You have my faithful heart. You will always have it.
I may forget you, but my love for you is carved into the walls of my soul.
Something will always remain.
* * *
The wind had died down. It wasn’t cold anymore. It wasn’t hot. Julian could almost see the outlines of the stalactites above his head, the etchings on the cave walls of twisting human shapes knotted in love and struggle.
Who holds the keys of hell and death?
Where is Ashton, my lost brother, my companion in trial and tribulation? It has been an eternity without him by my side.
Whose voice is the sound of many waters?
Whose passion is astride this wind?
The sound of gnarling metal sorrow, bending the embittered human will to another’s, who did that?
You have been graced with seven golden candlesticks, the healer told him. Whether you light them, whether you even can, is up to you.
Who knows my grief, my misfortune, my poverty, who knows I’m blind and a beggar and says it’s all right?
Who knows my alms, my gifts, my offerings, who knows my love, who knows my heart?
Julian was in agony, the lungs trying to expand, hot needles burning his veins, his body melting.
Who searches my soul for my hidden burdens and my sleeve for the sins I wear?
Who will lend me his ear and give me a morning star?
Who will take the iniquities from my hands and from my overflowing cloak? My sins fall out behind me as I walk. I’ve forgotten my friends, my family, my mother, forgotten those who cared for me. I’ve turned away from joy, thus I’ve turned away from life. Lost in my suffering, I was bound in chains, and I crumbled before what I have not seen. Who has set before me an open door anyway, even though I’m not strong but weak, I’m not rich but wretched, not a prince but a pauper?
Who knows that I’m not the one who needs nothing? My need is so great, my will so small, my misery and nakedness so blinding. Who knows this about me without any need for words from me, and is all right with it?
The winged beasts fly past blaring their trumpets. I say to the mountain and the rocks, hide me, hide me, please hide me from my life.
In supplication Julian raised his arms.
He thought he wanted to check if the charred flowers had formed on his skin, to see her name blazing on his forearm, to feel the scars of their days. It was dark, and he couldn’t see.
Nothing hurt anymore, because thank God, there was no more pain.
35
Perennial Live-Forevers
THE NOSE OF THE BOAT SCRAPED THROUGH THE SAND, BUMPED and stopped moving.
Finally!
Julian jumped out into the shallow water. His hiking boots were soaked and filled with grit. He was confined in a small space, and it was hard to move his arms to get to his multi-tool—though to be fair, it was also hard to see how a multi-tool would help him. In his current predicament, what he needed was an earth-mover.
The ceiling was low; it was not so much a cave as a space between boulders, a space large enough for just him. Light filtered through a break somewhere up above, a glimmer between loose and heavy rocks. He climbed to it, but the rocks crumbled under his feet, and he lost his footing and slid, and the rocks slid with him, packing on top of him. He tried again. Why hadn’t he put crampons on his boots to help him climb?
The rocks were heavy. He couldn’t move them. After many attempts to free himself, Julian panicked. It felt as if he’d been under a long time. He took deep breaths to make sure his lungs were still working, and then searched through his pockets again, one by one. In one of the deep pockets of his cargo pants, he finally found his multi-tool. It was better than nothing. With the end of the needle-nosed pliers, he frantically stabbed around the packed-in dirt, chiseling away at some of the crushed stones. He was always chiseling away at something or other, trying to make openings in stones. He was determined to forge