|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Tue Jan 08, 2008 11:59 pm
It was a slow day in the house when Alexandre summoned Grigorii from the corner and put a pen in the boy's hand. "If you are to live in this household," he said to Grigorii, "then you must know how to read and write." Then he showed Grigorii the alphabets -- Latin and Cyrillic -- and set Grigorii to copying the letters until he knew them by heart.
He showed Grigorii books, too, made him sound out the words. They were not books meant for children but works of literature and manuals. There were children's books in the house awaiting the twins arrival, but Alexandre did not touch them. The meaning behind his actions was clear. Grigorii was living there, but he was not a part of the family, not the way the twins would be, and he could not share in the things intended for the children. Not the toys or the books.
Since he had not much else to do with his day, Grigorii immersed himself in the letters and stayed quiet. He worked always in the shadow of Alexandre, always mindful and watching for those little encouragements Alexandre sometimes let slip. Each small praise was like a divine signal to Grigorii. When he learned a particularly long and complicated word and Alexandre said, "Very good," Grigorii could have cried so immense was his overwhelming joy. He let slip a small piece of that joy on his face and Alexandre turned away.
But there was a lesson in the literature that Alexandre was not teaching.
Grigorii's progress through the adult books was painstakingly slow, but as he worked out words and their meanings and sentences and then characters and story, he became aware of some things outside the worldview Alexandre presented. Feelings and passions emerged in the writings of the authors, a written affirmation of the thoughts and feelings Grigorii himself was having. Fear, sadness, laughter, joy. The characters had these characteristics, and Grigorii realized he might have such things, too. He kept it very secret. Alexandre would not approve. But the books were the beginning of something revolutionary in Grigorii: the idea that perhaps it might not matter if Alexandre approved.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Jan 08, 2008 11:59 pm
Sunlight filtered in through the curtains, the shapes of the window panes stretching across the bed where Sylvia lay and Grigorii slowly sounded out the sentences for her. His progress was slow, halting, and his reading was not very good, but for someone who had not been able to read just a month earlier, it seemed most impressive. Had Sylvia been aware of exactly how many hours Grigorii had so far devoted to the endeavor she might have found it less of an achievement. Anyone could learn such things with hard work provided they did not have a disability to complicate the process.
Grigorii read without any sense of drama or pacing, droning through the sentences so they blurred into one. "Il-était-indulgent-pour-les-femmes-et-les-pauvres-sur-qui-pèse-le-poids-de-la-société-humaine-il-disait-les-fautes-des-femmes-des-enfants-des-serviteurs-des-faibles-des-indigents-et-des-ignorants-sont-la-faute-des-maris-des-pères-des-maîtres-des-forts-des-riches-et-des-savants." It was Sylvia's favorite book, Les Miserables. Grigorii did not understand enough French to make out the whole meaning, but he recognized pieces. The important thing to him at the moment seemed to be the simple act of producing vocally the sounds the words represented. The ideas present were still only just beginning to percolate.
"Mm," sighed Sylvia, shifting slightly in the bed. Grigorii folded the book over his finger and looked at her. Her lips moved and he leaned close to hear her words. "Keep going." So he did.
"Il-disait-encore-à-ceux-qui-ignorent-enseignez-leur-le-plus-de-choses-que-vous-pourrez-la-société-est-coupable-de-ne-pas-donner-l'instruction-gratis-elle-répond-de-la-nuit-qu'elle-produit-cette-âme-est-pleine-d'ombre-le-péché-s'y-commet-le-coupable-n'est-pas-celui-qui-y-fait-le-péché-mais-celui-qui-y-a-fait-l'ombre." He reread it again with his eyes, keeping the words to himself a moment as meaning dawned upon him. Then he resumed reading. Sylvia drifted off quietly beside him. Grigorii went on reading regardless of her consciousness, his words a low and steady lullaby, until Alexandre chased him out. Grigorii thought to himself on his departure that Alexandre was a man heavily shadowed.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jan 09, 2008 12:12 am
Alexandre UY 3168 SD0217-0427.13 C-LOG Conf XX3 9178503F10DEPRIEST Looking like there is resistence S. continent, workers' fear of loss of industry from Gal. withdrawal. Must reach former union leaders if poss, check w/ UG operatives for locs. Unionization would kill percent of projected industry, but perhaps promise of unions will inspire the working class to realize the detriment of Galatian occupation. It is imperative the people must continue to think of being free while forces are being raised for liberation. If we lose the minds of the people we lose the war.
Urban efforts going well, report three hundred new recruits in capital in response to Gal. retaliation, numbers from other areas spotty but indicate improvement. Rumors of larger-scale Galatian movement are uncertain, but enemy command is cert. aware of the efforts to stop them. Provided they continue with poor psych. tactics their actions should play in our favor. It is their great failing that they lack a true tactician and fail to recognize the importance of creativity. Their philosophy may have given their machine an immense amount of power, but all machines rust and topple in their inflexibility, it is humans who persist and adapt.Quote: PERSONAL SUPPLEMENTAL I dreamed of you last night, or should I say I had a nightmare. As your day draws ever nearer I am filled with trepidation for the thought that I might lose you and that no part of our children could replace you, for as much as you would live on in them, it would never be the same. I hope to spend all my life with you and that it should be as long a time as possible, but, dear Sylvie, may I die before you, because if I did not I could not bear it.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jan 09, 2008 1:03 pm
On one of her better days, when she could sit up and stay awake for long periods, Sylvia read to Grigorii, and it was like someone had turned on a light in his head. When Sylvia spoke, she did not merely recite sounds from a page, but instilled them with feeling and meaning, the way a good reader should. Listening to her was more akin to experiencing the story than when Grigorii recited passages.
Sylvia came alive in her reading. She had known these characters since her childhood, grown up with and shared things with them that she could not share with real people, used their stories to interpret her own life. She fell into a natural rhythm when she read the words, familiar as her own heart.
Grigorii was absolutely enchanted by her reading. Concepts he had only peripherally grasped came to life at Sylvia's lips. Things he had been striving to figure out seemed to become real.
Yet all too soon it was over. Sylvia tired, her wrists shook, and she succumbed under the immense burden of her own distended body and its passengers.
Grigorii slipped the book from her fingers and almost took it, but it was too precious to her. He left it on her bedside table beside a glass of water and went to find one of the other books Alexandre used in his tutelage. Grigorii avoided Alexandre at all costs and sought out the smallest, quietest place he could find, a little nook under the basement stairs. He took a quilt for extra cover and hunched down with the book in hand. He opened the book to its first page and read. "Sun Tzu said: the art of war is of vital importance to the State."
The reading was still too dry, still too flat, and Grigorii read it again and again in his head and with his voice until it sounded more impassioned and closer to his memories of Sylvia's voice. "Sun Tzu said, the art of war is of vital importance to the State." Now it actually sounded like the words he was reading were true.
Grigorii went on to the next sentence. It is a matter of life and death, a road either to safety or to ruin. Hence it is a subject of inquiry which can on no account be neglected. He found it even better suited to his practice, infused each word with all the dire prophecy he could muster, all the command of law, all of the vital importance with which these words deserved to be read. He wanted to convince himself of their truth, and only when he was convinced did he read on.
He continued until the creaking of the floorboards above his head alerted him to Alexandre's presence. It was probably near enough dinner now and Grigorii was hungry. He folded the quilt and tucked the book under his arm. Best to return the tome to its original location without drawing Alexandre's notice. Grigorii did not know what his guardian would think about his efforts and was not eager to find out. Alexandre had many secrets. Now it was Grigorii's turn to have a few of his own.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
