[story] rain on the cemetery off blackwater street
author: torino koji (torino_koji)
email: hickorysleeve [at] gmail.com
A/N: part of the Mortal Cities 'verse.
The thing was, nobody could explain it in the slightest. She was in her kitchen when it happened, said the police reports. She snapped, or broke down, or something. Nobody heard a sound. Or perhaps nobody was really listening. People were like that, more often than not.
And a week later, the ground was turned over and an old, decaying coffin was removed to make room for hers. Her mother cried, and her boyfriend, and people who hadn't heard a sound and who probably couldn't say a thing about her. It was raining when she was buried; it had been raining for a week, and the ground felt like it was going to give way at any time.
Her brother did not cry. No one at the funeral saw him there. He came, and stood under a tree and stared from the distance. She'd called before she died. He didn't believe the police reports, that she'd snapped and just sat there on her kitchen floor, beating her head against the cabinets until her skull bent in. He didn't believe that no one had heard. So he stood under the tree, the rain sluicing down his face as the priest said a prayer in a bored monotone and his mother and his would-have-been brother-in-law cried. When they threw dirt onto her coffin, he half-expected her to come out, to sit up and laugh. She loved practical jokes.
He didn't realize he was crying until there was a hand on his shoulder. By then, everyone was gone. The grave-men were filling in her plot. In a few years, it would be turned over and out would come her coffin again. He wiped the tears and rain off his face and looked up at the man at his shoulder.
"I'm sorry. Nathaniel, I'm sorry."
"Thanks. It's alright. I'm fine."
Nathaniel was making grilled cheese sandwiches when the announcement came to turn the power off. He sighed and went around, pulling plugs, watching the lights go out around the city from his window. When it was dark, he dug out the candles, pulled the curtains shut, and grabbed his phone, his hands shaking. He went around lighting candles, cradling the phone between his shoulder and ear, unable to do anything but listen to the drone of the dial-tone.
A knock sounded at his door, and he went over to it. The man stood there, and smiled. He was thin under his coat and scarf and hat and gloves, thinner than he'd been when Nathaniel's sister had been put in the ground. Nathaniel let him in and stood aside. The grilled cheese sandwiches cooled on the counter, only half-toasted. He apologized for them as the man hung up his coat and unwound his scarf.
"They were all I had."
"You had rice in the pantry the last time I was over."
"I ate it all."
The man stared at him critically.
"Have you thought about what I said last time I was here, Nathaniel?"
"Not much." He cut the sandwiches into triangles and cut off the crusts, and put them onto two separate plates. He placed one in front of the man and leaned against the stove, back to the man as he picked at the sandwich.
"You've nothing to keep you here."
"I have her--"
"She's dead, Nathaniel."
"Her memory," Nathaniel finished lamely. He tossed the sandwich wedge back onto the plate, then turned to the man. "And why would I go with you anyway? I don't even know your name."
The man smiled. "My name isn't important, Nathaniel. Is it?"
"I suppose not," Nathaniel conceded. "But it'd be nice to be able to call you something."
"What would you like to call me, Nathaniel?"
Nathaniel stared at the man as he lifted a sandwich to his mouth and took a bite, vicious but gentlemanly, eyes smiling benignly the entire time. Nathaniel swallowed, though there was nothing to swallow or to swallow against. "Jason."
"Jason?"
"It seems like a good name." He shrugged, and picked up his plate again. The man - Jason - chuckled.
"Very well."
"You still haven't told me why I should go with you," Nathaniel pointed out.
"I'm not very hungry. Are you, Nathaniel? Perhaps we should just talk for a while. And, seeing as you don't have a couch, I think it'd be best if we turned down the bed." Nathaniel put down his plate and shrugged.
Nathaniel stood in the shower, staring at his hands and the bruises on his wrists. He was glad he didn't have work for a few days, or else somebody might ask about those. But more than the bruises, he thought about the water sliding over his skin, and the sex he'd just had, and the man sitting in his kitchen in the morning sunlight, maybe drinking coffee, maybe eating toast.
It wasn't the first time Jason had stayed over since Nathaniel's sister had died, but it was the first time he was still around when Nathaniel woke up. Normally, he disappeared with a note that he'd be over in the next couple of weeks, sometime, he didn't know when. Waking up to find him curled against his back had made Nathaniel a little wary, but why, he couldn't explain.
He couldn't explain most things involving Jason. Like the fact that he was just now getting a name, and not even his real one. Or the fact that he'd just come over and Nathaniel had so instantly trusted him - he hadn't even done that with his last boyfriend (was Jason his boyfriend? He didn't even know anymore) and he'd known his ex before they'd started dating in the first place. Jason was just - Nathaniel couldn't explain it.
He stared at his wrists and frowned at the bruises, then ran his fingers through his hair and opened his mouth to the cooling water from the shower head.
It was a while more before he climbed out of the shower, and when he finally came out into the main room, Jason was, in fact, sitting at the window in one of the chairs, curled up like a cat, a mug of coffee cradled between his palms. He didn't look up when Nathaniel came in, didn't make a sound until he'd poured himself coffee and pulled a chair over to where Jason was sitting. Even then, they sat in silence and watched the sun glancing off the windows of the apartment building across the street. A few stories down, Nathaniel watched a younger couple - dramatically mismatched ages, or else the girl was just very small - having sex on a chair. Jason was watching the cars.
"How are your wrists? I didn't mean for them to bruise."
Nathaniel adjusted his sleeves and shrugged. He brought the mug to his lips. He inhaled the smell of coffee like his sister used to, let the drink warm his lower lip.
"Would you like me to get rid of the bruises?"
"What're you gonna do? You got cover up in that jacket of yours?" Jason smiled and sipped his coffee.
Jason sighed: "I said get rid of them, Nathaniel. Not conceal them."
"Don't call me that." He looked up and over at Nathaniel, confused. Nathaniel frowned. "Nathaniel. Don't call me by my full name. My mom does that. I hate my mother."
"What do you want me to call you?"
"I don't know. Not Nathaniel."
"Your middle name, Timothy? Or would you prefer to be Nate or Nathan?" Nathaniel didn't ask how Jason knew his middle name. He shrugged, and Jason smiled a little. "Nathan then. It's certainly easier than Nathaniel. Bit of a mouthful, isn't it?"
Nathaniel grinned pointedly at Jason, and finally took a sip of the coffee. It was good - rich and nutty, and just bitter enough to sting in the back of his throat where he was still a little hoarse.
When he looked over at Jason, Jason was watching him. "My offer stands."
"You didn't really explain how you were going to get rid of bruises. My sister had this thing she did--"
"Erasers and an ice pack," Jason murmured. "Yes, I know."
"My mom always knew."
"Your mother probably knew you had the bruises before your sister got to them. Your sister probably had very similar ones. And you have a very honest face, Nathan." Nathaniel made a face at this coffee and didn't ask what Jason meant with the second comment. When he looked up, Jason had leaned forward in his chair. "But you and I, Nathan, we're the only ones here and the only ones who care about your wrists at the moment. Would you like me to get rid of the bruises?"
Nathaniel held out one wrist. Jason put down his mug and tugged Nathaniel's wrist until Nathaniel had to slide to the very edge of his chair as Jason cradled the wrist in his palms.
Nathaniel watched the couple having sex in their chair, then the khaki-blue sky over the horizon, then the traffic below them. When he looked back, Jason was looking at him expectantly. There were no bruises on his wrist.
"Huh."
Jason let himself in, and when Nathaniel came out of the bedroom with his book, he wondered how that was possible, as the apartment was call-up only and he knew he'd locked his door. But Jason smiled, and held up a bottle of wine.
"It's rare vintage. '82."
"Damn, that thing's older than my mom is. You sure it's not vinegar by now?" He took the bottle and rifled through his cabinets to see if he even had wine glasses. Eventually, he settled for a couple of mugs and popped the cork out with his thumbs. It gave a satisfying percussive noise and hit the ceiling. Jason went after the cork as Nathaniel poured the wine.
When Jason sat down in the chair he'd moved and that Nathaniel had never bothered to move back, Nathaniel asked, "What's the occasion?"
"Your birthday," Jason murmured, and toasted. "You're thirty-two now, aren't you?"
"Thirty-three. No. No, wait." Nathaniel thought, and did the math, and then shrugged. "Yeah, Thirty-two. Huh. Didn't know I mentioned it." Jason gave him a look, and held out a hand. Nathaniel wandered over, and carefully settled himself on the chair between Jason's thighs.
They watched the lights flickering a few blocks up, and Jason trailed his long, cold fingers along the skin above Nathaniel's collar.
"How was work?"
"How did you know today was my birthday?" Jason kissed the back of Nathaniel's neck, at the v of his hair-line, and then behind his ear.
"It's not really important, is it?"
"No, I suppose not."
On the radio, an official announced that his block was having their power cut early for the week. As Nathaniel rose to unplug his belongings and dig out the candles, Jason's arms wrapped around his waist. Their mugs clinked, jostled, the wine sloshing a little.
"Just leave it," Jason whispered.
Nathaniel twisted, giving Jason an appalled look. "They have us turn off the power for a reason. Besides, I could be arrested if I don't. C'mon, Jason, let me up."
Jason stared at Nathaniel for a minute, and slowly, the lights dimmed to a point that, from the street, would look like candle-light. It even flickered minutely, just enough to be believable. Nathaniel's breath caught in his chest. Jason grinned slightly.
"No one will know."
"Jason, what did you--?"
"Sh." Jason carded his hands through Nathaniel's hair. "What do you say we keep warm? I can't run the furnace and keep the lights like this at the same time."
The fourth time Jason appeared in the apartment without any warning, Nathaniel leaned against the stove and glared and finally muttered, only partially sarcastic, "You're the devil."
Jason looked up, quite serious, and grinned. It made the lights shift a little in color and brightness. The television changed channels on its own.
"No, I'm a devil, not the Devil. There's a bit of a difference." Nathaniel stared at Jason, until he tilted his head to the side and quietly asked, still smiling, "Is there something wrong with that, Nathan? Would you like to escape now?"
"Why are you here?"
Jason said nothing, and Nathaniel watched the clouds moving over a sky full of stars. He cooked rice on the stove, smelled the electricity in the air like, he guessed, his sister had smelled the day she'd killed herself or been killed, or either way ended up dead. Staring at the rice, he wondered if anyone would call the police if he wound up dead.
"You're being rather under-dramatic, Nathan, don't you think?" He looked over at Jason, stirred the rice with the kind of lethargy he'd gained since his sister had been put in the ground. Jason was smiling. "Most people would have thrown themselves out the window by now. Or bashed their heads into the cabinet."
"Is that--? Did you kill my sister?"
"Hardly," Jason murmured.
"What's your name?" Nathaniel asked softly. Jason looked out the window, tapping nonsense rhythms on the arm of the chair. "What's your name?"
"My name doesn't really matter, does it, Nathan?" Nathaniel stared at the back of Jason's head, felt the pretzel-twist of his stomach, swallowed the instant rebuttal he'd had ready in case Jason said that. When Jason looked at him, Nathaniel couldn't remember what he was going to say. "What matters, here, is you, Nathan."
"Yeah, I guess so," Nathaniel murmured.
The rice was burning at the bottom of the pot.
He woke from a dream of his sister to find Jason sitting at the end of his bed, watching him. Nathaniel stared at him, sat up slow and cautious, and asked, "Can you read my mind?"
"Why do you ask, Nathan?"
"Because I only dream about her when you're around."
Jason smiled. "Well, that's not really mind reading, is it? More like mind planting, or something of the sort."
"Why are you here?"
"Do you believe in God, Nathaniel Burkshire?"
Nathaniel ignored him and tried to go back to sleep, but was haunted by the question and his sister's smiling face.
The thing of it was, nobody could explain it. A neighbor said they never saw anyone go into the apartment - ever - but that they often heard Nathaniel talking to himself. On the day they heard nothing, the police came. No one could open the door for a day, and when they did, all that was left were broken windows; a black cat sitting amid rumpled clothes and a tabby dead by the window.
And a week later, the ground was turned over and an old, decaying coffin was removed to make room for an empty one. A few co-workers attended; it was nothing like the funeral that had been held for his sister. It was raining when he was buried; it had been raining for a few days, and the ground already felt like it was going to give way at any time.
When Nathaniel woke, it was dark and Jason was smiling at him, green eyes flashing, reaching out a hand to help him up.
They stood in the rain, under the tree where Nathaniel had seen his sister lowered into the grave. Jason touched his shoulder. "Do you believe in God, Nathan?"
As Nathaniel looked up and saw his sister, smiling and beautiful, he didn't think about the question. Jason never did explain what he meant by that.
the end
email: hickorysleeve [at] gmail.com
A/N: part of the Mortal Cities 'verse.
The thing was, nobody could explain it in the slightest. She was in her kitchen when it happened, said the police reports. She snapped, or broke down, or something. Nobody heard a sound. Or perhaps nobody was really listening. People were like that, more often than not.
And a week later, the ground was turned over and an old, decaying coffin was removed to make room for hers. Her mother cried, and her boyfriend, and people who hadn't heard a sound and who probably couldn't say a thing about her. It was raining when she was buried; it had been raining for a week, and the ground felt like it was going to give way at any time.
Her brother did not cry. No one at the funeral saw him there. He came, and stood under a tree and stared from the distance. She'd called before she died. He didn't believe the police reports, that she'd snapped and just sat there on her kitchen floor, beating her head against the cabinets until her skull bent in. He didn't believe that no one had heard. So he stood under the tree, the rain sluicing down his face as the priest said a prayer in a bored monotone and his mother and his would-have-been brother-in-law cried. When they threw dirt onto her coffin, he half-expected her to come out, to sit up and laugh. She loved practical jokes.
He didn't realize he was crying until there was a hand on his shoulder. By then, everyone was gone. The grave-men were filling in her plot. In a few years, it would be turned over and out would come her coffin again. He wiped the tears and rain off his face and looked up at the man at his shoulder.
"I'm sorry. Nathaniel, I'm sorry."
"Thanks. It's alright. I'm fine."
Nathaniel was making grilled cheese sandwiches when the announcement came to turn the power off. He sighed and went around, pulling plugs, watching the lights go out around the city from his window. When it was dark, he dug out the candles, pulled the curtains shut, and grabbed his phone, his hands shaking. He went around lighting candles, cradling the phone between his shoulder and ear, unable to do anything but listen to the drone of the dial-tone.
A knock sounded at his door, and he went over to it. The man stood there, and smiled. He was thin under his coat and scarf and hat and gloves, thinner than he'd been when Nathaniel's sister had been put in the ground. Nathaniel let him in and stood aside. The grilled cheese sandwiches cooled on the counter, only half-toasted. He apologized for them as the man hung up his coat and unwound his scarf.
"They were all I had."
"You had rice in the pantry the last time I was over."
"I ate it all."
The man stared at him critically.
"Have you thought about what I said last time I was here, Nathaniel?"
"Not much." He cut the sandwiches into triangles and cut off the crusts, and put them onto two separate plates. He placed one in front of the man and leaned against the stove, back to the man as he picked at the sandwich.
"You've nothing to keep you here."
"I have her--"
"She's dead, Nathaniel."
"Her memory," Nathaniel finished lamely. He tossed the sandwich wedge back onto the plate, then turned to the man. "And why would I go with you anyway? I don't even know your name."
The man smiled. "My name isn't important, Nathaniel. Is it?"
"I suppose not," Nathaniel conceded. "But it'd be nice to be able to call you something."
"What would you like to call me, Nathaniel?"
Nathaniel stared at the man as he lifted a sandwich to his mouth and took a bite, vicious but gentlemanly, eyes smiling benignly the entire time. Nathaniel swallowed, though there was nothing to swallow or to swallow against. "Jason."
"Jason?"
"It seems like a good name." He shrugged, and picked up his plate again. The man - Jason - chuckled.
"Very well."
"You still haven't told me why I should go with you," Nathaniel pointed out.
"I'm not very hungry. Are you, Nathaniel? Perhaps we should just talk for a while. And, seeing as you don't have a couch, I think it'd be best if we turned down the bed." Nathaniel put down his plate and shrugged.
Nathaniel stood in the shower, staring at his hands and the bruises on his wrists. He was glad he didn't have work for a few days, or else somebody might ask about those. But more than the bruises, he thought about the water sliding over his skin, and the sex he'd just had, and the man sitting in his kitchen in the morning sunlight, maybe drinking coffee, maybe eating toast.
It wasn't the first time Jason had stayed over since Nathaniel's sister had died, but it was the first time he was still around when Nathaniel woke up. Normally, he disappeared with a note that he'd be over in the next couple of weeks, sometime, he didn't know when. Waking up to find him curled against his back had made Nathaniel a little wary, but why, he couldn't explain.
He couldn't explain most things involving Jason. Like the fact that he was just now getting a name, and not even his real one. Or the fact that he'd just come over and Nathaniel had so instantly trusted him - he hadn't even done that with his last boyfriend (was Jason his boyfriend? He didn't even know anymore) and he'd known his ex before they'd started dating in the first place. Jason was just - Nathaniel couldn't explain it.
He stared at his wrists and frowned at the bruises, then ran his fingers through his hair and opened his mouth to the cooling water from the shower head.
It was a while more before he climbed out of the shower, and when he finally came out into the main room, Jason was, in fact, sitting at the window in one of the chairs, curled up like a cat, a mug of coffee cradled between his palms. He didn't look up when Nathaniel came in, didn't make a sound until he'd poured himself coffee and pulled a chair over to where Jason was sitting. Even then, they sat in silence and watched the sun glancing off the windows of the apartment building across the street. A few stories down, Nathaniel watched a younger couple - dramatically mismatched ages, or else the girl was just very small - having sex on a chair. Jason was watching the cars.
"How are your wrists? I didn't mean for them to bruise."
Nathaniel adjusted his sleeves and shrugged. He brought the mug to his lips. He inhaled the smell of coffee like his sister used to, let the drink warm his lower lip.
"Would you like me to get rid of the bruises?"
"What're you gonna do? You got cover up in that jacket of yours?" Jason smiled and sipped his coffee.
Jason sighed: "I said get rid of them, Nathaniel. Not conceal them."
"Don't call me that." He looked up and over at Nathaniel, confused. Nathaniel frowned. "Nathaniel. Don't call me by my full name. My mom does that. I hate my mother."
"What do you want me to call you?"
"I don't know. Not Nathaniel."
"Your middle name, Timothy? Or would you prefer to be Nate or Nathan?" Nathaniel didn't ask how Jason knew his middle name. He shrugged, and Jason smiled a little. "Nathan then. It's certainly easier than Nathaniel. Bit of a mouthful, isn't it?"
Nathaniel grinned pointedly at Jason, and finally took a sip of the coffee. It was good - rich and nutty, and just bitter enough to sting in the back of his throat where he was still a little hoarse.
When he looked over at Jason, Jason was watching him. "My offer stands."
"You didn't really explain how you were going to get rid of bruises. My sister had this thing she did--"
"Erasers and an ice pack," Jason murmured. "Yes, I know."
"My mom always knew."
"Your mother probably knew you had the bruises before your sister got to them. Your sister probably had very similar ones. And you have a very honest face, Nathan." Nathaniel made a face at this coffee and didn't ask what Jason meant with the second comment. When he looked up, Jason had leaned forward in his chair. "But you and I, Nathan, we're the only ones here and the only ones who care about your wrists at the moment. Would you like me to get rid of the bruises?"
Nathaniel held out one wrist. Jason put down his mug and tugged Nathaniel's wrist until Nathaniel had to slide to the very edge of his chair as Jason cradled the wrist in his palms.
Nathaniel watched the couple having sex in their chair, then the khaki-blue sky over the horizon, then the traffic below them. When he looked back, Jason was looking at him expectantly. There were no bruises on his wrist.
"Huh."
Jason let himself in, and when Nathaniel came out of the bedroom with his book, he wondered how that was possible, as the apartment was call-up only and he knew he'd locked his door. But Jason smiled, and held up a bottle of wine.
"It's rare vintage. '82."
"Damn, that thing's older than my mom is. You sure it's not vinegar by now?" He took the bottle and rifled through his cabinets to see if he even had wine glasses. Eventually, he settled for a couple of mugs and popped the cork out with his thumbs. It gave a satisfying percussive noise and hit the ceiling. Jason went after the cork as Nathaniel poured the wine.
When Jason sat down in the chair he'd moved and that Nathaniel had never bothered to move back, Nathaniel asked, "What's the occasion?"
"Your birthday," Jason murmured, and toasted. "You're thirty-two now, aren't you?"
"Thirty-three. No. No, wait." Nathaniel thought, and did the math, and then shrugged. "Yeah, Thirty-two. Huh. Didn't know I mentioned it." Jason gave him a look, and held out a hand. Nathaniel wandered over, and carefully settled himself on the chair between Jason's thighs.
They watched the lights flickering a few blocks up, and Jason trailed his long, cold fingers along the skin above Nathaniel's collar.
"How was work?"
"How did you know today was my birthday?" Jason kissed the back of Nathaniel's neck, at the v of his hair-line, and then behind his ear.
"It's not really important, is it?"
"No, I suppose not."
On the radio, an official announced that his block was having their power cut early for the week. As Nathaniel rose to unplug his belongings and dig out the candles, Jason's arms wrapped around his waist. Their mugs clinked, jostled, the wine sloshing a little.
"Just leave it," Jason whispered.
Nathaniel twisted, giving Jason an appalled look. "They have us turn off the power for a reason. Besides, I could be arrested if I don't. C'mon, Jason, let me up."
Jason stared at Nathaniel for a minute, and slowly, the lights dimmed to a point that, from the street, would look like candle-light. It even flickered minutely, just enough to be believable. Nathaniel's breath caught in his chest. Jason grinned slightly.
"No one will know."
"Jason, what did you--?"
"Sh." Jason carded his hands through Nathaniel's hair. "What do you say we keep warm? I can't run the furnace and keep the lights like this at the same time."
The fourth time Jason appeared in the apartment without any warning, Nathaniel leaned against the stove and glared and finally muttered, only partially sarcastic, "You're the devil."
Jason looked up, quite serious, and grinned. It made the lights shift a little in color and brightness. The television changed channels on its own.
"No, I'm a devil, not the Devil. There's a bit of a difference." Nathaniel stared at Jason, until he tilted his head to the side and quietly asked, still smiling, "Is there something wrong with that, Nathan? Would you like to escape now?"
"Why are you here?"
Jason said nothing, and Nathaniel watched the clouds moving over a sky full of stars. He cooked rice on the stove, smelled the electricity in the air like, he guessed, his sister had smelled the day she'd killed herself or been killed, or either way ended up dead. Staring at the rice, he wondered if anyone would call the police if he wound up dead.
"You're being rather under-dramatic, Nathan, don't you think?" He looked over at Jason, stirred the rice with the kind of lethargy he'd gained since his sister had been put in the ground. Jason was smiling. "Most people would have thrown themselves out the window by now. Or bashed their heads into the cabinet."
"Is that--? Did you kill my sister?"
"Hardly," Jason murmured.
"What's your name?" Nathaniel asked softly. Jason looked out the window, tapping nonsense rhythms on the arm of the chair. "What's your name?"
"My name doesn't really matter, does it, Nathan?" Nathaniel stared at the back of Jason's head, felt the pretzel-twist of his stomach, swallowed the instant rebuttal he'd had ready in case Jason said that. When Jason looked at him, Nathaniel couldn't remember what he was going to say. "What matters, here, is you, Nathan."
"Yeah, I guess so," Nathaniel murmured.
The rice was burning at the bottom of the pot.
He woke from a dream of his sister to find Jason sitting at the end of his bed, watching him. Nathaniel stared at him, sat up slow and cautious, and asked, "Can you read my mind?"
"Why do you ask, Nathan?"
"Because I only dream about her when you're around."
Jason smiled. "Well, that's not really mind reading, is it? More like mind planting, or something of the sort."
"Why are you here?"
"Do you believe in God, Nathaniel Burkshire?"
Nathaniel ignored him and tried to go back to sleep, but was haunted by the question and his sister's smiling face.
The thing of it was, nobody could explain it. A neighbor said they never saw anyone go into the apartment - ever - but that they often heard Nathaniel talking to himself. On the day they heard nothing, the police came. No one could open the door for a day, and when they did, all that was left were broken windows; a black cat sitting amid rumpled clothes and a tabby dead by the window.
And a week later, the ground was turned over and an old, decaying coffin was removed to make room for an empty one. A few co-workers attended; it was nothing like the funeral that had been held for his sister. It was raining when he was buried; it had been raining for a few days, and the ground already felt like it was going to give way at any time.
When Nathaniel woke, it was dark and Jason was smiling at him, green eyes flashing, reaching out a hand to help him up.
They stood in the rain, under the tree where Nathaniel had seen his sister lowered into the grave. Jason touched his shoulder. "Do you believe in God, Nathan?"
As Nathaniel looked up and saw his sister, smiling and beautiful, he didn't think about the question. Jason never did explain what he meant by that.
the end