[Fiction] [Pastiche?] Un Suceso en Londres (An Event in London), part 01
Raw and unedited. And I did not bother with the word count. But at least I began to write the idea, which is an important thing.
Completely fictional, and a sad attempt in pastiche. Had to "download" this straight from the brain before it disappears.
--
Un suceso en Londres (An event in London)
by mierin_lanfear
1. Tea and sympathy
The tea was bitter and overbrewed. The water used was too hot, the Earl Grey steeped too long. But the contents warmed the cup she held and that alone was more than enough for her. She hoped that her numb fingers were thawed by the heat.
The group shared an awkward moment of silence in the Chief Librarian's office. Ella stared down at the tea's murky depths and found herself reflected on its dark surface.
This is absurd, she thought.
Across her, three men sat on an overstuffed sofa, holding mismatched china cups with the same sad brew. The fourth man paced to and fro like a perambulating pendulum at the background. He cast a thin and austere shadow over the whole scene. He held no teacup.
The man seated at the middle leaned forward, profile clear in the yellow gaslight. Olive-brown skin, trim moustache, almond-shaped eyes. An uncanny resemblance.
Ella said, "It's impossible. You can't be him." Her tea-reflection broke into ripples as her hand trembled. "You just can't be him at all..."
The man replied in her native language. "Why do you say that, madame? I don't even recall meeting you before back in Manila. How can you be sure of what you are saying? In a foreign tongue, as well!"
She shook her head. He was polite, but his words, especially the last ones, stung her slightly. Ella said, "I can speak English as well as any properly-educated Filipino, thank you. And I have my reasons for my disbelief. Valid ones."
Her pointed reply amused the men, including her kababayan. He asked, "Is that so? How can our countrymen be properly-educated in this language, as you say so, if the friars back home use Spanish in schools?"
The fourth man stopped his pacing and faced Ella. She felt uncomfortable being scrutinized closely by this man, as if he weighed not only her physical appearance, but every aspect of her self, not sparing the tiniest minutiae.
His smile cut across his narrow face, softening his features. "Mr. Rizal," he spoke. "She speaks the truth. Impossible as this may seem, but she means well." He nodded at her. "Am I correct?"
She let out a sigh and slumped against the armchair. "Yes. Finally, someone believes me."
One of the men beside Rizal stirred from his seat. His plump, avuncular moustache quivered as he asked, "How can you be sure, Holmes?"
He gave a dry chuckle. He glanced at her. "American influence?"
Ella stared at him. "Yes....wait, how--?" She checked herself. "Oh. The accent. Spain signed the Treaty of Paris in 1898 and handed over the Philippines to America..."
Rizal interrupted her. "What? America intervened?"
She plunked the cup down on the table between them. "You don't believe me? America did. At the same time, our country declared her own independence, but it was short-lived. Aguinaldo and Bonifacio were at odds with each other, too, at that time..."
"But that's a long time from now! It's...impossible!" He turned at the Watson and the Chief Librarian, who remained in prudent silence throughout the conversation. He returned his focus on Ella. "Tell me, then...binibini, how did all of these things you've said happen?"
She picked up her cup and fished for an appropriate answer from its murky depths.
She finally answered in Filipino: "You died."
Completely fictional, and a sad attempt in pastiche. Had to "download" this straight from the brain before it disappears.
--
Un suceso en Londres (An event in London)
by mierin_lanfear
1. Tea and sympathy
The tea was bitter and overbrewed. The water used was too hot, the Earl Grey steeped too long. But the contents warmed the cup she held and that alone was more than enough for her. She hoped that her numb fingers were thawed by the heat.
The group shared an awkward moment of silence in the Chief Librarian's office. Ella stared down at the tea's murky depths and found herself reflected on its dark surface.
This is absurd, she thought.
Across her, three men sat on an overstuffed sofa, holding mismatched china cups with the same sad brew. The fourth man paced to and fro like a perambulating pendulum at the background. He cast a thin and austere shadow over the whole scene. He held no teacup.
The man seated at the middle leaned forward, profile clear in the yellow gaslight. Olive-brown skin, trim moustache, almond-shaped eyes. An uncanny resemblance.
Ella said, "It's impossible. You can't be him." Her tea-reflection broke into ripples as her hand trembled. "You just can't be him at all..."
The man replied in her native language. "Why do you say that, madame? I don't even recall meeting you before back in Manila. How can you be sure of what you are saying? In a foreign tongue, as well!"
She shook her head. He was polite, but his words, especially the last ones, stung her slightly. Ella said, "I can speak English as well as any properly-educated Filipino, thank you. And I have my reasons for my disbelief. Valid ones."
Her pointed reply amused the men, including her kababayan. He asked, "Is that so? How can our countrymen be properly-educated in this language, as you say so, if the friars back home use Spanish in schools?"
The fourth man stopped his pacing and faced Ella. She felt uncomfortable being scrutinized closely by this man, as if he weighed not only her physical appearance, but every aspect of her self, not sparing the tiniest minutiae.
His smile cut across his narrow face, softening his features. "Mr. Rizal," he spoke. "She speaks the truth. Impossible as this may seem, but she means well." He nodded at her. "Am I correct?"
She let out a sigh and slumped against the armchair. "Yes. Finally, someone believes me."
One of the men beside Rizal stirred from his seat. His plump, avuncular moustache quivered as he asked, "How can you be sure, Holmes?"
He gave a dry chuckle. He glanced at her. "American influence?"
Ella stared at him. "Yes....wait, how--?" She checked herself. "Oh. The accent. Spain signed the Treaty of Paris in 1898 and handed over the Philippines to America..."
Rizal interrupted her. "What? America intervened?"
She plunked the cup down on the table between them. "You don't believe me? America did. At the same time, our country declared her own independence, but it was short-lived. Aguinaldo and Bonifacio were at odds with each other, too, at that time..."
"But that's a long time from now! It's...impossible!" He turned at the Watson and the Chief Librarian, who remained in prudent silence throughout the conversation. He returned his focus on Ella. "Tell me, then...binibini, how did all of these things you've said happen?"
She picked up her cup and fished for an appropriate answer from its murky depths.
She finally answered in Filipino: "You died."