bahorel. "No, well, I'm glad I do remember. And yes, we--we did all right by ourselves, I think. It wasn't just us, of course. I mean--I'm sure you've run into other people who it happened to. But I met Harry Percy--and that Jim, that Moriarty."
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He starts to grin properly at the mention of Harry--that's a meeting he wants to hear about!-- but frowns skeptically about Jim. "--That ass who tried to burn down the stable?" Yes, he saw the notice--and if he hadn't, still, some gossip carries.
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They've known each other in circumstances that make that a warning to take seriously, as it's made. "--And I saw you grinning. Harry and I went and caught frogs in the lake. And that's not a, a euphemism for anything, so for God's sake don't try to make it one."
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But he turns serious long enough to ask "-- did he say anything?" Moriarty; his tone is obviously nothing to do with Harry now.
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No, he's not going to share Moriarty's relationship commentary with Bahorel. In fact, he regrets bringing it up at all; there's no way for Bahorel not to take a warning as a challenge, and no way to make him want to leave a problem alone for someone else. "It's nothing that's worth your time, anyway," he says, a last effort, and then drops the subject, picking up the pictures again. "Really--thank you for bringing these. But it's--it's all right. I guess I'll keep one, but you can have the rest if you want."
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He looks through the pictures again and sets aside two to keep: one of just himself, sleeping, and the one where several of the boys had managed to pile themselves together in their sleep. "--No, but I shouldn't avoid Joly. He and Lesgle were very kind. Were good friends," he amends. "They were good friends."
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You know, all about what you'd expect.
And since then, Harry has written a letter to his family--to his unmet son--for Monmouth to deliver, a thought that makes Feuilly bite his lip in fond memory. But that's private to Harry.
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A keen observer, or anyone with an eye or an ear, will notice Feuilly's lack of enthusiasm for the topic. "They were very good friends. Thick as--horse thieves."
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Come on, Harry. Have better sense than that.
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Until Harry came back from Agincourt, Feuilly had been avoiding studying that particular bit of history too closely. After their argument, he dived right into the books. "But of course--I don't know how things go in this Monmouth's world, it could be different--"
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His smile is more than a little amused."--You know you don't have to like him. You don't want to scold Harry for friendship, that's smart and it's right; but you can flat hate the bastard, if you want. I won't scold."
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He'd been looking down at his hands; when he looks up and sees Bahorel's amused smile Feuilly straightens up and scowls. "Oh, believe me, I know I don't have to like him. Come on, Bahorel, do you think I'm that--that far gone? Christ, I don't need you to tell me I'm allowed to hate him. --Does Shakespeare talk about Rouen? The siege? I don't know, maybe it's common knowledge, maybe it's something they cover in school, maybe you know all about it. I hadn't known, and it's--God, the poor turned out to starve in that ditch around the city walls, with Monmouth's army watching on one side and the men inside the city watching from the other side-- oh, Monmouth gave them food on Christmas, and then it was back to starvation again--"
He scrubs his hands through his hair. "That came later than Azincourt, so I doubt Harry knows about it. I don't think he even knows about killing the prisoners at Azincourt."
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But the answering grin disappears as Feuilly goes on, and turns into a scowl as Bahorel tries to remember-- ugh, school. "--The Shakespeare wouldn't answer your questions, anyway. School--" What did he learn in school alone, not reading on his own?" "--wouldn't have told you much. At least not the one I went to; if it wasn't Greek or Roman or Grand Royal Triumphs, we didn't hear too much about it. Oh, of course we learned about terrible Henry, invader, and the names and dates of the main battles, but the details--no. And you can be sure I'd have remembered those!" Terrible murderous crimes committed by an Invading Tyrant? Bahorel would have drawn pictures. He'd have made plays. Very bad plays.
But that was then. " I've done enough reading since to know our Henry--the one in our histories, who isn't the fellow who comes by the Bar, really-- was something of a darling to the Church in his day. So maybe other teachers would have said more about it. But--" he shrugs. " Combeferre isn't wrong, about how little they really tell you, there, for all they talk--or who they tell you about. A few poor townspeople, not even soldiers?" He shrugs again, feeling it want to be a strike. " Hell! You know well enough who they wanted us to forget."
Damn the histories, anyway. He drums his fingers against his leg for a moment, mostly to make his hands unclench. "--I don't see how Harry would know any of it, either, unless he's looked it up since being here."
..Which doesn't seem the most likely, but it could have happened, sure.
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Feuilly pulls his hands through his hair. "So no, I doubt Harry knows, and I haven't brought myself to tell him." Which isn't like Feuilly, is it. Or he feels that it isn't, anyway. But setting up that dissent between Harry and Harry...or between himself and Harry...
He shakes himself irritably.
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He's quiet again for a moment. Then, glancing over to Feuilly: "Do you want him to know?" It's a real question, no presumption one way or the other.
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That's really the heart of it, isn't it? Well--mostly? Because somehow, even though Feuilly can't quite understand or believe it, some people are able to ask questions of a war, ask questions about half the town starving to death in a ditch or two thousand men and boys executed after the city surrenders, and find the answers adequate. Harry--wouldn't be satisfied with it. Would he?