milliways_bar: Journal Entry #2
August 3, 1920:
I do not quite know how I am meant to feel now. I arrived in Carchemish only a few days ago - just in time to be here for The Anniversary. For a large part of the time I walked, as I am wont to do...I must say that it did me some good. I admit that I was worried to venture into Turkish territory again - and far more worried that the tomb would be destroyed by now.
It appears that once and for all the gods have decided to smile down upon me: Dahoum's small grave is blissfully untouched. For hours today I sat among the lotus blossoms that I place at the headstone, speaking quietly everything I was unable to say due to the damnednable distance between us. I stand firmly by the conviction that I felt it the very day he died - today. Though it has been already two full years since his death, I cannot say that I am quite over such things. It was here, with Selim next to me during the digs and the quiet evenings at home that I felt happiest. Even now it shines as a proverbial beacon of what once was. I fear that I shall not feel such happiness again as long as my life goes. One might be prone to calling this a pessimistic view, but I shall take such criticism. I believe it to be the truth.
There is a heaviness to my heart of late - I wonder if it shall always proceed this way. It would not do to have Dahoum mourned for much longer, but I cannot help the yearning of my soul. I am shamed, in a way, to say that he has been my only love that I can remember. Other members of the dig appeared scandalized by my relationship with Dahoum, but they accepted it readily enough. The smile on his face - such a beautiful face, with deep-set, intelligent eyes - proved to them that I treated him to nothing but the best. He had a warmth about him - physically and proverbially - that drew me immediately to him. The utter depth of his intelligence was what bound me to him, however. Of only fourteen years and so able to understand and communicate even through such language barriers is truly remarkable.
I cannot help but feel that he died alone. Surrounded by his family, yes, but apart from me ... it was hard enough for him to allow me to enter into battle. Not only did I fail to protect him - I have as of yet failed to unite his country. But this shall change. If staying at that curious bar - I wonder now if it was really all in my imagination - did anything at all, it allowed me to think. I will not allow myself to give up.
I believe that Winston Churchill - he is a wonderfully vibrant man despite what people seem to think about him - was cross with my leaving in June, but I insisted. He would have no other man than me work with him and I would not allow any other way. When I return in late September - I shall be taking my time returning to Britain in order to reacquaint myself with certain things - I will continue to press for Arab independence. The newspaper articles and petitions are beginning to draw attention, much to my most joyous delight...even Churchill is beginning to admit that the Paris Peace Settlement may have been a tad hasty and unfair. It is in him that I now rest my faith for not only Britain's foreign policies, but also for its militia. He is a sharp, clever man and I have every intention to manipulate support him. He has installed me in the Colonial Office where I am currently instilling a strongly Pro-Arab sensibility into the Middle Eastern settlements division. It is promising indeed.
Such progress I had been making until my leave - I feel now that I will return slogging through mud and quicksand. My mind and my soul are weary of this place, of the endless politicians and the 'proper' ways of speaking. It is difficult to respect these men - aside from Churchill, who insists that I call him 'Winnie' - and their stuffy way of doing things. I grow impatient more often than not and it is Churchill who counters my fever with calm. I am thankful for such small graces.
For now I am exhausted, and feel as if I shall sleep for a thousand years. But I must not, lest the small window of freedom which has been pried from the depths of the gullet of the British beast be swallowed up once more.