04: Untitled: Rosencrantz & Guildenstern
By jiasachan, for karla_yonit
"You left me," he said, running a restless hand through his hair. "I mean, how was I-- how is anyone to take thinking they'll die-- they'll die--"
The sentence was, originally, meant to end in "alone," but the verb "to die" refused an adjective. The sentence was intent on ending (abruptly, like a life) caught between tongue and teeth. If you died, if you ended, it didn't matter how-- alone, or side by side, or in awful silence. Only that it always, always happened too soon.
"I didn't leave," protested Rosencrantz. "I didn't mean to. I got lost, or I think I did. I think I think I did. Only I don't know that I know that I thought anything at all--" he worried his lower lip between his teeth, brow knitting.
"It doesn't matter, Guildenstern hissed. "You weren't there, and you might have not been there, for all anyone told me!"
"Only you never think about thinking, do you? So how do you know?"
"It's no good, is it? No good. I'm thinking-- I'm thinking how, when it comes, the end of it all-- the end of you and I . . . they won't notice. Someone will tell them, someone will announce it, and it will be like talking to the dead. Exactly like talking to the dead."
***
They had played at questions ("This is absurd."-- "Statement!") and tossed coins (Guildenstern didn't look at them-- they were difficult to see anyway, in the dark) and now Guildenstern paced the floor (difficult to see, in the dark) and Rosencrantz (half-obscured, in the dark) watched nothing (or perhaps something, a particle of dust drifting in dry dark air) from where he sprawled, only half-visible in the black. The trouble was in not knowing where they were, or even where they weren't, which might have narrowed down the possibilities. Then there was the other trouble of being unsure how they'd gotten there, or what the point of pacing or sprawling in the dark was. Guildenstern thought once to explore the place, but Rosencrantz wasn't sure there was a place to explore, other than dark, and being in an unidentified place sounded a better idea than being in a non-place, or not being in an unidentified place (or non-place, for that matter.) Guildenstern sank down with his back against the wall, relieved to find that there was a wall, and clenched his jaw and watched Rosencrantz watch the falling dust.
***
"D'you suppose," asked Rosencrantz, after a while. "Do you suppose we might be on a boat?"
"We aren't on a boat," said Guildenstern. "I hope we aren't on a boat. On a boat you could scream anything at all-- anything at all-- at the top of yourvoice and no one would hear. Just miles and miles of utterly indifferent fish."
"They might be friendly fish," said Rosencrantz, propping himself up on his elbows . "They might take note."
"The fish don't care."
"What about the crew?"
Guildenstern sighed. "The crew have got their own tasks to tend to. They haven't got the time for a screaming lunatic. No-- you could rave on for a quarter of an hour, less than an arm's length from the captain, and no one would notice. Or they would, and they'd go about their work and hope you'd go away after a while. And you'd have to, wouldn't you? There's no use staying if you can't change anything-- if no one takes notice."
"I imagine--" said Rosencrantz, brow knitting in carefully measured thought. "I imagine it'd be awfully hard on the throat."
"What--?"
"It'd hurt your throat," Rosencrantz repeated. "So don't shout. I can hear you all right."
"You left me," he said, running a restless hand through his hair. "I mean, how was I-- how is anyone to take thinking they'll die-- they'll die--"
The sentence was, originally, meant to end in "alone," but the verb "to die" refused an adjective. The sentence was intent on ending (abruptly, like a life) caught between tongue and teeth. If you died, if you ended, it didn't matter how-- alone, or side by side, or in awful silence. Only that it always, always happened too soon.
"I didn't leave," protested Rosencrantz. "I didn't mean to. I got lost, or I think I did. I think I think I did. Only I don't know that I know that I thought anything at all--" he worried his lower lip between his teeth, brow knitting.
"It doesn't matter, Guildenstern hissed. "You weren't there, and you might have not been there, for all anyone told me!"
"Only you never think about thinking, do you? So how do you know?"
"It's no good, is it? No good. I'm thinking-- I'm thinking how, when it comes, the end of it all-- the end of you and I . . . they won't notice. Someone will tell them, someone will announce it, and it will be like talking to the dead. Exactly like talking to the dead."
***
They had played at questions ("This is absurd."-- "Statement!") and tossed coins (Guildenstern didn't look at them-- they were difficult to see anyway, in the dark) and now Guildenstern paced the floor (difficult to see, in the dark) and Rosencrantz (half-obscured, in the dark) watched nothing (or perhaps something, a particle of dust drifting in dry dark air) from where he sprawled, only half-visible in the black. The trouble was in not knowing where they were, or even where they weren't, which might have narrowed down the possibilities. Then there was the other trouble of being unsure how they'd gotten there, or what the point of pacing or sprawling in the dark was. Guildenstern thought once to explore the place, but Rosencrantz wasn't sure there was a place to explore, other than dark, and being in an unidentified place sounded a better idea than being in a non-place, or not being in an unidentified place (or non-place, for that matter.) Guildenstern sank down with his back against the wall, relieved to find that there was a wall, and clenched his jaw and watched Rosencrantz watch the falling dust.
***
"D'you suppose," asked Rosencrantz, after a while. "Do you suppose we might be on a boat?"
"We aren't on a boat," said Guildenstern. "I hope we aren't on a boat. On a boat you could scream anything at all-- anything at all-- at the top of yourvoice and no one would hear. Just miles and miles of utterly indifferent fish."
"They might be friendly fish," said Rosencrantz, propping himself up on his elbows . "They might take note."
"The fish don't care."
"What about the crew?"
Guildenstern sighed. "The crew have got their own tasks to tend to. They haven't got the time for a screaming lunatic. No-- you could rave on for a quarter of an hour, less than an arm's length from the captain, and no one would notice. Or they would, and they'd go about their work and hope you'd go away after a while. And you'd have to, wouldn't you? There's no use staying if you can't change anything-- if no one takes notice."
"I imagine--" said Rosencrantz, brow knitting in carefully measured thought. "I imagine it'd be awfully hard on the throat."
"What--?"
"It'd hurt your throat," Rosencrantz repeated. "So don't shout. I can hear you all right."