Into These Waters of My Soul

Sebastian was reading on a veranda. His feet were sore from the recent walking, and there was a sharp pain in his knee. What did you expect? You are no longer fifteen to run the hills with a young lamb. But then again, running with the young lamb was his only pleasure. If Ciel wasn’t there, Mr. Michaelis would long have withered away in the company of Madam White and the others. It was only then that Sebastian was alarmed by the fact that he had compared the boy to a lamb. In a veiled story of his past, it was always little Emilia who played the lamb. Could it mean anything? You need to relax and stop overthinking. Sebastian had a bad dream. Ciel and he hadn’t yet left the ocean; they were sailing alone, at twilight, on a narrow boat. Sailing towards a tiny isle with cypress trees and walls of rock. It was the Isle of the Dead from a painting by Arnold Böcklin. The young man was sitting on the back of the boat, tapping his fingers on the wooden lid of a coffin. Sebastian had a feeling that the coffin wasn’t empty, and, for some reason, he thought it was himself lying inside, but he wasn’t certain. Ciel was humming a song — some tune of the local shepherds — and now and then he would look at the man with his seductive smile of an arbiter. This isle of Death was under the rule of the young creature, the only guests there being Mr. Michaelis and the one resting in the coffin. Mr. Michaelis was curious to know who lay in that coffin, but the young man sat astride it and threatened the curious man with his finger before bursting into ringing laughter, and Mr. Michaelis gave up any further attempts. He didn’t care what Ciel would choose to do with him, he would follow him anywhere and do anything he wanted. It was his little, ringing death. The dream wouldn’t leave him alone, so Mr. Michaelis tried to distract himself with books, but the ones he found were so stupid that he regretted not taking any from his own library. The black figure of the demon could be seen standing by a stained-glass arched window. Could it be him inside the coffin? Perhaps Sebastian was subconsciously feeling Ciel’s victory over his friend? Ciel was the first to come downstairs. He was wearing a lovely pair of knee-length beige shorts, which, however, couldn’t hide an oblique cut that marred his fair skin, a light satin shirt, and sandals. “Have you had a fight with someone this early?” Sebastian looked down at the bare legs. With boyish simplicity, Ciel shifted from foot to foot and scratched the cut — it seemed to be terribly itchy. “I fell in the dark on my way to Mr. Knight.” “I see. Did you meet with him again last night?” Ciel grabbed a peach and sat down on an armrest next to Sebastian. He took a bite and chewed before answering. A juicy, sweet aroma filled the air. “He persuaded me… Or rather, I agreed to tell him which one of you won.” “Who was it then?” Sebastian looked from the peach to the relaxed, lovely mouth and the blue eyes full of innocent mirth and a sense of superiority. Today’s beige suit looked especially nice on him as it emphasised the rare colour of his eyes. And that wonderful peach went perfectly with the overall palette. What a pity that there was no artist to be found. What a pity that Sebastian was no master of the brush… “I won’t tell you. And neither will he.” “Not to upset the loser? Never mind, I am not in the least…” “Not to upset Arthur and me. We are the victims.” “I don’t understand.” “But I do,” the young man said stubbornly. Suddenly, he became stricter and more decisive. “Arthur was right about one thing. Now I know how to deal with you — only with a whip, a carrot, and a leash. I will not listen to you; you are too cunning with your words. You will listen to me. And you will do what I say. As agreed… in theory. We need to move from theory to practice. Don’t you agree?” Sebastian raised his eyebrows in astonishment. How could he possibly expect such a sudden change? From a boy who was scared of big dogs that wouldn’t obey him, Ciel turned into a boy who had straightened his shoulders and boldly pulled the leash of a dog twice his size. Sit! he would say. And Sebastian would sit. And lie down to lick the soles of his sandals, and nothing in his life would feel more delightful and right. Fire ignited in Sebastain’s chest. It was suddenly stuffy on the open veranda; the collar of his shirt seemed to have gripped his neck in a vice, as if it were a collar of a dog. Ciel moved his hair out of his eyes as he took another bite of the peach. That simple movement, which was repeated many times a day and every day, now possessed even more coquetry. Even though it was still boyish and… enslaving. It was also a leach. One of many. Sebastian tried to stay calm, but if only the young man could know what feelings, what storm of emotions he brought to life in him! It was his victory. No matter how it all would end, his victory was unconditional. “From theory to practice… Well… I am sure you know what to do. As I said, I trust myself to you entirely.” Ciel swallowed the last piece of the fruit and put the seed in his mouth to suck on it. He pushed it to the side with his tongue so that his right cheek protruded while his hand moved to the pocket of his shorts and took out something shiny. “Here. Take it,” he said, handing the object over to the man. It was a silver cross necklace. “You will wear it until I tell you otherwise.” “Do you think that if you make a man wear a cross, he will become religious?” “Not at all. It’s just that these symbols work even on a subconscious level. Like a prayer. By the way, you didn’t keep your word — you smoked. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” “It’s true… I did.” Sebastian remembered: last night, when Ciel was reading their stories, he was smoking. “I did. You are right.” Now he couldn’t give the answer even to himself — if he had forgotten all about their bet or if he had lost it on purpose. The man added sincerely so that Ciel didn’t think that his loss was deliberate: “I got distracted by the competition and forgot about it.” He put the cross around his neck and hid it under his shirt. Even Victoria could never make him do it. The metal felt pleasantly cool against the skin. “I was hoping that you had much more willpower,” said Ciel. “Here is my wish, then: you will find another cone shell, like the one we found the other day. You will put it in a jar of sea water. I was there again, but I didn’t see any.” “It is a very rare thing to find one. It’s a matter of chance.” A very fatal chance. “This is your problem, don’t you think so?” asked Ciel. “You will keep it in your room, and I will come see it.” “Why do you need it?” “To see it. It’s a reason enough.” “Well… Since I lost, I will get you this ‘Russian roulette.’” “Now you and I will go to a place I want to show you.” Nestled between the base of a wooded mountain and a wide road that divided a sheep pasture lay the ruins, all stone and rust. Aloof and crooked statues evoked ideas of cold-blooded deities — a bloodthirsty religion that required sacrifice under the guise of innocence. Instead of windows, the buildings had gaping mouths that let in moist, woody air with an occasional scent of orange trees. Standing further away was an old cemetery with dusty tombstones and rotten crosses. Most of its southern wall was covered with ivy, which gave the impression that the place was swallowed up by nature and her servants. A black goat could be seen among the ruins for a moment. The noise from the intruders had scared the creature. Throwing up its beard, all filled with weeds, it jumped off a stonework and slowly walked away towards the road. It was hard to imagine that a Catholic church once prospered there. Ciel placed his hands on the head of a stone angel, with only a half of its face still intact. He looked around and turned to the man. “Gabriel showed me this place, but he and Lizzie found it too dark, so now it’s ours. They won’t come here anymore. They prefer the rocky cliffs and the beach. Do you like it here?” Sebastian picked up a piece of stone; it was hard to see a part of someone’s hand in it. “I like ruined temples better than intact ones, that I can tell you for sure.” Ciel suddenly approached him and took him by the hands. He pulled the man down. “Sit. No, wait. Give me that jacket of yours.” Sebastian put his jacket on the ground. They sat down. The boy put the man’s hands on his lap, with the palms facing up. “Now it is time to confess. You will tell me everything about yourself. And no more lambs, mister.” Sebastian swallowed loudly. The cross on his neck seemed to be pulling him down, as if it got caught by something. Suddenly, it became clear that it was no symbol but a collar. Perhaps a symbol, too, but not that much. “Due to my age and little experience,” Ciel spoke again, “I may not understand it all, but I will certainly accept your story and you as you are.” Sebestian looked at the counterpart. He had appeared behind Ciel, his black, Baphomet-like face hovering over the boy’s left shoulder. For a moment, the demon and Ciel — black and white — seemed to be one and the same. They were one creature with one purpose. They came to listen to Sebastian’s confession and… punish him? forgive him? absolve him? what?.. “May I smoke?” asked Sebastian. “No,” Ciel forbade with soft severity. “You are quite cruel.” “You don’t smoke anymore. Otherwise, you won’t find many cones.” “Fair enough,” the man had to agree. And then he spoke. He told him everything with the utmost honesty, starting from his early days. From the moment he murdered Emilia, his baby sister. The story of his marriage. All his life. He also told him about the counterpart, his dark shadow. A demon of his other self. It was well after noon when he finished his story. Perhaps the others were looking for them, or maybe they left for the beach, as they were planning, without them. “I wager Mr. Michaelis and our sweetheart are wandering the mountains again!” Madam White would say, and the others would agree. She met them when the two were leaving the hotel together. There was nothing to worry about. Ciel looked as thoughtful and solemn as that same melancholic angel. “So,” he uttered finally, “your whole life was influenced by what happened to you as a child. What was it?” “Whatever it was, I failed, and there’s no turning back.” Ciel was still keeping Sebastian’s big hands on his lap, their skin hot and the boy’s thumbs brushing the lines and phalanges. “I think you know what it was.” Ciel’s wet eyes never left Sebastian’s face. The sun had risen to its zenith, casting pillars of light upon their figures hidden in the ruins. Sebastian had never felt so good before — that wasn’t calm before the storm but after it. More storms might be coming, but for that moment… The young man’s fingers were trustingly caressing his hands while his eyes were questioningly looking up at him. They were like two sorrowful statues in the middle of the broken cemetery. All those ruins of the little church were the ruins of Sebastian’s life. It all began with the question of being. No, not really. “I’ve never asked for this knowledge. I was just a boy.” “You have learnt what people try to learn their whole lives… What is it like? Tell men.” The only thing Sebastian kept silent about was the sacred secret bestowed upon him. No, the secret that ruined him, leaving nothing in its wake but an empty shell with the name of Sebastian. The enlightenment was neither good nor evil. The “enlightened” were neither good nor bad people. “It’s a complete disaster. Honestly, I don’t want you to know it. I wish you could forget this moment, but…” “You need my help? You… said that you failed.” “I’m still trying to get over it. I lost my nerve and ran away. There are things that even the Devil and God can’t refuse.” “What things?” “Being who they are. To be the Devil or to be God. Being on the other side means being no one and never… I chose to be a writer and… a murderer. A murderer of everything that I hold dear. But nothing of this matters in the end.” “Are you capable of love? Nothing stopped you with Emilia… And yet, you came to me, which means there is something left in you. To tell the truth, I don’t understand what disaster you are talking about…” And it is good, it’s good, my boy! It is a priceless gift to live in ignorance. To believe that there is something out there for which all is created. To believe that your life has a meaning. To believe that you exist at all. Sebastian touched Ciel’s face, light and shadow from the foliage playing on his cheek. “I came to you because you are special.” “Do you like me because I am… good? But what if I am not? What do you say then?” Sebastian smiled as he shook his head. “Ciel, there is no duality, there is no good and evil, there is no God and Satan. The only God and the Devil is man. I don’t regret what I did, but I am impossibly drawn to you. And I’m afraid, without confession, I won’t be able to take even a single step closer to you. That would be unfair. I am sick of this game, of this theatre of the absurd. I don’t know if you can understand me or not.” Sebastian was searchingly looking at Ciel. The young man turned his face to the side, watching a shepherd boy with dirty bare feet leading a small and just as dirty flock along the road coming from the pasture. The shepherd boy couldn’t see the two men; they were hidden by the trees and the remains of the walls. He was singing a song in his language when the same black goat appeared before him. The animal blocked the boy’s way and scared the sheep, the letter huddling together and bleating. The boy kept singing to quiet the animals. He pulled one ram to the side, around the road. Not without difficulty, they moved on, leaving the goat behind in proud solitude. Sebastian listened to the boy’s song, too, but only for a while. His attention was drawn to Ciel’s face. What was he thinking about? The only person in the world who tried to understand him. The counterpart was nowhere to be seen. To his own surprise, Sebastian leant forward. It was at that moment that Ciel turned his head towards his companion, and the kiss came out a little awkward, almost on the corner of the mouth. The boy’s hot skin smelled of honey and flowers. Ciel rose to his feet. “We need to go. And I… I need time to think it all through.” He looked agitated; his face turned crimson, and even his neck was painted the colour of shame. But timid as he was, his grip around the invisible leash was still tight — one had to give him that. He was standing stoically, like a little boy left alone with a big dog. Sebastian didn’t regret kissing him. It was the best time to do it. He might not have another chance. They were going back to the hotel in silence. Ciel was keeping Sebastian at a short distance, giving commands to him from time to time. “Pick those lilies over there for my mother.” Or: “There are red lights on that hill. What is that?” “They look like hippeastrums. Should I pick them?” “No, let them grow. They are beautiful.” Ciel looked too calm for someone who had confirmed his suspicions about the fact that his family friend was a murderer. Or did he look as befitted a worthy future pastor, a shepherd of lost sheep? Ciel reminded him of that same shepherd boy with dirty feet. His flock was sheep that looked the same, and he was clueless as to what to do when a big black goat that preferred ruined churches over pasture came his way.

***

It was only on the third day that Sebastian finally found a cone after losing all hope. He walked along the shore for hours, in the morning and an hour before sunset. Of course, he could buy an empty shell from merchants, but Ciel needed a living one — the one that carried death within itself. As chance would often have it, you only find what you are looking for when you stop looking. Sebestian expected that, by the same chance, he would step on it when it was ready to sting him. But that would be too much, even for a fatality. It was during one of those walks that, standing barefoot with a jar in his hand, he met Arthur. “What are you doing?” asked the storyteller. “Taking a walk.” Arthur didn’t need to know the reason for that walk. “Why do you need the jar?” Are you gathering shells?” “You know, sometimes you want to do trivial things, like when you were a child.” Arthur nodded knowingly. Who else, if not a children’s writer, was better to know it? He walked beside the man. Unlike Sebastian, he was wearing shoes, but, following his colleague’s example, he took them off along with the socks. “There’s only four days left. Time has passed by so quickly, I cannot believe it,” Arthur said in the voice of a schoolboy, like the one who was telling his parents how he had almost gotten an excellent mark for reciting a poem, but something went wrong. Sebastian frowned. He forgot about time. Suddenly, it was not sand under his feet but gaping chasms. The sea moved closer like a living creature. Sebastian picked up a slippery green pebble and threw it into the water. The sea responded with expectant silence. Only an element could respond with such menacing silence. Or the demon. “Aren’t you angry with me anymore?” asked Sebastian. Arthur smirked and shook his head vaguely. His tanned neck was all bitten by insects. He was spending a lot of time outdoors, busy with his sketches and magical projects. “I don’t know what came over me back then. I guess I lost my temper. My aunt says that I have a strong sense of justice… And since I think about Ciel as my younger brother, I found the influence of your works to be… bad.” “And now you think otherwise?” “I still find your writing to be an insidious trap, but I remember that Ciel is no longer a child.” “I see.” The man had nothing more to say. Writers of different minds rarely find a common language. “You aren’t gathering shells; you’ve left so many behind you.” “I need especially beautiful ones.” Sebastian always needed something special. Arthur picked up an empty, cracked shell, turned it over in his hands, and put it to his ear. It was then that Sebastian saw what he was looking for: disguised as a cone, death was hiding in a cavity all filled with water after low tide. The man decided not to pick it up in Arthur’s presence; he only made sure that it was a poisonous cone. He crouched down, took a closer look at it, and rose to his feet, drawing Arthur’s attention away from it. There was still time before high tide. He would take the shell on his way back after getting rid of his company — if one was to tempt fatum, then it was better done alone, without a witness, especially the one who would later make a story for children of it. It felt nice to think about Ciel, who was probably having a picnic with his family, wondering from time to time if Mr. Michaelis had fulfilled his wish. And if he had, what did death from a poisonous seashell look like?.. Is Ciel punishing me for Emilia? But not with his own hands, for he is not a judge; he is only delivering me to my fate. Sebastian crouched down over the cavity. He remembered his dream with Ciel, who knew something that he himself did not, with Ciel the master of the coffin and the Isle of the Dead. A long time ago, Sebastian knew what would happen to Emilia. He himself was that knowledge. That’s why he had to take the shell again. Lucky again? Or unlucky for the final time?.. Sebastian could contrive to catch it in the jar; instead, he took it with his fingers. Life moved inside the heavy shell. The wet edge of the shellfish sparkled in the sun. Sebastian put it into the jar just a moment before its sharp harpoon appeared from the shell.