Into These Waters of My Soul

The entire Phantomhive family was present on a croquet court, except for the youngest. Vincent asked about his second son’s whereabouts, and Sebastian said that he saw Ciel with his new friend. The parents exchanged glances, and the head of the family shrugged. “One way or another, I hope we find out who it is.” “Or maybe it’s a lady?” Madam White teased and winked with a knowing expression. She didn’t play but only occupied a wicker chair with a pouf for her feet, which, if she could be believed, were growing weak by leaps and bounds. She was a real torture for a local servant: bring water, lemonade, a fan, an umbrella. Remove the umbrella, wave the fan. The lemonade is hot, bring another. “My feet, my poor feet! I knew that this would happen. This climate is killing me. Play well, my darlings, amuse the old lady.” Rachel complained that Ciel didn’t like playing with them and remarked: “But with you, Mr. Michaelis, he did find a common language. The two of you often talk with each other.” “Literature is a common ground,” returned Sebastian. “You know, sometimes young minds can be a treasure trove of useful things. Something that, alas, you can’t think of yourself anymore.” “Hm…” Vincent scratched his chin. “The new generation is moving ahead of us. I’m not surprised. That’s how it should be.” Someone laughed energetically. “Well, now I see, Mr. Michaelis, why you have a death grip on the boy! He is a treasure trove! Now I see, now I see. Creative people have peculiar things on their minds.” It was the madam. Sebastian met her cunning eyes that seemed to see right through him. He felt uneasy. Could the old hag have sensed something? “Excuse me?” said the man, but Vincent had already gotten the madam’s attention. He wondered which mallet she thought would bring him good luck. “Take the one that is shabbier. I always trust experience!” “Good advice.” “Of course, it is. There has to be something useful in old people.” Then her fox-like eyes looked at Sebastian again to study him from head to toe. She doesn’t trust me or suspects me of something. “A friend, you say.” Gabriel approached him unnoticed on the right. He was on the team with Sebastian. “Are you surprised that your brother can have friends?” Sebastian turned to the young man. Against the dark emerald trees and pastel skies illuminated with a joyful and sickening sun, he even resembled an angel, like his younger brother. But if one changed the angle of view so that the shadow of a column fell on his face, the angel transformed into a noble little devil. Exquisite, wonderful, but devoid of all heavenly gifts. Without the seal of the forbidden. There was no taboo in his image. Only exceptional poisonous rot brewed enough for its years. A blue swamp framed by lilies, just as sickening as those above their heads. We are of the same blood, you and I. The two of you do have something in common, says the long goat skull. He is hovering over the man’s left shoulder, spreading the odour of death. No bloody way. When choosing between two similar things, you can make a mistake. There is no mistake. I am sure. “I’m rather disappointed. This morning, you promised me to teach him something, and now I learn that you have left him with some ‘friend.’ Was your swimming lesson unsuccessful, Mr. Michaelis?” “Consider it a part of the lesson.” They were speaking quietly. Meanwhile, Lizzie also decided to consult the madame about her mallet. They played two against two. Vincent and Elizabeth against Sebastian and Gabriel. The girl was a little upset with her fiancé because he wanted them to be on different teams. Sebastian suspected that most of the young lady’s hard feelings were feigned and as natural and quotidian as a cup of tea.  The balls began to run across a lush and bright green lawn. The hooded skull was floating above the ground, watching the swinging mallets. He was bringing his head closer to the aiming player, his jaw almost touching the ball or getting stuck in the hoops. The devil was as bored as Sebastian. The man watched Gabriel aim his mallet for a ball, and in his delicate, milky white hands he saw the hands of the one who was now sitting somewhere on the shore, running his fingers through the golden sand. Arthur could be a bad — good — influence on Ciel. He could hear fragments of their dialogue. “…Serving society is a noble goal, Mr. Phantomhive. Serving God is a purpose. That’s what I think.” “Do you believe I can do it?” “You’ve just reminded me of my brother, he often asked this question. Curious.” “Indeed.” Laughter. “My heart always feels good when I help someone. Until a certain age, I didn’t even know that it could be different for others and that they couldn’t feel it.” “I think that all of us can feel it. It’s just that not all of us listen to our hearts.” The demon moved across the croquet court like a mischievous bird, in the literal form of a raven. Madam White tried to scare it away a few times, and Miss Elizabeth threw a nut at it. Caw. The bird was distracting Sebastian. Just as he was about to hit a ball, an irritating scream burst out from its puny chest and deafened the place. Caw. Ciel’s laughter became one with that of the demon. Sebastian would miss it now and then. Gabriel and he were far behind Elizabeth and Vincent and finally lost. “I see you enjoy losing,” said the boy. He looked annoyed, like a person who wasn’t accustomed to being the last. “Not at all.” Sebastian watched the bird fly up, just as the points were announced. “You deliberately missed almost all the hoops.” Sebastian couldn’t blame the bird. He hardly thought about the game. He didn’t care a bit about it. “Too bad,” he sighed before taking out a handkerchief to wipe his forehead. “It’s no fun getting old, as Madam White says it. My eyes fail me. But I assure you that I was trying.” “Then perhaps you should join Madam White? Take a rest?” “Thank you, but I have enough energy for another game.” The twin’s brief smirk was like a drop of poison, and his blue eyes were of such flawless beauty that Sebastian had to remind himself not to be fooled. “Keep in mind, Mr. Michaelis, I hate losing.” This was said in a whisper. “You must win the next game.” “I?” “Unlike you, I am doing it right… Oh, Ciel!” Sebastian had to make an effort not to turn around. Instead, he studied his mallet and asked: “With his new friend, I suppose?” “Alone. By the way, you haven’t told us who he is.” The twin waved to his brother; the latter waved back and made his way to their parents. “I can guess it, though.” “A writer.” Gabriel pursed his lips. “Another one?” he asked in a disdainful tone. “I assume we are totally different writers.” “To the uttermost?” “Like the sun and the moon. A fish and a stork. A sphere and a square. Fur and scales.” Gabriel smirked. “Black and white? “Or that.” “Interesting… In fact, Ciel often spoke about his wish to find a friend who would be close to him in spirit. The question is, black or white?.. What do you think?” “If so, then you and I are left aside.” “I take care of my brother. This is my duty as the eldest.” “Déjà vu. But what are you getting at?” “I just want to know this second writer better. Yesterday, I heard a lot about how good he is, how nice, and so on and so forth. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but if he chose his company over yours… I just must see him! But I want you to stay close. Do you understand? Since you and I are left aside.” “I see that you are quick at seeing things.” “And you, unfortunately, are very farsighted. It’s good that now I’ll be against you.” Gabriel persuaded Elizabeth to be a spectator so that Ciel could join the game. Ciel shook his head in objection. “No, no, I’m a terrible player! I’ll spoil the game. I’d rather sit and watch.” “We all want to play with you, Ciel. Don’t ruin the fun!” insisted Gabriel. “Come on! I’ll play with father, and you will play with Mr. Michaelis. If you lose, he will take all the blame, right, Mr. Michaelis?” “I don’t think it will be necessary.” “Go on, son, make your mother happy.” Rachel won with her smile. “A-alright.” Ciel obediently took the mallet from Lizzie’s kind hands. She giggled: “It brings good luck, Ciel.” “Thank you, Elizabeth.” The young man approached Sebastian. “Father and Gabriel are playing together, so we’ve already lost,” he whispered and shivered as if from the cold, although the sun was so merciless that Mrs. White would douse herself with water every now and again. “With this attitude, most likely.” “You don’t’ understand. I just know it.” “I wish I could give you a good shake by the shoulders so that you wake up.” “I don’t seem to be sleeping…” “You are having a nightmare. Pinch yourself and try your best, please. Don’t think about anything. This is all that is asked of you, Ciel. Can you do that? Or maybe you can also trust your partner? Or is it too much?” “Considering what you write…” Ciel looked up at the man with a wry smile. He meant the devil. “But I will try.” “We’ll win.” “Yes…” Ciel was cold again. He shivered every now and then and wrapped his arms around himself, as if he wanted to brace against something. To become invisible. To disappear. Rachel, Madam White, and Elizabeth were cheering up the both teams. Vincent and his eldest son were playing harmoniously and energetically, they had their own strategy. In the second game, Sebastian ignored the demon’s somnambulant dancing and began to play with his all might, his ball hitting the goal quite often, while Ciel seemed to be in another dimension. It was only a shell of him standing with the players on the grass — his spirit was elsewhere. He failed to hit obviously easy targets. It’s all his lack of self-confidence. “14-8.” The score was not in their favour, they were going to lose like that. They both needed to give it some effort. Suddenly, Vincent changed the strategy. He played better than Gabriel, so when it was his son’s turn to hit the ball, he took his hands in his. “It is unfair,” Sebastian remarked. “We have a good reason.” “Which is?” “A cut finger.” The man raised Gabriel’s index finger. Sometimes, Vincent acted just like a big child. “Gabriel can’t hold the mallet properly. I’m helping him.” Gabriel nodded fervently as he held back his laughter. Vincent and his son hit the ball, barely missing it. “If so… then we have a cut, too. As a sign of solidarity.” Sebastian stood next to Ciel and wrapped his hands around the boy’s. “What are you doing?” “The same as them. But you see, they hit together, both Vincent and Gabriel; as a result, there is a big risk that the ball will follow the wrong trajectory. We need to act differently. Relax, as if you are hitting it, but in fact it is me. Do you understand?” Ciel nodded. “Hit it. My hands are for show.” Sebastian smiled. “No, your hands are not for show. They are now a part of me, and I need them a lot.” Sebastian felt a slight tension as he clasped the boy’s hands. Soon enough, it was gone. Ciel was really giving him his hands. Funny. Sebastian had no choice but to win. He made a promise. A lot was depending on that stupid game. The black counterpart moved before his face with laughter. You’ll miss it. “Focus.” You’ll miss it! Quiet. Help me. You are me, after all. “So… here we go.” Sebastian hit the ball, and it ran into a hoop like a knife through butter. Ciel gasped and smiled widely; he didn’t seem to believe that it would work up until the last moment. His face lit up. The women and the girl applauded. “What a hit!” “Thank you,” Sebastian returned with a bow. In the end, although Vincent and Gabriel were close behind them, Sebastian and Ciel beat them. “26-22! Ciel and Sebastian have won!” “Ah, it is the first time that I don’t mind losing, for I’ve lost to my son,” Vincent threw up his hands. Gabriel sniffed: “For the first time ever. Sometimes you’ve got luck on your side, don’t’ you, Ciel?” Ciel’s smile faded, but he turned to his partner nonetheless. “Thank you for the game.” “Thank you, Ciel.” “It was all you. If not for your trick with the hands, we would…” “You are forgetting something,” said the man. “Vincent and I play on the same level. He and Gabriel were using the same method, but you and I were a more symbiotic team. I was just doing what you wanted — I was trying to win, but if you hadn’t wanted it, nothing I did would have worked. Do you understand?” “I think so… But not really.” “I mean that victory is only in your hands” “But I haven’t done anything.” “Ask your knight expert. The tournament is won by the knight whose lady… But I’m talking too much. It was a bad comparison.” “No, no, I understand this comparison. Yes, I do!” “Have I offended you?” “On the contrary.” Ciel reddened. “We have won, and it’s great.” “Isn’t it a nice feeling?” “You know what, it is!” It was the first time Ciel laughed since the game started, even though quietly, as if he was afraid that the rest of the Phantomhive family would hear it and judge him. Afterwards, they lunched outdoors. Rachel asked her youngest son about his new friend. “Who is he?” “Ah, it’s Mr. Wordsmith,” Ciel answered. “What does he do? How old is he?” “A few years older than me. He’s a writer.” “How interesting! What does he write about?” Gabriel intervened: “About the things that our future priest honours. In brief, Mr. What-is-his-name brings light to the masses. A kind-hearted person who believes in ideals and stoically accepts the hardships of existence for the sake of true values.” “How do you know that?” asked Vincent. “Have you talked with him, too?” “I know everything about Ciel and even more,” smirked Gabriel, isn’t it right, brother?” “O-of course.” Ciel dropped his meat fork. “Excuse me.” “Why don’t you introduce us to him?” asked Rachel. Ciel hesitated. “Oh, he is a very shy person, but I will ask him, mother.” “Great!” “Just tell him that no one will bite him here,” added Gabriel. “If you survived it, so will he.” “Have you met him, Mr. Michaelis? What do you think about him? Writers and poets can be found everywhere these days.” Madam White cut off a juicy piece of beef and stuffed it into her mouth. At that moment, her mouth was as curious as her eyes. Sebastian took a sip of water. “I haven’t spent much time with him, but I find this young man interesting in his… radical, undeterred vision.” “The young are all like this,” declared the madam. “When I was young, I remember firmly believing that… what does it matter! Don’t believe in whatever is sacred and radical, as you have put it, it all leads to the same.” “To broken wings?” “And to that too, to that too… The beef is wonderful! Usually my teeth would suffer, but now it feels like I’m fifteen.” Then the talk turned to the weather, a little to Madam White’s feet, and to the herbal ointment that Rachel had bought for her in a shop. Ciel whispered in Sebastian’s ear: “I want to tell you something.” “I’m listening.” “I showed a few of your stories to Arthur. Are you mad at me?” “Not at all. We have agreed that you are the one who decides what to do with them.” “Arthur and I are meeting after lunch; he wants to show me some place.” “I see.” “I want you to join us.” “Won’t Mr. Wordsmith mind it?” “I asked him. He will be glad to see you. I also said that you are like my shadow and that it needs to be this way.” “I see,” the man repeated. “And what did he say?” “That he thought from the very beginning that you are following me because we have an unusual friendship.” Sebastian was flattered by the answer in his own way; it gave him a quiet, tickling pleasure. Ciel, too, seemed to feel something special as he spoke, for his cheeks flushed. After lunch, Gabriel took his brother to make a few circles around the hotel; the twins talked about something before they returned to the adults. Gabriel had to entertain Lizzie, and Sebastian, under the pretext of warming up his legs, took the younger Phantomhive into the garden, to the fountains where the air was fresher and lighter to breathe. Ciel was attracted by orange and dusky blue fish that shimmered with their scales. He fed them bread crumps. The fish were fat, lazy, and looked like driftwood if seen from afar. “Do you want to know what Arthur said about your works?” asked Ciel. “I suppose he said something like, ‘one shouldn’t even think about such things, let alone write about them.’” “First, I showed him the lightest draft about the mermaid, where she drowns and eats travellers before she meets a hideous old man on the shore… and falls in love with him. Arthur liked your style, but some of the descriptions truly horrified my friend. He said that not only it is not for young minds to read, but also not for every adult. He also said, ‘the morality is unclear.’” “No wonder. Our visions are different.” Ciel nodded meekly. “I would never say to you what I am about to say, but we have agreed on mutual honesty and trust, so I will tell you everything. All of it,” he gave the author a serious look. “Arthur read a few chapters about the devil and the angel who dances in the circus for others’ amusement. He said that you deliberately, consciously tempt the reader and use forbidden tricks. Then he asked me if I liked what I read and how I felt about the main character.” “What did you say?” “I lied.” “And?” “It set him at ease. He said that writers like you are masterful at ruining people, and that such works are worthless.” “How funny. And what do you think?” “I think that you are honest. Maybe more honest than Arthur and I put together. But it doesn’t mean that you are right, mind you. And… it felt like Arthur could read doubt in my eyes, because he quickly added that your books sow a bad seed. It has to be torn out and burnt. Such writers have no right to exist. The purpose of literature is to bring enlightenment and light, and one day people will see it, and authors like you will be gone.” Sebastian did his best not to burst out laughing. “Do you think enlightenment and light are the same thing?” he asked in a serious tone. “I know that what you write is wrong. But then… who knows what is right and what is wrong?” “Neither Satan nor God,” Michaelis was ready to repeat it time and time again. Ciel didn’t say a word. Sebastian smiled. “Take a look at nature, Ciel. What can be closer to God, if He exists? What can be simpler? There is no faith in its laws. There is only pure existence without any concepts. The strong eat the weak; this is a sacred cycle. Don’t you agree?” “Man is different from animal. Man has his own laws.” “And who is the source of these imaginary laws?” Ciel didn’t answer. He led Sebastian to the place where they were to meet Arthur. It was a tricky, winding path between clay buildings, cypresses, and orange trees. His slender legs were white against the many coloured skies. The charming legs. The magic of love. The energy that would revive even a dead man. Oh yes, necromancy was not a science of grim villains, but a science of men who loved deeply. Sebastian felt his inner box of creativity being replenished with a new idea. The main characters would be a necromancer and an ephebe. Beautiful and dead, and of course… of course! his eyes had to be of blue colour. Otherwise, Sebastian wouldn’t write it. “How do you feel?” asked Ciel. “I feel that I’m still being called. And this is one of the most beautiful feelings in the world.” “And who is calling you?” “You.” Sebastian had a sense of déjà vu: he tells Ciel that he is being called, and Ciel asks him who is it calling him. Sebastian wants to walk with Ciel like that forever. Descending through the hot and spicy air. Recently, there was also the sea… He didn’t mind the decorations as long as he could be with his wrong angel. The angel was falling. The angel whose very feathers were delicious. Like the black counterpart, Sebastian was ready to swallow him whole. “I see,” Ciel repeated Sebastian’s own words in Sebastian’s own tone. “Why don’t I know about it?” And he was no longer embarrassed but only smiled with his eyes as he turned his face to his companion. The wind was playing with his hair, and Sebastian so desperately wanted to run his fingers through those capricious strands. The counterpart was growing. “There’s Arthur.” Sebastian saw an awkward figure standing at the bottom of the steps. The creature flowed down the steps like black tar and wrapped itself around the writer’s skinny legs in rings. “I see him. What do you think he will show us?” Ciel slowed down his pace. The toe of his sandal hit a flint pebble, and it flew away towards the knight, falling right into the demon’s flesh to disappear there. “A forest. And you?” “Something that will make me joyous. ‘I invited you to go with me so you could see it, too.’ That’s what he said to me. Good day, Arthur!” “Good day! I’m happy to see you again. Mr. Michaelis.” The men shook hands. Ciel lit up with a smile. “My shadow and I have come,” he chuckled. “Where do you want to take us?” The brown-haired man worriedly rubbed his temples and fiddled with the hat that he was holding in his hand. It seemed like he wasn’t sure that others would like his idea, yet he exclaimed with tenderness and with a burning heart: “Oh, this is a wonderful place! Two German ladies showed it to me. Come alone, it is over that rock.” Arthur pointed somewhere far in the distance and took a quick pace, literally darting off ahead. “You are going so fast!” gasped the boy. “Oh, excuse me, Ciel. I’m used to walking alone.” And so they left the town — the nobly, lightly walking angel, his creeping shadow, and the wing-footed knight.