(no subject)
TITLE: Damascus, January 1982
AUTHOR: eudaimon
RATING: G.
WORDCOUNT: 624
CHARACTERS: Remus Lupin, certain others conspicuous in their absence.
WARNINGS: None.
NOTES: for the omniocular February challenge. I chose #164 - Damascus; Syria. This virtually wrote itself. Al-'Arous, the Minaret of the Bride, is standing in Damascus as we write. I want to go and see it now. And it does, indeed, snow in Damascus some winters.
what is past is dead (tradtional Syrian proverb).
He hadn't thought that it would be so cold there. He had imagined palm trees and blue skies and dry desert heat; it was snowing in England. It was snowing everywhere. He'd picked Syria with a pin in a scrap of map which he'd picked up from the ruins of the Potters' house, their secret blown wide open by then. He had rolled their remnants over in his bare hands, gathered anything of use for memory. In the pockets of his coat a map, a love letter, a chess piece, the shattered left lense of pair of glasses. In his inside pocket, a watch forgotten in the morning (Know why he wears short sleeves? Rolled up sleeves, nothing hidden, round and round find the lady find the prize he's keeping nothing back). His pockets are full of rubble; once discovered, he couldn't even bring himself to leave their bricks behind.
Remus Lupin hadn't known that it ever snowed in Syria, but, if ever there was a place for revelation. He pressed through the crowded streets, drawing warmth from other bodies, no warmth of his own. Around him, chattering in many languages; he doesn't hear one English voice and, for some reason, that comforts - better to never speak again, speaking would lead to crying, and he couldn't do that. His eyes would freeze in all of the snow. There have been people in Damscus for as long as there have been cities; God revealled himself on the road to Damascus. There was always water there, which was the important thing. Wrapped in his old tweed, an overcoat which he bought for dollars from an American who looked like he had four more, Remus passed like a ghost through old Damascus, pushing through the bazaar without touching anyone, being given way to like sorrow was infectious and, once caught, killed.
In the hustle-bustle warmth of the baazar he stopped to buy trinkets for dead friends. For Lily, he bought a necklace, a net of joined links, that would cover the pale skin of her throat...for James, a fez, remembered childhood cartoons. He lingered over a table of mirrors, jewelled around the edges (always was beautiful and vain, dead as all the others now, where he's gone). For Harry, baby Harry, Remus weighed an alabaster dove in his hand, wings spread like a new world expanding. Remus remembered something that James had told him once, about what Muggles thought had started the universe. He remembered how the universe, the stars and the earth and the people on the earth were expanding, still expanding and when they got to where they were going that would be the end of time. Remus decided to buy the alabaster dove, the very image of Lily's Patronus which had gone winging up into the atmosphere, faded or dissapeared or flown into the heart of the sun. He wouldn't stay in Damascus. He knew that already. If he was ripe for revelation, it wouldn't come here or yet or ever. He had to keep moving. His home had been in their hearts.
In the glare of the snow and the moon, he shaded his eyes, looking up. The guidebook (bought hastily in a london airport), called it Al-'Arous which made him think of the only bride he ever knew personally (they were so young). He turned the dove in his pocket, and thought of Lily Potter in her wedding dress and listened to the ringing of bells which were silent, an imaginary call to prayer, to grace.
Years later, he gave to Lily's son an alabaster dove with one wing glued slightly eschew. Harry smiled and looked so exactly like his mother that Remus realised that Damascus had delivered revelation after all.
AUTHOR: eudaimon
RATING: G.
WORDCOUNT: 624
CHARACTERS: Remus Lupin, certain others conspicuous in their absence.
WARNINGS: None.
NOTES: for the omniocular February challenge. I chose #164 - Damascus; Syria. This virtually wrote itself. Al-'Arous, the Minaret of the Bride, is standing in Damascus as we write. I want to go and see it now. And it does, indeed, snow in Damascus some winters.
what is past is dead (tradtional Syrian proverb).
He hadn't thought that it would be so cold there. He had imagined palm trees and blue skies and dry desert heat; it was snowing in England. It was snowing everywhere. He'd picked Syria with a pin in a scrap of map which he'd picked up from the ruins of the Potters' house, their secret blown wide open by then. He had rolled their remnants over in his bare hands, gathered anything of use for memory. In the pockets of his coat a map, a love letter, a chess piece, the shattered left lense of pair of glasses. In his inside pocket, a watch forgotten in the morning (Know why he wears short sleeves? Rolled up sleeves, nothing hidden, round and round find the lady find the prize he's keeping nothing back). His pockets are full of rubble; once discovered, he couldn't even bring himself to leave their bricks behind.
Remus Lupin hadn't known that it ever snowed in Syria, but, if ever there was a place for revelation. He pressed through the crowded streets, drawing warmth from other bodies, no warmth of his own. Around him, chattering in many languages; he doesn't hear one English voice and, for some reason, that comforts - better to never speak again, speaking would lead to crying, and he couldn't do that. His eyes would freeze in all of the snow. There have been people in Damscus for as long as there have been cities; God revealled himself on the road to Damascus. There was always water there, which was the important thing. Wrapped in his old tweed, an overcoat which he bought for dollars from an American who looked like he had four more, Remus passed like a ghost through old Damascus, pushing through the bazaar without touching anyone, being given way to like sorrow was infectious and, once caught, killed.
In the hustle-bustle warmth of the baazar he stopped to buy trinkets for dead friends. For Lily, he bought a necklace, a net of joined links, that would cover the pale skin of her throat...for James, a fez, remembered childhood cartoons. He lingered over a table of mirrors, jewelled around the edges (always was beautiful and vain, dead as all the others now, where he's gone). For Harry, baby Harry, Remus weighed an alabaster dove in his hand, wings spread like a new world expanding. Remus remembered something that James had told him once, about what Muggles thought had started the universe. He remembered how the universe, the stars and the earth and the people on the earth were expanding, still expanding and when they got to where they were going that would be the end of time. Remus decided to buy the alabaster dove, the very image of Lily's Patronus which had gone winging up into the atmosphere, faded or dissapeared or flown into the heart of the sun. He wouldn't stay in Damascus. He knew that already. If he was ripe for revelation, it wouldn't come here or yet or ever. He had to keep moving. His home had been in their hearts.
In the glare of the snow and the moon, he shaded his eyes, looking up. The guidebook (bought hastily in a london airport), called it Al-'Arous which made him think of the only bride he ever knew personally (they were so young). He turned the dove in his pocket, and thought of Lily Potter in her wedding dress and listened to the ringing of bells which were silent, an imaginary call to prayer, to grace.
Years later, he gave to Lily's son an alabaster dove with one wing glued slightly eschew. Harry smiled and looked so exactly like his mother that Remus realised that Damascus had delivered revelation after all.