#i did really enjoy the chapter to be clear i just think fyodor is a slippery bastard and i want to see him really lose for once

[twinksintrees]

this bastard doesn’t deserve bram’s cunty look someone get him back in his ugly ass rat bastard outfit

[aspoonofsugar]

I don't know why, but I find the character connections between Fyodor and Q (hatred of abilities, religious theming, etc) really interesting. Do you have any thoughts on that?

Hello!

Sorry for the wait!

I think that since we still lack information on Fyodor’s past and his ability and we have just met Q once it is difficult to say for sure, so take my words with a grain of salt.

That said, some comparisons can be made. For example, let’s compare these two scenes:

In both there is an adult hurting a child. It is interesting that in both situations the adult is shown not to hate the child and to actually sympathize with him. As a matter of fact Steinbeck’s behaviour suggests that he is not actually enjoying hurting Q and that he actually finds the idea of torturing a child loathsome.

Fyodor too probably sympathizes with Karma and the whole scene is framed in a way which is horrifying, but that also shows that Fyodor thinks that he is actually helping Karma since he is “freeing” him:

After all, these two scenes appear as clearly linked. In the first one Karma says that he doesn’t believe that a “bad person” like him can be really saved, while in the second one he says that he has finally understood who can save an evil person. This suggests that Karma (whose name is clearly symbolic) has basically accepted Fyodor’s ideology by the time he dies.

In short, we have two adults hurting a child and passing down a specific ideology to their victim. These different ideologies are well expressed thanks to these two phrases on God:

Both Steinbeck and Fyodor blame God/use God as an excuse to justify their actions. However, they use this idea in almost opposite ways.

When it comes to Steinbeck, I have said what he means here:

What  Steinbeck says here perfectly shows the problem. He is in front of a  child who is crying and screaming and who is asking why they have to  suffer and all Steinbeck has to offer as a reply is that it is because  it has been decided this way. This is a very fatalistic outlook which fits with this character who says to hate capitalism, but accepts to   work for a capitalist and takes on the renmants of said capitalist’s   organization. Steinbeck might dislike some parts of society, but rather than trying to change them he has accepted them as unavoidable and has tried to modify his social standing to be on the side of those who use others rather than on the one of those who get used.

In other words Steinbeck is saying that the order of society cannot be changed and that society is a result of God’s will. In short, he is really fatalistic and has accepted the current state of affairs.

What Fyodor says is the opposite. He claims that there is no God because there is no order and the world is full of injustice. That is why he has to become God and to change the world by making it better:

As it is clear they have two opposite positions. Steinbeck thinks that there is God and that his will is impossible to fight and unfair, while Fyodor thinks there is no God and this is why there must be one to transform the world.

These two opposite stances can be highlighted also thanks to a small detail:

At the end of the Cannibalism arc, Fyodor is finally arrested thanks to Fitzgerald and the “eyes of God”. The fact that he is caught because of a technology with such a name is interesting. As a matter of fact even if Fyodor presents himself as God he is often called a “demon” by other characters. There are several reasons for this and I invite you to read this meta by @hamliet on this topic. Here, I would like to highlight a maybe simplicistic one which still fits. Fyodor is a demon because he is currently fighting God aka the way society works and wants to change it. This is why it might be symbolic that he is stopped thanks to Fitzgerald aka a character who represents both social inequality, but also the chances society can offer. Fitzgerald is also the person who in Steinbeck’s mind clearly represents the way the world is run.

Of course both Fyodor and Steinbeck’s answers are wrong and the answer the series endorses is clearly the one Dazai gives here:

Society is unfair, but, despite this, people can still fight to change it. The struggle is not harmonic nor easy and doesn’t necessarily bring more order, but there is still beauty in it.

However, both Fyodor and Steinbeck fail to realize it. The latter accepts things as they are, while the former wants to refuse everything. They are both too extreme and too rigid.

As far as Q is concerned, it is interesting that their reaction is basically the opposite of Karma’s. Karma fully accepts Fyodor’s ideals, while Q strongly refuses Steinbeck’s words. Q curses the world because the world is not kind enough to them. Because of this refusal, we can say that Q is a child who could grow up to be like Fyodor. They are told to accept their destiny, but Q still fights back and this is what Fyodor is doing as well in his own wrong way.

Another similarity between the two is, as you point out, the fact that the root of their unhappiness probably lies in the fact that they were both born with an unwanted ability. Q has been sealed away and left alone because of their ability ater all. As far as Fyodor is concerned, we have yet to discover his ability, but @hamliet came out with an interesting theory. All in all, what is important is that it is clearly a very dangerous ability and that this power coupled with Dostoyevsky’s intelligence ended up isolating him.

Even if we can’t really compare Q and Fyodor in terms of powers as for now, we can still highlight that both characters are linked to the concept of showing people what they repress.

Q does so thanks to their ability:

Their  power is called by Dazai mind-control, but what it does is actually to  let every person face the things they refuse to accept about themselves.  This is perfectly shown when Atsushi is cursed.

Fyodor does so thanks to his intelligence since his strategies put people in situations which challenge them. This is clearly shown when he tricks Rampo and Kunikida:

As shown above Fyodor has the ability to confuse even characters like Rampo who are usually never tricked.

The same can be said about Q who manages to shock Dazai:

In other words, both Fyodor and Q are feared by other characters because they force them to face their most frail and unwanted parts.

I would like to explore this point more in regard to Fyodor and in order to do so I will use chapter 42.

This chapter shows again a recurring motif I particularly like i.e. the problem of escaping a locked room.

Fyodor’s fake ability after all is said to be the power of trapping people in his own mind and once Ace finds himself locked in a room he has the problem of escaping. However, the twist is that the room Ace needs to escape is not really Fyodor’s mind, but his own:

After all, we were warned at the beginning of the chapter:

The point of Fyodor is not that he traps peope in his own mind, but that he traps them in their own.

All in all Ace loses because he can’t leave his own mind. As a matter of fact he can’t let go of the way he perceives things. He doesn’t stop to verify the information he is given and thinks that he is the one with the advantage when he is not. In short, the room he has trapped Fyodor in is symbolic of his own mind and of his own short-comings and this is why he, like Lucy, is the only one having the key of such a room. However, Ace, like Lucy, fails to properly use the key and he is manipulated by Fyodor to leave the room in another way:

Fyodor “frees” Ace just like Atsushi frees Lucy and like Rampo frees both himself and Mushitarou. However, Fyodor does so in a completely different way:

As a matter of fact Fyodor equals freedom with death:

Fyodor thinks that the only way to escape one’s own mind is not to create connections and to learn other viewpoints on things, but it is to simply leave everything behind. This extreme belief is probably born by Fyodor’s difficulty to develop relationships with others:

He has stated that it is difficult for him to talk with people because he is much smarter than others and so he can’t see them as equals. Because of this, it makes sense that Fyodor himself can’t probably really escape his own mind.

Fyodor’s belief that he is somehow different from others is explored through his parallelism with Ace.

All in all Ace is a person who feels superior to others and treats others like objects:

His ability highlights two things.

1) It shows that he sees people like tools.

2) It underlines his convinction that he can give value to other lives even if these lives are not really precious by themselves.

Fyodor shares these two flaws. He uses people as tools and manipulates them and he thinks that he can actually free them and so help them by killing them.

However, Ace is proven wrong and he dies precisely because he is not that better than others as he thinks he is. His tragedy is that he never really gives up on this convinction and dies without realizing his own weaknesses and inferiority.

Now, Fyodor is trying to become God when he is just a human, so it would make sense for him to fail for the same reason Ace did aka because he understimates other people. This is basically what Dazai tells him after all:

Dazai recognizes that humans are foolish, but also states that this foolishness can be good. Fyodor doesn’t see that and this is why he is gonna fail. Let’s just hope that he, differently from Ace is able to see his mistake before the end.

In conclusion, Fyodor uses people’s darkest sides in an attempt to show them how pathetic they are, so that they can accept his idea of liberation. Despite this, it is possible that deep down the reason why Fyodor acts as he does is the same as Q’s. Q is simply lashing out and they are tormenting people because they treat them like a crazy monster, so they want to show others that they too are monsters and that they too are crazy. Dostoyevsky has created an elaborated ideology to justify what he does, but it is possible that he too is just trying to prove that he is right and that others are in the wrong.

These are my thoughts up until now! I hope they were useful!

Thank you for the ask!

[ol-razzle-dazazzle]

Rattus Rattus- Chapter 2: Rats With Wings

Here we are again! Thank you all to my fellow Fyogol shippers, it’s nice getting awesome comments, and I really appreciate it- even if I haven’t had much time to respond to things! I’ve been a bit stressed, but here’s the next chapter. 

The next one I’m going to be honest might take a while- as I have two exams in 3-4 days. It might take a week, it might take two. Probably just a week, since I’ve already written half of the other chapter- in which we will be introduced to Pushkin (and hopefully you’ll actually enjoy his character and not feel cheated)! After these initial chapters, things will start to pick up and become more interesting, so keep a watch out ;3c As for those wondering where Ivan will come into the story, he’ll come much later- after school and we will all suffer

Trigger warnings aren’t really needed for this chapter: just more catholic shenanigaggles, also Fyodor has misophonia (I personally hc him as autistic like myself)

Class went rather well, barring Fyodor accidentally picking up Myskin by the tail because he thought it was a pencil. There was a somewhat looming sense of dread, when the teacher glanced at him- and whether it was because he had heard about the rat fiasco or because he was a new student, the attention and requests to recite English was frustrating.

He hadn't even ended up going to his dormitory, let alone pack or unpack his stuff or look around the place (despite that being his own fault). Granted, Fyodor didn't bring too much- just a heap of books, school supplies, and food for Myskin that was disguised to his family as taking a strange craving for seeds and fruit. Irregardless, his family gave him some money that he could spoil through the weeks- and he hopes the nurse is nice and manipulable enough to get potential free lollies like he promised Nikolai.

The class bell rang again and Fyodor then decides to swear to memorise the timetable because he flinches every time the wretched alarm rings. He has no clue where the chapel is let alone how to get there, so he stands outside the classroom Nikolai entered. 

"Ah! Fedya!" Nikolai calls, waving. "Lovely of you to join me." He looks around, peering into Fyodor's bag. "And the magnificent Myskin." He pats the rat. 

As the two walk, Nikolai filled in as much information of the place as he knew. Curfew is at 9:30, but extends 15 minutes each year- older students also have privilege of leaving to explore the town more frequently, but for their current year, visits are once every three weeks. Saturdays are free days, with the addition of any services or clubs students wish to partake in- and Sundays have an 8AM chapel service, which continues for an hour, as well as one at 8PM.

"And dorms?" 

"I'm not sure…I think they're mixed with years, two to four to a room." Nikolai thinks, "Well, generally speaking- I won't be in mine very often."

"How come?"

"Well, thing is…" Nikolai scrunches his face. "I'm here on a 'scholarship' of sorts. So, I'd mainly reside in my own room because 'asceticism'."

"That sounds rather stupid." Fyodor replies.

"…It is." Nikolai shrugs. "But I need to maintain the church as well."

"But we're going there to do just that." Fyodor frowns. "I'm not sure how I am supposed to sleep surrounded by people."

Nikolai sighs, "Well, we have to manage anyway. I'm as disgruntled about this as you are."

"Stop dragging your feet, you two." The teacher folds her arms, "For now you'll be cleaning the balcony with the bell tower." She hands them a broom, spray, mop and dustpan. "As for the rat, you're lucky it must've scuttled into the forest- as it hasn't been sighted."

Fyodor heaves a sigh. 

"Also, while I do not have the time to oversee your detention, I will check the job is satisfactory in two hours." 

Fyodor glances to the side, hoping for an incredulous 'Two hours?!'- but found none. 

"Thank you." A smile instead.

However, the moment the doors closed and they clamoured up the stairs, a loud groan came from the other boy as he shut the door. "Two hours?! Seriously?"

A little late on schedule, but lovely nonetheless. 

"It'll take us an hour to clean the thing!" Nikolai sighs, leaning against the wall, staring around him. While the tower was somewhat shabby and didn't have much room- due to the enormous bell and sets of pulleys, it was a nice view outside.

"Just…please don't ring it." Fyodor winces, finally he is face to face with his arch-nemesis- the bell that had tormented him thrice. 

"Oh yeah- you don't like the noise." Nikolai peers over at the bell, "It's going to ring twice, automated- but there's a clock on the wall so I'll let you know…are you sensitive to loud noises all the time?"

Fyodor scrunches his face a little, not wanting to admit it. "…Maybe." 

"Ah- I was just wondering because I know I can get a little loud."

"No!" Fyodor's surprised at his sudden response, "No, it's fine. I like your voice."

"Well, first time I've ever heard that!" Nikolai laughs, and it's a laugh that's far more superior to any bell. "Alright, let's get this done so we can spend the spare time lazing around."

"Hm, okay…" Fyodor examines the copious heavy tools. "I'll coat the bell with the spray, and you can sweep."

"Sure- but I wanna clean the balcony, and you can mop and polish." 

"How come? The balcony would be the hardest part- she probably wants you to scrape the bird-"

"Eh, just a part of being a bird lover. I mean, you probably deal with it regarding Myskin."

"Myskin is very sophisticated and I am, in fact, training him to use a litter box or a disposable container." Fyodor frowns, "Also, I'm a bit worried he'll get nervous and jump from this height…" He zips open his bag, and inside it the mouse sleeps. "Well, either that or get awoken with the bells." He zips it back, "Poor thing has had enough trouble as it is."

Speaking of which…this would be a good chance to talk to Nikolai about…that.

"We'll sneak a snack for him and us when we go to nurse after this, your treat, right?" Nikolai smiles, getting the broom and dustpan, sweeping. "But after we get dismissed, come on now. Also don't talk while your head is inside the bell, back when I was in Ukraine I've hit my head wayyy too many times."

"Ukraine?" Fyodor raises an eyebrow. 

"Also check the ropes to see if they're frayed or not." Nikolai interjects quickly, "Geez- there's so much dust here."

"Why did you come-"

"Come on Fedya! Ring ring ring! Sweep sweep sweep, clean clean clean!" He hums for a little while in this manner, and Fyodor resigns with a sigh, getting the spray and cloths.

The iron was surprisingly both hard and easy to clean- easy when there weren't blemishes or bird excrement, but difficult otherwise. Fyodor was not exactly known for 'elbow grease', and often resulted in 'ngh's and 'hah's and all matter of exerted effort. 

"Is it really that hard?" Nikolai whistles, collecting the corners. 

"Oh shush- you got the easy job." Fyodor rolls his eyes, moving to the corner to clean around the rim. "I'm sorry I'm not as tough as most people- but my strength lies in mental fortitu- AH!" 

He fall backwards onto the floor, flinching at air and invisible strands. "…It seems that churches are also a haven for spiders." 

"What were you saying?" Nikolai grins, "Also, I haven't swept that part yet- move over here."

"Oh shush. Besides, I'm working harder than you are- you've been humming along and I've already cleaned that part.

"Not really, there's a whole layer in the middle and top that needs to be done- as well as the underside." Nikolai points out.

"I know that- I'm working my way up." Fyodor looks away, and continues cleaning the other side, brushing away the cobwebs. 

"Hmm…you don't need to be so defensive." Nikolai shrugs, "Besides, you'll have a growth spurt soon enough."

"Kolya, if you do not shut up I will make sure you drink this whole spray bottle." 

And of course, as if the thunder of God himself decided to add more effect, the bell rang loudly.

Said effect was Fyodor once again fell as he was startled, bringing his hands to his ears and dropping the bottle. 

"…I was right on the nose." Nikolai shudders for comedic effect, "You're scary, Fedyaaa."

He picks the bottle up and helps Fyodor. "…Thanks." At least he can clean the inside now.

"Just, please, don't fall now. I won't be able to catch you."

"You didn't catch me the first time." Fyodor murmurs, trying to make short work of the job- and by the time he was finished Nikolai had cleared the place of most dust and insects. 

"Okay, now for the top part- you're going to need a ladder. I can hold it for you-"

"Nah, you can do it." Fyodor hands the spray and cloth over. "I'll hold the ladder." 

"You aren't going to let me fall because I teased you a bit, are you?"

Fyodor just smiles, as he brings the ladder.

"…That's horrifying."

"It's fine right- you have the weird relocation thingy."

"…" Nikolai silently climbs up the bell tower, glancing to see if Fyodor was supporting it before he cleaned around it. 

"You know I will have to inevitably ask or pry it out of you." Fyodor helps him down. "As I respect you, you will have the choice." 

He's pretty serious when he needs to be, huh. "Well…okay- fine. We'll take a short break. It's fair enough." Nikolai takes off his blazer. 

"So…?" Fyodor sits up on the wall, tapping next to him for Nikolai to sit. 

"Well, okay- this is pretty weird but…some people have gifts. Like supernatural powers. I don't really know why, but one day- I was sleeping, and I must've put my hand in my other sleeve, because when I woke up- BAM!" He flutters his arms, "It's gone!" 

"Because I had pretty bad vision in this eye-" He pokes the blurred one, "I didn't really know what was going on- because it was my left hand. And then I hear my family scream like nothing else before and…" He puts his hand in his jacket, as it materialised in front of them, waving. "There it was in the kitchen, shaking and wriggling around. You should've seen the face on my mom when she saw it- she almost had a heart attack!" 

With that, he gets up. "And that's that."

"No it's not."

"If we waste too much time, we won't get to go bird-watching." Nikolai puts his finger to his lips. "It's only fitting such dramatic things are revealed on top of dramatic places."

"Must you be so extra?" Fyodor groans- just when he's getting somewhere. 

"I must." He grabs the scraper and gets started on the balcony. The noise irks Fyodor, but nonetheless he grabs the mop and starts cleaning any leftover grime.

The bell rings again, and amidst the scraping he almost curses (he does, but in a Catholic school no one needs to know that.) "Alright, done. Balcony time." He chucks the supplies away. "We have half an hour."

Nikolai sighs, "Someone's eager. Fine, but you better tell some juicy backstory too."

"There's nothing juicy about it. I don't have magical tele-location abilities."

"Wow, Fedya- way to isolate me." He perches on the edge. "If you fall here, I'll catch you. Probably."

Fyodor perches next to Nikolai, holding the wall a little for support. Nikolai sighs longingly, "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Fyodor sneaks a glance at Nikolai, his eyes half lidded and a relaxed smile- no grandeur or theatrics. The way his messy ponytail flutters and his bangs getting even more messed up- it's a strange picture.

A beautiful one. Well, when Fyodor's hair isn't getting in the way.

"Yeah."

"You keep looking at me and the wall, trying not to look down." Nikolai stifles a laugh. "It's almost like a storybook, in the distance."

"…" Fyodor glances quickly for a moment, being encapsulated. A forest, lush and green. The clouds, surprisingly for Russian weather, not looming and gray. The town in the distance with colourful houses and stalls and buildings.

"It's what birds see. They can go anywhere they want- and they see the world like this- in constant motion and flight." 

"Yet they still return to the same places, still tied." 

"You think so?" Nikolai looks at Fyodor, "I find that even nicer. A being that can go anywhere in the world and yet still returns."

"Will you return to Ukraine?" 

"No- for that's no longer my home."

"It's where your family is."

"And will you return to your family?"

"…I don't have any particular attachment to them."

"Neither do I." Nikolai sighs, "They thought I was possessed or had some strange interference with 'things not of this mortal realm'. So they took me to the priest."

"Usually things like 'gifts' are blessings and curses." 

"For someone so quiet, you're rather perceptive, aren't you?” Nikolai glances at him, turning a little to see him with his better eye, “Yes, they are. And what happens when a human sees something they don't understand?"

"They purge it."

Nikolai exclaims, "My! That's morbid! Ah, so Fedya is a realist. Well, not quite- one can't exactly 'bless away' tele-location. But, I managed to find out that it's accessible via an outer garment. Maybe that's why magicians wear long sleeves." 

The words struck Fyodor as odd, 'bless away'- 'not quite'. But for now he pushed them out of his mind. 

"Nikolai? What if everyone has a special ability but they just never know it?" Fyodor hums in thought, "It could be something really stupid and bizarrely specific like being immune to bombs, but only when they're in a certain shape."

"Ahahaha! You come up with the most preposterous things, Fedya. But…I guess I probably wouldn't be the only one. Maybe it's like when you learn a word, and then you see it pop up everywhere… That would be interesting, to see what other people would have."

"Hm, I don't think people would use them very well- such things could spiral out of control."

"Well, that's mean."

"It certainly would give someone a predisposition to a strange fate."

"Fedya, did you really have nothing else better to do as a kid than flick through dictionaries?"

"You have your ability, I have mine." 

There's the laugh again, like bells. 

A sharp knock on the door interrupts them, as they open it. 

"Hmm…fine- it's a satisfactory job. Go on, then- and I expect the two of you to have learnt your lesson. Gogol, you can stay back for introduction into your room- and Dostoevesky, go to the nurse's office and then you will be taken to your dorm." 

Nikolai stretches, as they walk down the stairs. "Alright, see you soon- at dinner."

"You have an hour and a half- and I expect you two to be prompt."

And so Nikolai waves at Dostoevesky, and he manages to find the nurse's office- swiping some lemon drops- and gets given directions to his dorm.

The hallways are rather empty and wooden, everything echoes- and it makes him think of that saying 'the walls have ears, the doors have eyes'. Watchful eye of God, huh. He puts his ear to the door, and hears some chattering- thumps of pillows, and turns the door. 

[rv-rublev]

Rublev- Part One, Youth, Book Two, The Dialogues, Chapter Two, To the Theatre

THE two stepped from the shadow of the doorway, out into the cramped hallway. Beside them, a dim ray broke through the dirtied pane of glass, and thus casted their shadows upon the grey flooring.

-We need to stop by the theatre and tell the director about your revisions, Fyodor.

-Are we not a bit late for that?

-It is better now than never, my friend! There is no hurry, I assure you! Rolan raced to the end of the hallway, his body carrying the bounce of youth, his lips letting loose the sounds of gaiety.

-I wonder how he will handle the revisions. Fyodor stated, awaiting his friend’s predictable caricature of the director.

-As he usually does with anything that comes to his door, “My gooooodness!” The two laughed loudly, as Rolan’s impression managed to bring about the spitting image of the director. The man always manages to sweat, I swear, even in the outskirts of the empire would his shirt be soaked and even then, would he sound out the same!

-Interesting don’t you think?

-What? Rolan stopped upon the staircase and looked up to Fyodor, bringing about a tinge of red on his face.

-Just that how men, well women too, how we fall into those patterns, these series of repetitions, pacing, murmuring, shouting, flailing.

-Yes. Rolan held his face and broke off the gaze that they were previously sharing. His eyes had moved to the window, and he began again. Do you think there is a cause for such repetitions? For a moment, no sound was made between them, permitting a corpse of muted sounds from the street outside to drill into their ears.

What could he mean? Repeat, on and on. Some out of need, some out of something more, I suppose.

-I suppose it depends.

-Depends on what, Fyodor? Rolan smiled, and leaned further into the railing, cementing the conversation into a discussion.

-If a man draws his cart from his farm to the market, then he does so out of need, because the world about him is imposed over him.

-How do you mean, imposed on him? Like there is a mandate from the government telling him to draw his cart?

-No, by no means, and you know that. I mean, he demands food, let’s say he needs milk, and he has no dairy cows, and he is unable to purchase any. So-

-The man is a serf?

-No, consider just an independent man for a moment.

-Alright, continue. Fyodor carried on, bending down to take a seat on the top step.

-Well, excuse me. Let us say this man, the one who wants milk, grows oats. Now, he harvests the oats, and places them in his cart, and draws it into the market, because there he can exchange the oats for money, and then for milk. Eventually, he might be able to save for a cow, but because he is an oat farmer, and was taught to be an oat farmer, he must practice this repetition in order to get what he wishes. The external world places its demands upon him.

-Yes, but his desire to have milk comes from within, does it not? How is it the exterior world? At this point, Rolan ceased his asking of ironic questions, as his countenance no longer carried any shape of humor, and instead was bent deep into the wrinkles of curiosity.

-Well, his desire to have milk comes from within, but the world around him demands he draws his cart that way, because he was raised to be an oat farmer. He repeats that specific action because the world around him placed him in a certain position that prevents him from acting as such. The fact he desires milk is superfluous. Perhaps the desire for water would be a better example.

-Why is that?

-Well, a woman draws water from the well because she needs water, without water, the body would die. If we consider the body to be outside of the soul, or the thought, then the body, or the world, is imposing itself on her soul to get water. So, she goes about drawing the water every day, so she doesn’t perish.

-Ah, that makes sense now! Rolan unbent his body, and smiled. But, realizing they were not finished, he bent back over, and looked down to Fyodor once more. But what about the other, the um-

-The internal?

-Yes, that one! Do you not simply adore debate! Rolan could hardly maintain his composure now, and this caused Fyodor to smile brightly as well. Go on! Go on!

-Well, I think we should-

A door opened behind them, and the two sprung up. Rolan turned around and stepped out of the stairway and back into the hallway. The door emitted no voice, and instead the sounds of shuffling feet were heard. From the door was shoved out, by a woman’s hand, a nearly nude man, holding his clothes. The door slammed behind him. Fyodor and Rolan made no noise, and instead laid witness upon the ghastly beast, frozen in nudity at the door of an apparent lover. The man turned, and jumped, causing Fyodor to step back slightly. Rolan cleared his throat and addressed the man:

-Good afternoon, sir!

-Afternoon. The man blushed and looked to Fyodor.

-Good afternoon, sir.

-Afternoon. Having finished his exchange with the two men on the stairwell, he raced down the hall, and nearly tripped on the stairs. Both Fyodor and Rolan opened their ears to the sounds of his scurried running and tripping, Rolan enjoying the tumult of a man ripped from his comfort and subsequently thrust into the realm of the unknown. Fyodor however was distraught, his soul aching in a fervor, believing that the woman had just abandoned the man, leaving him to dwell in that fog of furious loneliness, leaving him to be relegated to the same days in the same bed, relegated from action, to memory.

-Where were off to first, Rolan?

-The director, my friend. Rolan’s eyes were still affixed to the shut door, and Fyodor’s to the shadowy stairwell below.

They came to the first floor of the building, and the two had expected for a moment to find the man struggling with his clothes. Alas, however, the two were alone at the base floor, the sounds of the streets now growing.

-Do not think for a moment I have forgotten about our discussion; we can carry on after lunch.

-Are we to eat at your house?

-You can’t avoid that which is meant to happen! Rolan laughed as he opened the door, drowning his figure in the sun. Fyodor stepped out behind him, protecting his eyes with his hands, and looking around for the direction in which Rolan went.

Right, oh, he’s here.

-You know we could eat somewhere else.

-Why would we do that? The food is free, and the comfort is superb!

-Yes well, your aunt.

-What of her?

-Nothing, never mind. Fyodor worried that he had upset Rolan, as Rolan had not, as he usually did, turned to look Fyodor in the eye when a serious question was aroused between them.

-I know she dotes, but she truly does care for you Fyodor.

-I just do not wish to be a bother. Rolan stopped, and turned to Fyodor, and the suddenness of such an action nearly caused Fyodor to land upon Rolan’s chest, as a small child does, when absorbed with his play along the garden path, comes quite suddenly around a corner, rushing into some stranger.

-Fyodor, you really are a fool! Rolan laughed, and placed his hand upon Fyodor’s shoulder, shaking him slightly. Fyodor thus turned red. How can you be a bother! Auntie always asks of you, day after day! “How is he? Is he getting enough sleep? Does he eat? Oh, bring him this bread!”

-Oh, you are exaggerating.

-I am not! And you know it! You just wanted to hear me say that we need you, you sly man!

-We? Fyodor smiled as he spoke, and began his pace once more, Rolan now following him.

-Yes! Oh yes! We need you Fyodor! Rolan clasped his hands and held them to Fyodor as if he were begging for a blessing from Fyodor’s very soul. Fyodor turned and laughed at Rolan, bowing and muttering some false prayer in Greek.

-Aren’t we the two high men of society, Rolan? Rolan straightened his posture and spake in a snobbish tone that Russian noblewomen would when their aim was to demonstrate their superiority.

-Why, yes, of course we are! Fyodor reciprocated.

-Why, yes, yes, of coooourse! Rolan called, laughing a deep, yet nasally laugh. Once their friendly, yet abhorrent actions waned, and the two fell back into the world, Fyodor, noting some odd mess in the road, asked: Do you see that?

-What? Rolan turned around himself, not knowing where exactly to look. Fyodor then pointed with his cane to the place in the road. No, I don’t see anything unusual, just some mess of sorts, come, come, to the director. Rolan turned to the left, and Fyodor followed suit, the two now unable to speak as they could before, the pavement packed and plundered with the pleasurable perfume of people.

Faces and faces, each one crammed together. Not even the sun dries the way beneath anymore, damp and wet, foot after foot, ewe stumble and tear, totter and work our way around. To the table, then to the wall, to the table, then to the wall. Men get antsy, in moments of stress, not the opposite. Table, to wall. Have him bounce his leg perhaps. No, that might be too much.

-Rolan, do you think if we had him sit at the table and bounce his leg, then he goes and leans on the wall, it would create a better sense of unease?

-What? Oh, have him mutter and bounce his leg, maybe he shouts, or exclaims when he gets up.

-Yes, that’ll be good. Plus, we needn’t have him say anything particular, right?

-Right, just have Yevgeny improvise it, he loves it anyways. But what should we say to Sofia?

-What? Say that again.

-What should we tell Sofia?!

-Why do we need to tell her anything? Fyodor was then shoved to the side, and nearly fell upon the pavement, but his body managed to remain upright as it was wedged between a tall, robust laborer, and a short woman. The man had, upon Fyodor’s immediate falling, pushed him into the woman, and she thus shouted in a panic, causing Fyodor to recoil onto his backside upon the pavement. There, on the cold and damp walkway, he was subjected to the boots and heels of the other pedestrians. His eyes then filled with its very own damp, and his entire body collapsed upon itself, his head being wedged within the depths of arms. All around him, voices called, shouting, cursing, all assuming he was but another drunk, taken to the delicate hands of the streets below. Each noise that fell upon him, duplicated, and as such, they rippled through his entire being, gnawing upon his soul, chipping upon his bone, silencing his mind. His tears fell, and in this onslaught, all of the earth was forgotten by Fyodor, all those moments which were so prevalent, merely vanished.  His body gave way to nothingness, and ultimately, no image came to his mind, no sense of solidity aroused itself within him. Alas, within this birth of oblivion, there was ultimately a rebirth of thought, a whisper unto shout:

Where have I fallen? The earth gives itself up, and I fall beneath the bodies of everything. The sun is so still, fixed above by the silhouettes of men and women, each one trudging by, each one dragging itself to and from the grave. No sound can permeate, no sound can rise against me, everything layers, crashing upon my emptiness, everything falls away when the earth tumbles into this oblivion. Weakness, weakness when I tremble, in public, curled upon the road, curled up, weeping. Rolan? Can you hear me? My friend, gone, down to the theatre, what use am I, a writer, to you? What use have I ever been, stuck here, in this concavity of pity, in this place, I so often fall into. Forgive me Rolan, for my words, forgive me for falling to the floor, and refusing to stand again, for my fragility. Rolan your feet, your hair and images, everything unto everything, I do not hate you, for forgetting my feebleness, I do not detest you for walking on without me. The table must fill, by her eyes, one day soon, one day it must be full. Rolan, you always say, one day, there she will be, one day, a woman, affixed upon me. The sand will sing with our feet within it, the sky shall weep with our eyes upon it, the grove shall be gay with our souls within it.

-Fyodor! His head moved up from the depths of his arms, and above, seemingly from the sky, came Rolan’s hand, to clasp his friend once more. Here, here, come, Fyodor. Fyodor lifted his hands over his eyes, to quiet the image of his sobbing. There, Rolan brought him into the side street, out from the heels of humanity, and he placed Fyodor upon the wall.

-I’m sorry, I-

-You don’t need to explain yourself, Fyodor.

-I want to.

-Go ahead. Rolan leaned against the wall beside Fyodor, and waited, with glee, for his friend to begin speaking. Fyodor sighed, and wiped his tears, sniffling all the while.

-I am sorry Rolan. I just fell. I was shoved, I do not know what else happened. Something inside of me struck against my mind, it, I can’t tell. As if it wanted to devour me. He paused, and looked to Rolan, who did not move his head.

-It is okay. This isn’t the first time; it does not frighten me as much as it did. Yes, when I lost sight of you, I panicked, but the incident itself does not repulse me Do not apologize. Just, I beg you, control yourself my friend, before you truly are devoured. Rolan then sat up from the wall, and placed his hand upon Fyodor’s shoulder, waiting for his friend to compose himself.

-Can we continue away from the main road?

-Yes, of course, we are in no rush. The two set off through the dimmer road and started their conversation once more.

-What did you say, about Sofia?

-Right, ah, what do we tell her once we they all find out about the changes?

-Why would we tell her anything? I do not remember changing anything with her role. Fyodor rubbed his now tired eyes and tried to run through all of the changes he had made.

-I do not know if you noticed, but whenever there is a change to any character, or direction, Sofia demands something be improved with her role. Usually, we had something for her, but on the last two occasions there was nothing to give her, and well, I had to invent some minute alteration to her direction. Hearing this, Fyodor pulled from his pocket a series of small parcels of paper with nearly indecipherable notes upon them, so as to go over anything he might have scribbled, but forgot to inform them of.

-I do not have any alterations for her, anything else would be pointless. Did not Yevgeny do the same when we gave Sofia that change with her dialogue?

-Did he?

-Yes, I am sure he stormed in on us, saying “How can you make her the star! My name is first! They come for me! Not for her! Not for the damned household maid!” I believe in the end we told him to stop for a moment after hanging his coat, the idea being that the melancholy is worsening.

-Ah, yes, I recall that! So, I do suppose it is merely the virtue of the thespian! Rolan laughed, and normally, Fyodor would copy his dear friend’s enthusiasm, but as his tiredness which came about as a result of his mental deterioration, caused him to utter a delicate chuckle, one which passed from the base of his stomach, fluttering up and out into the cold air, igniting a sense of disgruntled agreement with the joke that was told.

-So, what is the full plan for to-day? Fyodor hobbled forward, his tiredness now fully apparent to Rolan.

-Are you well?

-Yes, I am fine. Just, what are we to do to-day?

-Fyodor, if you need to go back to your house for some rest, I am more than happy to deliver the changes to the theatre myself.

-No, no, that won’t do. I need to see the actors again; I have not seen them since opening night.

Her beauty, how I have missed it, her face, the supple paleness of her skin that radiates like the moon above the black waters of night.

-Well, carry on, but the offer still stands, Fyodor.

He never answered.

-You never answered my question.

-Oh? Right, right. Sorry. I suppose we are to go to the theatre, hand out the changes, watch them with the director, then go for our walk to my home, then have lunch. Perhaps we can sit by the water, if you are up to it. Afterward I say we could retire to the study, or head to a bookstore if you need more.

-I, I do.

-Very well. After, well, we can have our usual late dinner at home once more, and then to the meeting! Rolan perked himself up, recalling the letter. Fyodor, however, did not express the same enthusiasm, but kept on:

-Could we dine somewhere else for the evening?

-Where did you have mind? Rolan sank for a moment.

-I do not know. It was idiotic to suggest.

-Fyodor. Rolan stopped, and Fyodor, not having realized Rolan had stopped walking, carried on for several paces, before he himself stopped.

-Yes? Fyodor appeared bent, his eyes dark with the circles of sorrow, his skin, no longer red with the warmth of the sun. His clothes were old, and dark, his cane, without luster. Such a sight of his friend nearly moved Rolan to tears. A man who was once upright and bright, now impoverished, now starved, now sealed away in some unknown apartment, a hovel, lost to the world. Such thoughts paced on in Rolan’s head, but instead of uttering them to his friend, Rolan merely said:

-Please do not say your deeds are idiotic. A poet is incapable of being idiotic.

A poet? Is that how you see me, is that what is behind your eyes, is that how I am, to you, to the earth? A poet.

Fyodor smiled, and straightened his back, arousing his stance from a state of decrepitness. Rolan began again, and so did Fyodor.

-So, after dinner?

-As I said, after dinner we are to go to this secret location. We might wish to rest beforehand, however. How does that sound?

Coming out of the darkened side road, the two stopped in the light of the main road, covering their eyes from the sun shining above. In front of them, sat the theatre, high and upright, bright, with tones of yellow and white bleeding into the backdrop of the bright and beauteous breath of the day. Each time the two came up to the theatre from this path, they always stood in awe, adoring the sheer prowess of the building, which never wavered, even when the sun was slain by the onslaught of ceaseless black clouds on those days when rain pelted the earth. After this moment of deification, Fyodor breathed deeply, absorbing the overhead wonder of the warmth that worked its way upon his skin.

-Yes, Rolan, that sounds delightful.