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Ὣς οἵ γ’ ἀμφίεπον τάφον Ἕκτορος ἱπποδάμοιο.” Clerval finished and took a deep breath. After several moments of pensive silence, I registered the sound of a book shutting with a gentle clap. This pushed me into a more acute conscience over the half asleep state I had been occupying for the past few hours, willingly listening to his gentle voice reciting the words on the page, as it gave me the sense that he was finished.
I opened my eyes and looked up at the figure sitting next to me. My gaze was not returned, as Clerval seemed to be staring thoughtfully at nothing. A habit of his after finishing a piece of text. I yawned and reached over, nudging him on the arm to get his attention. At present, I was too exhausted to make any effort to speak.
Henry out of his thoughts and turned his head to look at me. “Well, I think that’s quite enough for tonight.” He declared after a few moments, moving the blankets to ensure they covered me more securely.
This caused me to groan. “Won’t you read me something else? At least until I fall asleep…” The texts themselves were typically not of much interest to me, but my companion's voice was soothing enough to make listening to them a pleasure.
“My Dear, look outside, It’s late enough.” He had neglected to shut the curtains, leaving the full face of the moon to shine its pale light on the pair of us. “At this rate, the witching hour will arrive before I can lull you to sleep.”
“All the more reason to continue reading.”
Clerval snorted and rolled his eyes. “Goodnight, Victor.” My gentle whine of protest was ignored, as Clerval rose from the bed, book in hand.
“Oh, say you’ll stay here for the night, at the very least.” I said reproachfully, turning over to keep him in my sights. I didn’t like to spend a night without Clerval by my side if I could help it. “Surely not even you could be so callous as to leave me here.” This was said in a more teasing manner.
This remark won me a mildly annoyed look from Henry as he walked away from the bed. “Of course I’ll stay. I was only going to put this away.” He patted the book’s leather bound cover to accentuate the point. As he set it down on a shelf of other books, organised alphabetically, of course, I heard him muttering “Callous…” under his breath. He looked back in my direction with a more gentle countenance. “Did you enjoy the poem, at least?”
I reached behind my head to prop my pillow up against the headboard, giving myself a clearer view of him. In all honesty, I hadn’t been listening to him overly closely, merely hearing. This didn’t make much difference, as I knew the contents of the story well enough. I replied, “As much as I have on every other occasion in which you have read it to me.” Which could have meant anything. “Frankly, I’m shocked you’re not in tears.”
“As you have only just pointed out, I have read The Iliad many times before. There are precious few surprises it can offer me anymore.” He took a moment to admire his collection of books, which had been accumulating on my shelves since he first arrived in Ingolstadt. An arrival which felt like lifetimes ago, after what was to him a long period of separation and to me a long period of neglect, in favour of more immoral ventures. “Despite that, it never seems to dip in quality.” He winked at me on this note.
I chuckled a little and turned on my side. There was a small pile of books on the edge of my writing desk, also his, just within reach. I grasped the top one and inspected its contents, trying to see if the text might spark his interest enough for him to continue reading. However, when I looked at the pages, a block of unfamiliar text stared back. I quickly identified it to be Arabic, a tongue which I only retained rudimentary knowledge of myself. Looking back at the pile which I had taken it from, I realised that each book had its own Arabic script written on the side.
Their presence in Henry’s collection confused me somewhat. I had never known him to enjoy Arabic stories. I wasn’t even aware that he was familiar with the language. At this point, Clerval was making his way back to the bed, untying his hair from its ribbon. I chose to comment on my discovery. “You read Arabic?”
I meant this as a neutral statement. Somehow, my companion appeared to take it poorly. He paused, expression changing from tired contentment to confusion, looking at me with a slight furrow in his brow. “Yes? I have studied the language for years. You know that.”
”You’ve never mentioned it to me.”
Yet another shift in Henry’s expression. He now appeared to be somewhat annoyed. He took the book from my hands and set it back down on the desk. “I have, Victor. I wrote to you about it. On numerous occasions.”
“Ah.” Memories of Henry’s letters flitted across my mind. All of them unopened. Or most of them, at least. Remembering anything from that particular period in my life is taxing. I racked my mind for anything of his letters that I could recall as he drew the curtains, shutting out any natural light. Nothing manifested. Surely I hadn’t neglected to read any of them? Certainly nothing regarding Arabic sprung to mind. “Erm. Yes. Of course.” I muttered, in a lame attempt to hide my ignorance.
Henry didn’t appear convinced. “You did read my letters, didn’t you?” He prompted. “I had assumed you were too busy, or sickly, to write back, but that you would at least have read them.” He sat back down on the bed, keeping his eyes on me.
“Well… I may have done, but…” I was anxious to bring Clerval back to his good mood, all the while quickly running out of any hope that I had read his letters. Could I really have been so careless? Everything seemed like such a blur now, but… the idea wasn't unfeasible. “It’s all so… erm…”
“Never mind.” Clerval raised a hand dismissively. “It matters little now.” Although I could interpret from the way that he slumped down, facing away from me, that he did not mean this.
A wiser, more emotionally intelligent man would have made an attempt to comfort him, would have apologised then and there, for all the good a mere apology could do to offset years of neglect. I was not such a man, no matter how deeply I tried to muster such sentiments. Henry pulled his share of the blankets over himself, which I noticed were slightly more than usual, and used them to cover himself up to the ears. I leaned over and blew out the candle, subjecting us both to the pitch darkness. Once lying down, I remained silent and still, hoping that he might forget my presence entirely. How could I have ruined such a tender evening with one simple sentence? It seemed like a skill only I could possess.
We lay in silence long enough that I began to wonder whether Clerval had drifted to sleep. In all honesty, I couldn’t help but hope for it. This idea was snuffed out when he spoke, a noise which came out as no more than a small whisper. “Did you miss me?”
This caught me off guard. “What?”
He still faced away from me, beautiful auburn locks obscuring his face entirely. “During the time we spent apart. Whilst I remained in Geneva. Did I cross your mind even once?”
I propped myself up on my elbows, unable to prevent the sigh that escaped my lips at this notion. “Oh, Henry, don’t be like that. You know how much I-“
Unexpectedly, Clerval rose from his position and faced me. Due to my eyes adjusting in the darkness, I could just make out his glare as it burned into me like a red-hot poker. “Do you think I wasn't sick with worry about you? That we all weren’t sick with worry about you? All these letters unopened, they… they may seem insignificant to you, but… each and every one was representative of my own plea to spark your attention again. My need for reassurance that you hadn’t forgotten me…” His voice seemed particularly strained on this last note, as if he was forcing himself to keep a steady voice. “And on every occasion, my plea was ignored.”
I hesitated, feeling somewhat at a loss. Of course, I couldn't be entirely honest with him, as much as his sorrow pained me. It had never been my intention to neglect him, or any of the ones I loved, during the period of time which I dare not recall. They had simply slipped my mind, as had everything else not related to the completion of my goal. What excuse could I give? What on earth could I say to satisfy him without inadvertently revealing too much? “You remember the state in which you found me upon your arrival. I was sick. I couldn’t write and I scarcely had the energy to read.”
”And yet you continued with your studies.” Clerval pointed out, not being any more comforted. ”If you were really so sick for that whole period of time, why not come home? Why not resume your studies at a later date?”
I found myself at a loss. “I was… consumed with my work. As you know I have a tendency to become. Although I had little time for much else, you must believe that I missed you terribly during my quiet moments.” Although hesitant, I reached over and placed a tentative hand on his shoulder.
Thankfully, Henry didn’t pull away, as I feared he might have done. “You must understand my concern at the time.” He looked into my eyes, pools of azure blue gazing back into mine. Although I generally struggle to maintain eye contact with anyone, I endeavoured to hold his gaze for the sake of maintaining the connection.
”I do.” In this I was entirely earnest. “I understand the strife which must come with having myself as a lover.”
Clerval snorted. “Oh, I don’t mean that. You know I don’t.” He took his hand in mine, intertwining our fingers. “I worry about you. I did in your absence and I continue to now.”
The warmth of his hands had always been comforting to me. They balanced my own, which had always been chilled to the touch. “I wish that you had been here. I might have turned out a better man if you were…”
With his free hand, Henry brushed a lock of my hair. “You are a good man, Victor. You must believe that. I do. Imperfections and all.”
Oh! If only I could be comforted by such words! I have no doubt that any other man would have been. If only I could be honest with him. If only he knew that my worst sins and imperfections could never compare to that of neglected letters, to loved ones ignored! If only he could know, this man, with whom in every other aspect I shared a soul, shared a mind.
“Well, if you say so, I suppose there must be some truth in it.” I rested my head on the pillow once more. “I’m truly sorry about your letters. Even if there is no excuse for my negligence.”
Henry brushed his hand through my hair. “So long as you’re alright now, I suppose I can forgive it.”
Now that he expressed much warmer sentiments, I became somewhat anxious to wash away those previous feelings. I rested a hand on his cheek, keeping his head against the pillow. “You were correct earlier… it’s much too late to remain awake any longer.”
Clerval grasped my hand and kissed it on the base of the palm. “I shall read to you in the morning.”
I made a light affirmative noise, allowing myself to press against him. We held one another in a loose, tired embrace. “Do you enjoy Arabic texts?” I asked, hoping to make up for my earlier blunder.
”Oh, yes. Once your condition has improved, I plan to take up classes for it.”
This sparked something within me. Once my condition improved. As of now, I had not allowed myself to dwell on it. Would I continue my previous studies? Likely not, the idea itself made me deeply anxious. But if not that, then what would I do? “I may consider joining you.” I muttered, speaking before I could fully process the thought.
Henry frowned. “Is that so? I wasn't aware you spoke the language.”
”Ah- well, I have a rudimentary understanding. No harm could come from acquiring new skills.”
”Hm. Quite right.” I could ascertain from his voice that he was growing tired. I could also gather this from the fact that my statement didn’t seem unusual to him. He confirmed this by kissing my brow and shutting his eyes. “Goodnight.”
”Goodnight.” I whispered, looking up to press a delicate kiss to his lips. He twined his fingers into my hair once more and returned the kiss, the rest of his body relatively still.
My flash of nerves from the previous night seemed to jerk my body into wakening. Clerval’s arms no longer enveloped me, natural movement during sleep having shifted him across the bed slightly. In my half-asleep days, I felt inclined to reach out for him, seeing that he was still deep in slumber. However, a second thought caught up to me before I made an attempt to do so. The letters. With exaggerated delicacy, making sure not to wake him, I rose from the bed and reached for the cane I kept propped against the bedstead.
Where had I stored them? In my previous, almost manic state, I couldn't have given them too illusive of a hiding place. This allowed an immediate idea to form in my mind. I turned to look at the bed once more, trying to ignore my companion's sleeping form. Degrading myself enough out of a need to receive answers, I gripped the cane to lever myself onto the floor, knees pressing into the plush rug. Underneath the bed, among the clutter that Clerval evidently hadn’t noticed, I noticed an unorganised pile of letters.
Still trying to make as little noise as I could, I reached underneath, managing to grab a random letter from amongst the mess. Unopened, as I had woefully predicted. I used my nail to tear the seal and discarded the letter, beginning to examine its contents. The early morning sun peeking through the curtains was enough that I could just make out the script without the need to light a candle. Unmistakably, it was written in Henry’s hand, dated around half a year before he joined me here.
My Dearest,
A day cannot pass in which you fail to cross my mind. The thought typically comes in the form of deep worry. I pray that your silence is a result of occupation, or even pure neglect, rather than a worsening condition, mental or otherwise. Your family shares this sentiment. I wish more ardently than ever that I had been permitted to join you in our teenage years. If I had been so lucky then I would not be left to stew in my own worry for you now. I could at least be certain that you recall my existence. Please keep me in mind, if nothing else-
His plea continued for a page or so, but I could continue reading no longer. Visions of Clerval’s time in Geneva were becoming far too vivid in my mind. I had always been sorry that he was unable to accompany me from the beginning, even more-so now. I had already grown to loathe my previous self, and in this letter I only saw those feelings aggravated. How he lived through our years apart without coming to despise me, I will never understand. I reached for another random one from the pile and upon opening it, lo and behold, I was faced with passages of English intercut with unfamiliar Arabic prose. How could I endeavour to read all these letters? How could I read pages upon pages of this? It may be better to forget it all. Clerval seemed to, in any case.
My thoughts were broken by the sound of a light grumbling. I looked up, getting the sense that Henry was awakening from his slumber. Instinctively, I slid the letter back under the bed and grasped my cane. Attempting to rise caused me to realise the ache in my knees on account of lying on the floor. I clambered back into bed, still making an attempt to be delicate about it. Clerval seemed tired enough not to notice the shift in weight on the mattress. When I resumed my position next to him, he slung an arm around me. At this, I allowed myself a small release of breath. In this small, tender moment, I made an attempt to put previous pains out of my mind.