Into These Waters of My Soul

Sebastian was reading a newspaper in the hall when one of the young Phantomhives came downstairs at that early hour — the rest of their company was still asleep. For a moment or two, Sebastian could observe slight confusion and a busy mind in the eyes of the other. It could be expressed in the thought: Should I play him or not? However, it was by this look that Sebastian immediately recognised Gabriel. The twin seemed to see it and chose to retreat. Remaining himself, Gabriel went to the next chair. “You are up early, Mr. Michaelis,” he noted. “Can’t you sleep, or are you an early bird?” “I am more of a crow.” “How is that?” “That is both a lark and an owl, depending on what pleases me.” Sebastian turned a page and looked over it at the boy. “It came to my attention that you always do what pleases you. Even at the cost of a broken agreement.” “I see you like to play, Gabriel.” “You know, I think that you and I have something in common. We are both unbearably bored, and what is happening around us seems… seems to be fake and sickening. If only we could know that this is all that awaits us, we would lose our minds!” Sebastian smirked. “You need to know whom you can play with and with whom you should not. Your loved ones, for example, is a no.” “I’ll tell you a secret, and it might disappoint you — I’m sorry! — but Ciel is not the kind of person who becomes attached to others. This is something even I have to deal with.” “I’m not sure what it means.” “I’ll explain.” Gabriel grinned. “If I lose grip, things will collapse and go upside down, such is the way of Ciel. I think that you are smart and insightful enough to understand this. Or are looks deceiving?” “Are you saying…” “I’m saying that if I don’t play my part, Ciel will have to do it in my stead. Such are the rules. The family obliges. Do you know what a family means, Mr. Michaelis?” Ciel entered the room, and Gabriel changed his grin to a gentle smile. “Mr. Michaelis and I were just talking about you.” Ciel blinked and muttered in embarrassment. “Good things, I hope.” “You told me that Mr. Michaelis was teaching you to swim. I said that no one has been able to succeed in this, but Mr. Michaelis promised me that you would swim alone, in the deep waters.” “How about telling me what I will do?” “We are right now. Isn’t it right, Mr. Michaelis? You will teach my little brother to swim in a large, immensely large sea, won’t you?” Sebastian smirked, never looking away from the probing eyes. They were blue, just like Ciel’s. However, while Ciel’s exquisite poison was hidden at the bottom, making it velvety and desperately hungry, misunderstood and innocent, Gabriel’s poison almost touched the surface and therefore was very obvious. Charming, yes, but vulgar if compared with what seemed its twin. “I will most definitely teach him,” said the man. Sebastian didn’t have a choice. Almost from the first moment of meeting the twins, he knew that he was bound to them for the rest of his days. All or nothing. Such was a demon law. “It is a deal then!” The older twin cheerfully clapped his hands and then rubbed them together. “I can’t wait for the moment when Ciel and I can swim at the same level.” A look full of resentment did not escape Sebastian’s eyes. Thrown by Ciel towards the excited counterpart, it seemed to say, Just so you know, I am here, but nobody heard him. Sebastian pretended not to notice it, and Gabriel just winked at his younger brother.

***

Ciel and Sebastian found their way to the garden while Miss Elizabeth took Gabriel to the souvenir shops to “buy gifts for her friends.” Ciel purposefully led Sebastian to the fountains. At first, Sebastian thought that he wanted to lead him away from the conversation about what had happened, about his brother and “the same level,” however, the reason was different and sudden. “I want to introduce you to someone. I met him yesterday.” That was unexpected news to hear for Sebastian, as he believed that Ciel was under his peculiar control. “When did you have time for this?” “You were playing croquet with my father. My new friend is also a writer, by the way.” “Really?” “Yes. A nice man. I’m sure you two will have a lot to talk about.” “Is that so…” Sebastian could not help but notice the enthusiasm on the young, lovely face, the nature of it being incomprehensible to him: it was either sincere or feigned, and also confusing, for lately — perhaps against his own will — Ciel had that same, as Sebastian would call it, false coquetry awakened within him. Not obvious like that of girlish manner, but much more cunning, potentially dangerous, and graceful. And at the same time, it was as tempting and beguiling as a girl’s. It was a trap that everyone wanted to fall into and from which not everyone was able to escape or last for long with their dignity intact. It was a language that the young angel was only beginning to speak and that the demon spoke fluently — the body language. Sebastian watched his hidden movements in every way possible and responded with obedient humility and greed. Do it again, I am smitten. You are magnificent, I am bewitched. I am yours. Yours… yours. Those words would never become tiresome for the beautiful angel and much less so! for the old demon. That morning, Ciel was confused by Gabriel’s words, and any confusion of the kind, as well as any mental suffering, only pushed one closer to the edge. A man of about twenty-eight was sitting by a fountain designed in the shape of a knight fighting a dragon. His hair was brown, and so was his suit, way too thick for the weather. With his legs crossed, he placed a wide square journal on his lap where he was writing something down as he watched passersby, swans, and a short-tailed peacock sitting amidst the grass. What exactly had the thinker interested — the birds or the people — remained a mystery, but judging by his profound, utterly detached expression, the stranger gave the impression of a man who was excited and full of ideas. “Arthur!” Ciel called, and by the way it was shouted — lightly, bravely, and effortlessly — Sebastian saw the quick rise of trust. The kind of trust that forms almost as soon as we recognise someone as harmless and similar to us. Ciel seemed to find his new friend quite congenial, otherwise, such a loud and confident call would not come from his lips, it was not in Ciel’s nature. Moreover, Phantomhive waved at the man and grinned. The next moment, the man rose to his feet and clumsily dropped his journal. “G-good morning, Ciel,” he stuttered, looking embarrassed. “Are you writing something?” Ciel rocked from toe to heel and back, as if a little boy. “Me? Oh, no, no, these are just… scribbles. N-nothing worth seeing.” Sebastian looked the stranger up and down, making the latter feel uneasy. Ciel hastened to introduce the men. “Sebastian Michaelis, this is my new friend, sir Arthur Wordsmith. Arthur, Mr. Michaelis is a writer like you.” “Is that so? What a coincidence.” Arthur smiled, embarrassed, and then thought again. He turned as red as a tomato to the tips of his ears and put his hands forwards to frantically gesticulate with them. “But I am no writer yet! I am… so far from becoming one!” “You are a very modest person, Arthur,” Ciel interrupted softly before lifting his smiling face to Sebastian to explain. “Sir Wordsmith’s stories are published on the first pages of The Strand.” At that moment, Sebastian felt Ciel’s smile melt everything around him with its charm. He was utterly joyful and grateful for the mere fact that Phantomhive Jr. lived. In that theatre of the absurd, in that meaningless game… in the most boring of hells. And then a vice began to squeeze his head, and everything went dark. He wanted the dazzling fountains and that wretched scribbler Arthur to be gone, so the darkness could finally swallow them whole. So they could enter it like the deep waters. To feel its cold serenity. Its silence. More than anything, Sebastian wants to be engulfed by the blue abyss of his soul. Can we be left alone? Just the two of us in the whole world? whispers the demon. Why do I have to talk with someone else? To react or to answer? It’s ridiculous! Go on then. Go on. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Wordsmith.” The black-haired man’s hand grasped and shook the hand of his colleague. Its was shaking, like a flower in the wind. Wordsmith’s fingers were long and sensitive, and they had a weak grip, as was common with extremely insecure people. “Just call me Arthur, please.” “Are you alone here?” asked Sebastian. “Yes, and, to be honest, I would never find myself in such a wonderful place if not for my caring aunt. She suddenly decided that I needed to improve my health in a warm climate.” “Then the place was chosen well. Even the iciest bones warm up here.” Arthur smiled, apparently at the chosen epithet, because he incoherently whispered it under his breath, as if memorising it. Meanwhile, Ciel picked up the dropped journal and handed it over to its owner. “You’ve dropped it.” “You shouldn’t have bothered yourself!.. I could do it myself… Thank you.” Ciel smiled. “Never mind. Were you drawing birds?” Out of the corner of his eye he saw some odd charcoal sketches: long necks, wings, and a human profile with a beaked nose. “Sketches in the margins. It’s a habit. You know, when I am deep in thought, I draw small images that come to mind. And these are not birds, but rather swan boys. I’m working on a… oh, on a fairy tale.” Having said it, Arthur blushed again, as if a fairy tale was something shameful and despicable. “Swan boys?” repeated Sebastian and raised his brow. He grabbed onto the words like a guard dog would grab onto a stick thrown over a fence. Arthur scratched the back of his head, then his nose, leaving a charcoal stain on the tip. “You won’t believe it. I had this idea… watching those swans and… the boys playing over there… in brief, to write a fairy tale about a swan boy.” Oh, now I see, teases the demon, our Arthur is a would-be victim of swan boys. He cannot fool us, can he? “Let me guess, he has a long neck and an impossibly delicate figure, and his eyes possess an otherworldly gaze. An ideal of purity walking out of this very fairy tale.” Arthur’s eyes widened. “How did you… know this?” “I can even guess the colour of his eyes. You see, I often had a chance to walk with Mr. Phantomhive and see the swans in the background. The associations and comparisons that follow are quite simple and natural. You, as a writer, understand this. Besides, I’m sure that no better muse can be found on the whole island. So… the swan, of course, has blue eyes, white skin, and fragile figure of a deity.” He was too straightforward, but that was exactly what was needed now. Ciel, who was listening to the men, pretended to understand nothing — absolutely nothing — of it; he laughed lightly and said: “It is incredible how two creative people can have so much in common. It’s very interesting.” He tried to distract them while Arthur, for some reason, turned red in his face again and couldn’t say a word. Sebastian just smiled; the demon obviously saw right through him. Unlike Ciel, Arthur didn’t try to be what he was not. He was as clear as a swan feather. He smelled of chivalry. No, he stank of it from a mile away. A rare type. Insipid. Open. Sincere. But chivalry, starting from the nth degree, is the highest level of stupidity, only comparable to degeneracy. It is dangerous only in that it can attract and carry away with it what one holds dear. What wants to pretend to be something it’s not, or what cannot do otherwise. Ciel’s eyes sparkle as he looks at Arthur. I am like you. But this is a lie, Ciel. Two angels make a tandem. What will you do now, demon? The three of them wander along a lake, then Ciel lightly pulls Sebastian by the sleeve and whispers in his ear, quite loudly, that it would be fun to have a ride in the boat, and Sebastian obediently makes his wish come true. Sebastian and sir Wordsmith take turns rowing. Ciel smiles at the lemon ducklings swimming behind their mother duck. He catches a watery flower, a white fluffy bumblebee emerging from the fragrant depths and circling over the human heads before flying away. Now and then Sebastian glances at Ciel, who pretends not to notice it. Arthur meets the others’ eyes and talks about the problems of modern text with his voice a bit stuttering. He becomes hot and takes off his jacket, remaining a white starched shirt. It is too much white: the fountains, the swans, the dazzling knight. The glare on the water. The whole world. How sickening. If only he could hide somewhere in the shadows, under a willow tree. These sharp, pink knees were born to be under his hands. His swan-like, wayward neck is the impeccable Milky Way that leads from the crumbling world — that is the leisure boat — to a warm residence of Darkness which both of them are made of. To the languid, blue waters of Ciel’s soul. In his mind’s eye, Sebastian kisses those coral lips and that forehead warm from the daylight. He revels in the scent of the young and sweet body; he lives on it. Arthur steers the oars in a careless, melancholic manner, and the boat barely moves. Ciel compliments him, comparing his style with that of his brother. “You haven’t met him yet; I will introduce you.” But when Sebastian takes the oars, Ciel asks him to go faster. “We are moving slowly, don’t you think so? Can you row faster, Sebastian? Can we outrun that boat over there? It would be fun… If, of course, it is within your power.” The boat is barely visible — a blurred spot lost in the glare of the water. Wordlessly, Sebastian pulls the oars, rowing with all his might. They overtake the boat as quickly as the wind; a lady with a shaggy small dog in the boat laughs and waves at them as they move ahead. Sebastian sweats and breathes heavily, Ciel smiles enigmatically, enjoying the weather, and Arthur remarks how nice it is to ride a boat and have a fascinating conversation. “What do you think, Arthur? Does chivalry still have a future?” asks Ciel after they have discussed Wordsmith’s story about a knight who, as a chance would have it, gives his life for a bag of kittens. “The story is unusual and interesting, but I believe that the knight’s sacrifice wouldn’t have inspired me so much if it had been, let us say, puppies instead of kittens in the bag,” jests Sebastian. Ciel chuckles, explaining to Arthur: “Mr. Michaelis adores cats.” “I see!” “I’m sure it does!” sir Wordsmith exclaims a little too hot-heartedly. His eyes light up. “In fact, I’m glad you asked. I believe that very few people think about the difference between virtues and the vision of evil and good, and, most importantly, the fight between them. I’m sure that each of us can make the world a better place.” Ciel leans back in his seat and puts a straw into his mouth. Sunbeams play on his sloping, sharp knees while a ladybug crawls along the edge of his knee sock. Any creature of God — ugly or not — is drawn to these legs. And Sebastian has an urge to swipe the bug, along with the knight, away from the boat. He doesn’t want to join their discussion — it has no meaning here, and the blue eyes can clearly see this meaninglessness, as well as his desire. They know that Sebastian wouldn’t care even if it was a bag of babies. Ciel says, drawling the words: “There is no such thing as a coincidence. Sebastian is writing a book about the confrontation between good and evil from the latter’s point of view.” “Is it true? Do you mean… from the perspective of evil?” “Through the eyes of the devil,” the young man adds. Arthur turns pale and exhales, something like ah and oh coming out of his mouth. “Through the eyes of Satan! I would never dare.” “It’s not about confrontation, Ciel, I shall correct you,” remarks the black-haired man, “but about the full merging of what is essentially one and the same. I do not separate good from evil.” “I’m speaking in the context of this conversation,” the young man smiles. Sebastian’s words cut Arthur to the quick. “Excuse me, how do you mean that you don’t separate them? What happens if we don’t separate good from evil?” “It will be wise and relevant to what is happening around us.” “I do not understand you.” “What I mean, Mr. Wordsmith, is that, the way I see it, chivalry is a mere nonsense and a waste of time, and also hypocrisy.” “W-why? The world rests on goodness, wouldn’t you agree with that?” “The world rests on reason. If there is no reason, then there will be no world. Heart and the rest of the follies are for children playing in the sandbox. Those who have grown up create the world and move it forward, and those who have not waste their lives in the children’s room with their horses and cardboard swords.” “I absolutely disagree with you.” “That is because you firmly separate them. It is impossible. Knights, if I may say so, live on the belief that they are making the world a better place, but they are ignorant about the weight of choice or what it’s like to take responsibility. For them, everything is either black or white, but, excuse me, the world is more complex than that. The human mind cannot comprehend the entire immensity and system of the universe. So who is to decide what is right and what is not? Good and evil — this is not even a child’s thinking. This is a forceful belief. A parasite that needs to be destroyed.” “If you see someone in need or in danger, you help them. Simple as that, there cannot be anything wrong here.” “It is not always wise. Sometimes, a man deserves what he gets, or my resources don’t allow me to lend a helping hand. Or… I just don’t want to do it. Simple as that. I have a right not to want something.” “You are saying terrible things; this isn’t God’s way.” “See. You are separating again. You are so unbending in your confidence that you can change things, and what for? Let’s say there is a good person. He is happy because he ‘carries goodness’. Oh, he literally glows from within. But what is it that makes him good? He uses others to keep this feeling inside him alive. Being good is the same as being evil — it is about keeping your status for the sake of yourself. Isn’t this hypocrisy? All these saints… it doesn’t take much effort to give up everything for the sake of some imaginary ‘holiness.’ But what an overgrown ego they have… Such people are more terrible than grey and dirty men; the latter are honest at least. Arthur’s face turned deep crimson, but not from embarrassment. “Of course, I would like to be good! And who wouldn’t? Your point of view is dangerous, and it leads nowhere, Mr. Michaelis. I am speechless! This is… this… Ciel, do you support me?” The blue eyes darted towards the surface of the lake just before the “knight’s” stubbornness gazed into them. “I support the Lord and him alone,” said the boy. He splashed his fingers in the heated lake. “I would like not to join this argument, if possible.” “Mr. Phantomhive is working with me zealously,” answered Sebastian. “Who knows, Arthur, the next time we meet, I may be a good boy, and you won’t recognise me.” “Working?” repeated the writer. “The power of innocence is so strong and entrancing that even men like me kneel before it sometimes. I am about to fall to my knees,” his thin lips stretched into a smile, “oh, no, I have already.” The brown eyes met those the colour of sapphire, however, Ciel quickly turned his face away, his cheeks turning innocent pink. “Knights, wretches… everyone falls to their knees,” Sebastian continued. “Sir Wordsmith, can you see in the profile of our fellow traveller the features of the same ideal that both good and evil are chasing? As a true knight of the pen, you should know what I’m talking about.” Arthur frowned. He studied the young man with the scrupulousness of a decrepit, wise, virgin professor. “Mr. Phantomhive certainly has something like that about himself. I was amazed when I first saw him…” Ciel flushed and bit his lower lip. “Stop it, please,” he muttered. It was the second time that day that someone talked about him, as if he wasn’t there to hear it. “You are so easily embarrassed, Mr. Phantomhive.” Sebastian narrowed his eyes. “In fact, this is one of those features…” “Better row to the shore. Both of you.” The men glanced at each other and smiled.