Into These Waters of My Soul

Of course, it was only his imagination. Ceil wasn’t yet the one to throw out “challenges” in such intimate, timid (like himself) matters. But the red on his cheeks was just as young and hot as his wounded youthful pride. Beautiful, thought Sebastian as he struggled to keep his mind from yet another reimagining of the embarrassed face. What is purity if not delusion and ignorance? And what is suffering if not the gates into another world? For some reason, Sebastian wants to imagine Ciel suffering. To imagine his crystallised tears — like diamonds — rolling down from the hills of above to go through a short, sweetly soft period of hardening (the milky cheeks of the innocent creature), and, embodied in the image of Maria Theresa and others like her, indulge in a delightful anathema that is the moist grotto of his mouth. A cry of lament is like calling. You need only to think, and I will hear. I will. The dark god needs followers. He longs to hear the blind man say that he is ready to see and press his lips to the black of his hem. But why does he want this? Sebastian’s gaze wanders over the figures passing by on the deck and takes notice of the sharp, charcoal outlines. They are too clear and conspicuous even for the playing of his mind. But Sebastian is unafraid. He can already guess what is brewing inside the dark, colossal figure and what it is capable of. No wonder, for he created it himself. After lunch, Sebastian had been walking for hours in the fresh air, and neither the counterpart nor, oddly enough, the boy would leave his mind. Vaguely, he felt the connection between the awakening of the dark image and Ciel, but he couldn’t put it into words or specific feelings. They simply existed, like sea waves, walking the dark blue space and repeating the relaxed and thoughtless gait of the onlookers on the deck. What could be done with them? Nothing. They simply existed, and he was but a helpless observer. Finally, it started to annoy Sebastian, and he wanted to return to his cabin to rest. His way was blocked by a radiant wonder, like a bird of paradise flying over a road. It was loaded with piles of “holy writings”, most likely on its way from the library. “Good day to you again.” “They say the wings of newborn angels are heavy to bear; but aren’t all these books heavy for you?.. Ciel responded with a quiet smile and asked: “Are you taking a walk?” “I am a little,” lied Sebastian, for in fact he was going to leave, and, without knowing why, he blurted out: “You want to join?” He wanted to add that it was one hell of boredom here, but he didn’t. He couldn’t take back his words, and when Ciel answered in the affirmative, they simply continued their walk. The ocean waves seemed to have changed their free-spirited course while the footsteps of passersby changed their pace. They weren’t just thoughtless and natural; they were all gone. The boy was wearing a light cashmere coat and trousers, making a striking contrast with the dark-haired man in black. “Do you mind if I smoke?” asked the man. “No.” Ciel shrugged as if a little surprised by the question. It was then that an ice cream man passed them by. “Would you like some ice cream? For the kid? Or yourself? “You want some?” Sebastian asked the boy. The latter smiled awkwardly — no wonder that he was mistaken for a child. “Yes. Vanilla. Thank you.” Sebastian handed the money, and Ciel took a paper bowl with the dessert. “Let me carry your priceless baggage of knowledge while you are eating.” The man took the pile of books from the boy’s hands. The latter said another “thank you”. It grated on his ears, yet it wasn’t unpleasant. They continued on their way. “Do they often take you for a child?” asked Sebastian. “I’ve got used to the fact that many people consider me younger than I really am. It is only strange that it’s never the case with my twin.” “They say that those forever young with their body are forever young with their soul too. Ciel smiled. “You say that a lot.” “What?” “‘They say…’” “But they do. I can’t help it.” On their own accord, the man’s lips crawled upwards, as if to apologise. But to whom? And he couldn’t help but notice how the boy’s tongue and lips moved across the white substance, the sight of which caused him a sense of confusion, sharp as the fin of a shark. At the very tip, the pink and burgundy tongue was moist and beautiful in itself. Its thoughtless movement resembled the same surrounding waves as it tasted the sweetness. And these were the kind of waves Sebastian liked. A little, just a little bit, but he was responsible for them. He paid for this pleasure and carried a light burden of the payment in his hands, in the form of, God forbid, The Old Testament and the like. Vanilla ice cream reminded him of the serpent’s venom, which Sebastian would have never poisoned himself with of his own free will. And still… it was the very thing he thought of. Ciel spoke again as he wiped a white spot off his chin. “I’m sorry if I seem intrusive, but may I ask you to give me some of your books to read? One at least.” “Why are you so interested in them?” “I don’t think I can tell you. You will laugh.” “Why would I?” “Well… I’m curious to know what a person like you can write about.” “And what am I like if I may be ‘intrusive’?” Sebastian smirked. “We are going back to our last conversation. I see. And might I gladly give you one of my books, young man, but I have only one with me on board, finished this very morning.” “I understand.” Ciel nodded. “You can only confide the first reading to those you know and trust.” “Nonsense. It is only that books like this aren’t meant for your eyes. Am I open enough?” It sounded like “books like this are too tough for you”. At least Sebastian did his best to make it sound like that. And he achieved his goal — a new spark began to light up in the boy’s blue eyes. “Are these bad books?” asked the young man very carefully and ready to meet with reproach. “These are bad books for those who want to become reverends,” clarified the man. “That is all.” “So, you won’t tell me what they are about?” “I you insist… A drop of ice cream fell to the floor. Ciel finished his dessert and took back his books, their fingers touching for a moment. “But you know,” added Sebastian, who didn’t want their fingers to part, “like you said that it would do you good to convince the non-believers of the contrary… I’ll let you read this book under one condition.” “What?” “It will stay between us. I haven’t told a soul about its completion. Not even my publisher. It’s a kind of author’s secret.” Sebastian was lying. That is why it gave him much pleasure to add, “You’ll be the first to read it. And your opinion will be of importance to me.” Another lie. He knew about his books all there was to know and never cared for others’ opinions. He was his own opinion. He was his own devil he described. He stands a little further off, and Sebastian feels an avalanche-like breath against his cheekbone — the wind is getting stronger and colder now. But to him, it feels otherwise. Ciel turned a little red. “It’s a great honour to be the first reader. It will double my interest.” Of course, it will. “Let us go to my room then, and I will give you this ‘treasure’.” Even Victoria never read this novel, though she was meant to be the first. Life is cunning, smirked Sebastian, and then he thought that it wasn’t really him thinking, but rather somebody trying to outwit him. Curious. He listened to see if he was being followed. But there was no sound of hooves, no fetid breath of hell. Ciel hesitated at the door as he looked over his rather ascetic surroundings. His attention was drawn to a shelf with carved tiny statuettes. “It’s netsuke. My wife collected them,” explained Sebastian. “Are you married?” “Victoria died a couple of years ago.” Ciel kept a tactful silence and put a goatling back on the shelf. He didn’t know that it came in tandem with its brother that had fallen off in the morning and rolled away to an old nun. In a duet, these mischiefs — both of the same sex — did an innocent dance with their genitals and tongues. Sebastian should have put these statuettes away in a box, someplace far, but never did. He didn’t want to. Sebastian covered his black and hard book with a light and soft folder. “Here. I’ll be waiting to know your opinion, young man,” he smiled a tiny smile. “Then I should go. I can’t wait to start it,” Ciel answered with a boyish smile. He could be especially sweet when he wanted. That much Sebastian had noticed. “See you.” “Oh, I’ve almost forgotten. Father and mother invite you to join us for dinner. At the same table. I had to find you to tell you this.” “Thank you. I’ll be there.” Sebastian closed the door behind Ciel’s back and listened to his footsteps until they were gone. Just for a moment, he closed his eyes together, and when he opened them, he found Satan sitting on a velvet sofa. This time, he was wearing no face. It vanished into misty darkness that shifted its features, and once in a while, something human would make its appearance. The ruby eyes. The lips… The nose. Who are you? The devil sat quiet, a glass of pomegranate juice in one hand and a decanter in the other. One careless movement with these incredibly sharp claws seemed enough to break the glass into even parts. It didn’t matter what stood in their way: a skull, a stone, water, time…They would break anything. Shall I pour you some? His voice was distorted, sounding both like the water splashing and the chirping of birds. “I’m going to bed,” the man growled. “And when I wake up, you’ll be gone.” The blurred lips of the slate-black giant twitched. “You’ll be gone,” Sebastian repeated insistently and then walked to the bed. He fell on it with his face down, buried himself in the blanket, and half an hour later he drowned in sleep. Until that time, he had been listening to his unwanted guest. But the latter was impeccably quiet: no sound of a sip, no breathing, no clattering of claws on glass. Gone, Sebastian thought with relief, feeling, of course, that he was wrong…