And so, in the fight upon thecastle walk, where was I then?
Never beside my Lord, to serveand save, gladly to die for him if God willed it so.
No. In the yard below was I,gathering up the shed weapons and fallen stuff that might yet be of use to him,and those others yet men who could fight and save.
And there, like a ruined bird ofprey, I picked around, gathering as I could, and only half aware, whileoverhead upon the stonework the insurge roared, flame flashed and blood flew free.
Gathering, pecking up, poorbroken worthless bird, until an arrow, strayed from some otherwhere, out wherethe world was, and life and reason, shot through and into my world of sodden lolpand lack, and through my throat, so I choked and stifled, retching and cawing,and dropped dead. Useless to myself, and all.
And he above, my own God,Raulder, Hroldar, he fell. I saw him fall, and could not even cryor breathe or mourn, my windpipe all pierced through, and he pierced through hisgolden heart and through his silver soul. The wound I would, and happy, have bornefor him. The wound of pride I was denied. Instead a wound of shame was mine,and is.
And when again I came to myself,and this time was myself, if a ghost, and less then than all andanything I had ever been, yes even as an idiot, then for myself I had changedthe plot of the fucking story, hadn’t I, bloody little lie-to-self cunt.Useless blundered fool. Like the cowards boasting in the tavern-pub of thosebrave, brave deeds and noble that they did and done and never done nor did, forreal. None real. Me then, paur him. Poor bird.
Oh then formerly and forever letme die here and be done with all this crap.
(TheScholar): “My God!”I exclaimed. “Why – why on earth?”
Elizabeth was physically walkingup the stairs, (as I, not so long ago, had already done). I knew her – but onlyin some aesthetic, intuitive fashion, maybe even psychic. There was no otherpossible way I could have done.
Like myself, she had become fleshand blood. She had pre-empted and assumed the body of a Zombie, and wore it nowwith swaggering joi de vivre. But – “My God,” I said again. “What possessedyou?”
“No, Matey,” said Elizabeth. “Ipossessed this. Fine figure, don’t you think? And look! Ten straight workablefingers. Impressed?”
“Uneasy,” I said.
“Oh, come on, sir,” saidElizabeth. “I’ve got the thing a bit together. But when it’s fully scrubbed upand suitably garbed, we’ll cut quite a figure.”
“Elizabeth,” I said, “you are afemale. And that–”
“Is the body of a strapping youngman. About early thirties, I’d say. Great hair, too, like black treacle. Justneed to get it properly washed, and let it grow. About two feet, I think, yes?Down to the bum.”
“You’re a woman in the body of aman.”
“And you, monsieur, are behindthe times. I’m a ghost-soul in the body of a splendid living thing.”
She was by then on the landing.
We stared at each other. Ithrough the brown eyes that now were mine, and she through the (black treacle?)eyes of he she had assumed. He was, had been, perhaps could be again given herloving care, handsome. And strong, you could see, as an ox; perfect sculptormaterial.
“Why?” I said. Too late.
And gentle as the dove in thesong, she said, “I was getting really sick of batting for the other team.”
(El):How sweet he is, that old man. So astounded, yet still an open mind. The bigold hunk he’s now in looks good as a US tank for some forty years or more. Welldone. And he operates it just fine. I’m doing well, too. Coordination, coordination.
He’s told me his name, now, theone he’s decided to answer to, which he admits isn’t his own, but “that bit haspassed”.
He’s Edward. Edward, our Scholar.
As for me, I’d better be El,(which sometimes I’ve been awarded as a nickname in the past, too, and then concludedwas an abbreviation of Hell.)
So here I am, El or Hell, shakingEdward’s hand! We can touch. Although, alas, I doubt I’ll ever touch myWarrior-Knight now in any at-all intense way. I’ll have to see how I feel aboutthe Fair Sex, I suppose. (Fair Sex? Where the heck did that phrase comefrom? Oh, who cares?)
One thing that must be done. Soon.
I can see ghosts. I saw Laurelwhen she was – and I was not – and I hope, and think she’s somethingelse by now, but have to wait to confirm this. Not sure Edward the Scholar cansee ghosts now he’s flesh again. My Knight – I’m not sure either. And if hecould, can he still, if he made it into that excellent Zombie I spotted anddirected him to? No news yet there, either.
(Why am I so confident? Thedrunken exhilaration of achieving what one must. Like the splendidresult of a supremely-needed exam.)
But to return to earlier things.I, or I and the Knight whoever now he is – must try to find little Coral. I’mworried about her. And she’s still – well, as we all were not long ago – aghost. We have to try to reassure and coax her. She’s part of the family. Youdon’t desert them.
No, Mummy, you don’t.
And darling, sweet Father,forgive me, I knew not what I did. If ever again I find you, we’ll sort it out.
I love you.
I’ll always love you.
But my time of loss and remorse,guilt and blindness, some twenty-five years of it – and more, more – togethernearly eighty – is it? – years. And that’s over. I’m a different person now.Aren’t I, my black-haired darling, aren’t I, boyo? Giddy-up, my fine stallion!On to the Dance Floor of Life!
(Daphne):I go up the main staircase. My feet still feel like weights of lead, but thattoo is wonderful in its way! And I can breathe! I touch the banister, and runmy hand along it. Neglected and in
