Won't do me no good washing in the river (3/4)
Title Won't do me no good washing in the river- Part three I'm a Dead Man Walking
Pairing David Silva/David Villa, Samir Nasri/Gael Clichy, Helena Seger/Zlatan Ibrahimovic, Gerard Pique/Cesc Fabregas, Past David Silva/Adam Johnson, Alluded Karim Benzema/Yoann Gourcuff
Rating PG13
Word Count 5610 (16059 so far)
Disclaimer Not true
AN: Thank you to albion_lass for being amazing. I know I said it was going to be done in three parts but it's not. I lied.
October brings the first hints of relief from the heat plaguing them. New Orleans smells sour from weeks without a good rain and a haze hangs over the city like a cloud. The hurricanes have largely passed them over this year; everyone craves the cold the rain would bring. At the house, Nasri's rose garden has withered and it's too dry for the fall flowers to bloom. The willow tree seems to droop more than usual. There is no water to save them.
David finds himself stealing away to the small chapel more often. At first he sneaks out once or twice a week, but soon it becomes every other night. The front pew is the first place he cleans and for a few weeks that is enough for him. He spends an hour in quiet contemplation before leaving. Soon he is dusting all the surfaces and removing all the grime and signs of age he can reach. The floors are swept and the only thing the chapel really needs is a good mopping. David keeps the boards over the windows- he likes this idea that this is his private room to speak to God in. That hasn't happened yet, speaking to God, as David doesn't think he is ready. He can't find the words.
At the front of the room the large cross remains untouched. In its decay and offending dirtiness, Silva's handprint remains pressed into the dust like he was just there. David pretends Silva never left.
*
Madam Seger has a habit of staring at people as if they are made of dirt. David has never spent time around a woman like her before, but he finds her a shrewd businesswoman and much smarter than most men he has known. The phrase 'as cold as ice' would almost be the perfect way to describe her, except much like Nasri, her significant other is her weakness. Her disposition thaws when she looks at her husband. From her office on the third floor they can see out into the casino on the ground floor where Madam Seger's girls are entertaining gentlemen with flirtatious smiles and revealing clothing.
"Are you tired of being one of Monsieur Nasri's marionettes yet?" She asks him, words sharp with her accent.
He doesn't answer her. Below he sees Lord Hart sitting with one girl on each of his legs. A cigar is perched between his lips and one of the girls is wearing his garish stovepipe hat, something he swears is the latest fashion trend. David tries to picture Silva wearing one of the hats and an amused sort of grin floats across his face.
"Do you see someone you like?"
David doesn't. The women are beautiful, and he knows they are skilled in their trade. He doesn't want them. David craves something more, someone else.
"No Madam, I do not." He answers after a while, after his eyes search the room and he still does not feel temptation pulling at him with her fiery ropes. "My companions however..."
Joe has disappeared with the two girls and David sees Pepe following another up the staircase to the second floor. Cesc is speaking with Madam Seger's husband about something; there is a tall man wrapped around him. David sees blue eyes and an easy smile.
"Gerard is not our only male worker, if that is more to your taste," Madam Seger continues. "I can call more of them out if you wish?"
"No thank you Madam Seger," David turns away from the floor. "Your ladies are lovely, but I cannot indulge."
She smiles at him, a gesture that is calming and terrifying at the same time. David feels like she sees through him, that every word he says reveals three more. David finds he enjoys speaking with her and that like Vincent, she is one of the only people who truly understands the events unfolding around them. Before he calls on a family to inquire about donations for Nasri's projects, Madam Seger tells him everything he needs to know. She is the keeper of New Orleans' secrets and nothing sneaks by her.
*
David stands at the lectern. His eyes roam over the empty pews as he remembers reading to packed rooms. David can't remember if he chose the life of serving God and spreading his message because he wanted to or if it was expected of him. His memories have faded with time.
Flipping to a random page, he begins to read aloud. The vaulted ceiling carries his voice high and it echoes around the room, filling the small space with sound as if he is not alone. His words tell a story, lay a scene in his mind's eye that takes him far from his present troubles. As he relearns the lexicon of his trade the world disappears around him until he's alone with his thoughts and memories and he recalls all he wanted out of life was to know he could make a difference in the lives of others.
But now his life is uncertainty, a spinning vortex of words, shadows, and the inability to ask for forgiveness. It's an undertow that is pulling him down, down, down and he's not sure if he can breathe. He feels the burn in his lungs as anxiety begins to take control and the water threatens to drown him instead of save him.
David opens his eyes. He finds he still wants to help others, but he knows he can't until he saves himself. His fingers ghost over the spot on his chest where his cross normally hangs. David wonders if there is a balance, if taking one life in a heated moment can possibly be countered by the lives he's helped and the souls he's saved. There's not a balance and David knows it doesn't work that way, but if he pretends it does, it makes sleeping at night a little easier.
*
Vincent knocks on his door in the middle of the night. David is not sure how long he's been asleep but he knows it was not long enough. He's cranky when he opens the door, dead set on glaring down whoever is on the other side of it. The words die on his lips when he sees the red splattered on Vincent's white shirt, his forearms covered in blood.
David has always wondered why the carpet in the lone bedroom on the ground floor is red, but now he wishes he didn't know. The drops of blood that show up brightly on their white shirts and the light brown floors disappear into the plush carpet. The room is stifling hot; the fire is going and the room feels like the hottest day of summer. Nasri is sitting at the bedside with his hands in his hair. On the other side of the bed is a man David has never seen before, a doctor of sorts, the only one in the room wearing colors blood doesn't stain. The bowl of water in front of him is pink. Long, white strips of cotton bandages are laid out for him to use.
Pepe has a cut across his cheek and lacerations on his arms and hands. If David didn't know better, he would guess they were from a whip. The only reason Pepe is not screaming in pain is the empty bottle of alcohol next to the bed; the room smells heavily of whiskey. A gash on his forehead is bleeding profusely, but the main area of concern is his shoulder. When the doctor removes the cotton David can see bone. The lantern light catches a glint of metal; there's a piece of a bullet caught in Pepe's flesh.
"It might be better to cut his arm off," the Doctor tells Nasri. "Amputation runs a lower risk of infection."
David's eyes settle on the saw in the Doctor's velvet lined box. The metal instrument looks cruel and David feels cold. Pepe is coherent enough to understand what they are discussing and no one misses the terror that flashes into his eyes.
"No." Nasri shakes his head. "See if you can get the bullet out first."
"Hold him down."
Nasri and Vincent move to restrain Pepe from flailing. David isn't sure why he's in the room until he sees the Bible sitting on the table. As the Doctor pulls a pair of forceps from the velvet box, David has to grit his teeth together to prevent himself from being sick. He looks away when the Doctor begins to extract the pieces of the bullet. Pepe's screams are muffled by the leather strips in his mouth holding his tongue down so he doesn't bite it off.
David forces himself to look at Pepe's face, the pain and terror written across it as the Doctor pokes into his body to remove the small bits of metal that attempt to kill him. He wonders if this is how that man felt when David pulled the trigger, if all the pain that Pepe feels was intensified and pushed into that man's body until he could take it no longer and died.
A loud clinking noise pulls David from his thoughts. The Doctor drop the largest and last piece of the bullet into the metal bowl containing the rest of them. Blood and small bits of flesh cling to the pieces. Another cotton strip is soaked with blood as the Doctor cleans the area around the wound with the steaming bowl of water that turns darker and darker pink every time they turn to it. The room begins to smell more like copper than whiskey. Once the wound is clean, the Doctor goes over to the fire and grabs the handle of what David assumed was a fire poker. It's not though, it's a cauter.
The scream of a man while his flesh burns is one David will never forget. The primal fear and pain that rips through the room, the sizzling sound of skin blistering and dying, the smell of cooking and burnt flesh; this is a face of evil David has never seen before.
When the Doctor is done, and Pepe is bandaged and passed out from the pain and alcohol, Vincent escorts him from the room to settle the payment. Nasri has resumes sitting by the bedside, his hand over Pepe's bandaged one. There are tears on his face as well as blood from wiping at them.
"You never asked what was in the bag." Nasri stands and rings for one of his servants who appears a few minutes later with a bucket of water.
David watches as Nasri takes a cloth and gently starts to clean the remaining blood off of Pepe. When he is done, he washes as much of the blood from his own body as he can. There's a bottle of brandy on the dresser and Nasri takes the stopper out and drinks straight from the bottle. When he offers the bottle to David, David shakes his head.
"It was money, a lot of money," Nasri collapses back down into the chair. "Money used to pay slave catchers and money that was going to be used to buy more weapons for the Alabama militia." David's not sure why Nasri is telling him this, but he doesn't say anything. "Because of Silva, because of you, we can use that money to help people instead of hurt them."
"Why are you telling me this?"
Nasri looks at him for a long moment and between that and the heat of the room David wonders if he's finally found Hell.
"So you can stop thinking that man you killed was a good man."
"It's not up to anyone but God to decide whether or not someone is good." David tells Nasri firmly. "A life is a life."
"If your God lets men who enslave and degrade others based on the color of their skin into his kingdom than your problem is larger than one dead man." Nasri's lips are pressed together and David knows he's angry; it's the most genuinely animated David has ever seen him.
David stands; he has nothing to say and served no purpose in the room. This is Nasri's way of pushing him, of showing David the risks associated with what they do. Vincent returns to the room and whispers something into Nasri's ear. Nasri slumps down into the chair and waves both men out of the room.
"They were all recaptured," Vincent tells David. "The family Pepe was helping."
David knows what happen to families who are caught trying to escape. They are whipped, they are starved, and then they are sold to different places. Breaking up families is how owners keep control. It's cruel and inhumane, but most owners don't view slaves as human. Slaves are something less than human, subservient and there to be exploited. It makes David sick.
As he slips back into bed, he comprehends what it is about Nasri that makes him uncomfortable. Nasri is a necessary evil. He dwells on that thought for a long time, and wonders if he has committed a necessary evil by killing that man for Nasri. Before he drifts off, he realizes he killed that man for himself and, by extension, Silva. David won't commit any sort of evil for Nasri, but for Silva he would... he drifts off before he can name the evils he would commit for Silva.
*
Lincoln wins the election in November. There are calls for secession. David is busier than ever, as construction begins on the new hospital and more and more slave owners are willing to donate to something that will support their soldiers and way of life. Nasri disappears for a few weeks- social callers are told he's inspecting the plantations he purchases cotton from, but David suspects he's traveled North to solidify allies.
War is on the horizon.
*
Each time he sneaks away during the night he wonders how he isn't caught. David knows it's only a matter of time before someone notices and tonight is that night. As he approaches the chapel, he sees a person sitting on the front steps. It's Gael, with a mop, bucket of water, and a loose smile. David wonders if Silva told him or if he's followed him here.
"There's a lot of history in this place," Gael tells him as they move the pews against the wall so David can mop. "It was a church for slaves until the last Pastor was sold. But that's how it goes, I guess."
There are questions David wants to ask Gael, but he feels they are probing and inappropriate. He wants to know about slavery, what it's like for someone to be born a slave and then freed. David has been surrounded by slaves his entire life, but other than a few words here or there he's never asked.
He dips the mop into the bucket and begins to clean the floor.
"My parents were married here," Gael continues, picking up a rag and wiping the dust off of one of the windows. "I remember coming here as a child before they boarded it up." He goes to the door and shakes out his rag before moving on to the next window. "People have been asking what you're going to do with this place, I said I'd ask you."
"I didn't think anyone had noticed me," David tells him as he scrubs at some caked on mud. "I haven't given it much thought."
"This is New Orleans- everyone notices everything and nothing."
It's the most honest description of the city David has heard. He doesn't think you can be alone in this city, that there is always someone watching you. Even in this church, his place of escape, people he doesn't see have seen him coming and going. David takes this as a sign- he is too caught up in his thoughts to see what is around him.
He still finds it hard to see himself speaking to a congregation. If he ever does finish the Chapel and opens it, he knows that he wants it to be for everyone. David never believed there was one true interpretation of the Bible and likewise does not believe that it belongs to one group of people. Men, women, any denomination, all colors, free, and slaves; David wants this Chapel to be for everyone.
"God is for everyone," Gael smiles at him as if he knows what David is thinking, and David nods. They clean in silence for a while before Gael stops and turns around. "I know that Samir can push and come off as cold and demanding, but he means well. He's not the easiest person to read."
"You grew up together?" David's curiosity gets the better of him as he finishes mopping the small room.
"When were little we both lived out on the plantation," Gael sets the rag down and they begin to move the pews back. "My mother raised him. When we were older Samir came to live in the city so he could attend school and I stayed in the fields."
David's seen the men and women working the fields, the way the sun beats down on them and draws life away. It's hard to imagine that Gael for all his smiles and gentle manner was ever forced to be out there. Gael's sleeves cover them now, but David has seen the scars on Gael's forearms from hard manual labor and the shiny lines that whips leave behind.
"They were going to sell me, but Sami threw a fit and said he'd leave if his father did," Gael's smile is soft, his eyes distant as if seeing into the past. "I was his only friend growing up. He saved me."
The way two people fit together is nothing short of miraculous. David thinks everyone has a soul mate, that God designs someone to perfectly compliment another. The way Gael speaks about Nasri saving him, the way Gael has saved Nasri more than he'll ever know- it's telling and David sees the depth of their love and devotion to each other. It's beautiful and painful at the same time.
"I think he would do anything you asked of him," David tells him. "I think he does what he does for you."
"I know he does," Gael picks up the bucket and takes it outside to dump. "I didn't ask him to do it. There are other ways he can make me happy."
"Anyone can buy or grow a rose, not everyone can do what he does."
Gael's smile is sweet and David can understand what it is about him that has Nasri so ensnared. He is the perfect mild to complement Nasri's sharp and blunt composition. Two halves that make a whole.
*
A letter comes for him one day, the envelope stained and ripped, but it is whole none the less. Silva writes of being lonely on the road for the first time in a long time, of having trouble sleeping at night. He speaks of the large sky and what it is like being back among his family and the tribe he was raised in. It's not very long, but David runs his fingers over each word until the oils on them threatens to blur the ink.
The letters are shaky and many of the words are misspelled, but it brings a warmth that settles in his chest.
*
New Orleans seems to have an abundance of eligible young women, and Nasri and his unattached circle of wealthy friends attract many party and ball invitations. David has managed to avoid attending them, but Nasri insists on bringing him to the winter Cotillion. As Nasri's supposed cousin, David has not gone unnoticed by the families he calls upon. The two are joined by Comte Gourcuff and Lord Hart; David doesn't think they could stand out anymore. They stand and watch as the debutantes are presented to the crowd and David can't help but feel a pang of sympathy. Most of these women are being paraded out hoping to catch the eye of a suitor or in essence, the highest bidder. In the back of his mind he remembers Silva saying everyone is a slave to something.
This was his life before Alabama, this was his life when he was married and even before then. David had all of this once and was part of society like this once before his family died and he wanted nothing more than to disappear until God saw fit to reunite him with them. He loses count of how many dances he has and the names of those he dances with. It's suffocating- this mask he wears as he pretends like he belongs with the people around him. The memories and the motions are too much for him and he retreats to the brisk air of the outside garden.
"I hope you're not feeling unwell?"
David doesn't know what strings Madam Seger pulled to be invited to the Cotillion, but here she is with her dour expression. Strapped into her corset and what he's sure is a nightmarish weight of the skirt she is wearing, he knows she can't be comfortable. Unlike the younger girls in their white and lighter colored debutante dresses, Madam Seger has opted for a red dress with black lace over the top. She's twice the age of half of them, but she's the one who is stealing the show. It's scandalous, but he would expect nothing less from her. The lace alone probably costs more than any dress one of the debutantes is wearing. Money is power, the right knowledge is priceless; Madam Seger might be the wealthiest resident of the mysterious city. He admires her tenacity.
"I'm not one for crowds," he tells her, pulling out a chair from one of the garden tables for her to sit on.
"You don't like to be thrown to the wolves and left to fend for yourself?" She raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow at him as she arranges her skirt and sits.
David deflects her question with a small smile. Her face transforms as a laugh overtakes her and she throws her head back. Drawing a cigarette and a holder from her bag, she allows David to light it for her.
"You're evasive enough like Samir that I'd believe you were his cousin if I didn't know he was a lying sack of excrement," David's not surprised to hear the words tumble out of her mouth as she takes a drag. "You're good at avoiding the truth, but you're not a liar. How's the hospital coming along?"
He doesn't bat an eye at her quick change in topic. "The foundations have been laid and the supporting parts are currently in construction. It shouldn't be more than a few more months."
She presses her lips together in a facsimile of a smile. "It is the hospital we're speaking of, right?"
No, it's not. The same words can be used to describe all of Nasri's plans and even the state of the country. If he looks internally, David feels like he can apply the same idea to himself. He's nothing more than a skeleton of a building except he's not sure if he's being put back together or being ripped apart.
*
Pepe drags him down to the Quarter one morning. It's cold enough to see his breath, but he figures if the man with his arm in a sling and a hole in his shoulder doesn't complain then he shouldn't. With Pepe out of commission for a few months, David finds himself spending more time with the jovial man. Even with one usable hand, Pepe still beats David in cards; David is surprised he enjoys Pepe's company.
"It's a crime that you live here now and you've never had a beignet," Pepe tells him as he pulls him into one of the cafes that dot the streets.
Cesc is already there, powdered sugar on his lips as he happily munches on one of the fried pieces of dough. Pepe flicks his ear for not waiting for them and as they sit, one of the serving girls brings them coffee. Pepe winks at her and she blushes and giggles as she leaves. David rolls his eyes.
"You look horrible," Pepe tells Cesc, who makes a rude hand gesture. "Out late?"
"Gerard didn't get off of work until late."
David doesn't say anything, just adds some milk to his coffee and sips at the bitter drink. He knows Gerard is one of Madam Seger's boys, and if the way they act around each other is any indication, he suspects their relationship is very much like Nasri and Gael's. Another girl puts a hot plate of beignets in front of him with a small dish of jam. He takes a small bite and as the fried confection melts apart in his mouth, he wonders how he lived without it for so long. David feels like he thinks that a lot these days.
"Have you heard from Silva lately?" Cesc asks him.
"A letter the other week," David tells him; Cesc and Pepe exchange wide grins. "What?"
"He doesn't send us letters," Pepe's expression tells David everything and he just shakes his head. "That's sweet."
"Yeah, well who would want to talk to you two," David grumbles and Pepe and Cesc chuckle. "It's nothing."
"You don't have to lie to us."
"Yeah, we're the most reputable gents we know."
David snorts into his coffee. He bites his lip to prevent himself from smiling with them. It's nice to have friends again, to have someone to talk to about things outside of the church. He thought he'd never have this again. David feels the slightest amount of anxiety and trepidation that whatever his relationship to Silva is, others can see it. He doesn't want anyone to know when he himself doesn't understand what he feels and what is going on both inside him and in the ever changing world around him.
"Just treat him well and all will be okay," Cesc tells David cheerfully but there's a gleam in his eye that tells David if he does anything to hurt Silva, it might be the last thing he does. "He deserves to be happy after everything that's happened."
David doesn't know what they're talking about. He knows bits and pieces of Silva's life from when he was a child and little stories here and there, but he knows next to nothing about Adam or how he came to work for Nasri. Sometimes David thinks he's developing feelings for someone he doesn't know, as if Silva is a puzzle and he has the outside complete but the inside is jumbled and pieces are often swept away.
"Do you owe Nasri something or are you here because you want to be?" Pepe asks him after Cesc leaves with a small bag of beignets for Gerard. When David doesn't say anything, Pepe doesn't give up. "I used to run with another group, but they've all been caught or quit by now. Samir was the only person who had enough money and wit about him to really know what he was doing." He laughs and looks at his arm. "Doesn't really look like that right now though."
"I don't have anywhere else to be," David tells Pepe as he swirls the last bit of coffee around the bottom of his cup. "I couldn't stay where I was."
"Leave when you can." David's hand stops and he looks up at Pepe. "Don't let our vendettas take over your life. When Silva feels like he's done paying Nasri back, take him and leave or else you'll be stuck fighting other people's battles."
David isn't sure what rattles him more- Pepe's certainty that war is coming or knowing that Silva is only here because he owes Nasri something. Both thoughts weigh heavily on his mind for the rest of the day. At night, he realizes Pepe's belief that Silva will go with him and follow him away from New Orleans is both humbling and terrifying. He doesn't sleep for a long time.
*
On December 20th South Carolina secedes from the United States. Rumors run rampant in the city and add to the brewing tension. Propaganda posters supporting Louisiana's secession begin to show up on walls and doors as well as recruitment posters to join volunteer militias in South Carolina. David feels like the pictures of Charleston that dot a few of the posters are put there to taunt him, to remind him that no matter where he runs, he can't escape his past.
Sleep is more and more infrequent. David spends the mornings calling out in the country at large plantations because it's no longer the season to live in the city. The afternoons are spent overseeing the building of the hospital, negotiating with the contractors and workers, and filing and organizing all the paperwork that Nasri should be doing. At night he's the smiling face of Nasri's charity projects at dinners at Nasri's house or others around the city. The nights he's not needed he spends at the Chapel- a few boards are rotting and beg to be replaced, a coat of paint is sorely needed, and there is always more to be cleaned. The carriage becomes slept in more than his bed.
One morning he notices a few gray hairs around his temple and wonders if age or anxiety will drive him into a grave first.
*
David doesn't feel like standing at the lectern. It's been a few days since his last visit and he spends the first half an hour clearing dust off surfaces and then sweeping the floor. He needs a few shingles to repair the holes in the roof that keep letting leaves and other items in. A bird has been sleeping in one of the ceiling rafters, its lopsided nest sticks out at an awkward angle as it stares down at David with its dark eyes.
There are a few candles lit on the altar; he sits in the front pew with a lantern next to him. The Bible is open on his lap, but he's staring at the candles on the altar instead of reading. He's too tired to read; he's too tired to do anything but sit there and stare.
He closes his eyes.
His mind takes him to months ago, to the day by the river when he watched Silva catch the catfish. The water glistens on Silva's skin, catches the sun and David can see every drop make its way down Silva's tan skin. The smile on Silva's lips is honest and open as if he has nothing to hide and bares everything for David to see. His laugh is the river- pure, endless, and perhaps the most beautiful sound David has ever heard. When he thinks of Silva, this is how he sees him. He remembers the river singing and knows this is the moment he decided he wanted to live again.
'Please don't take him away from me,' David speaks to God for the first time in a long time. 'Please bring him back.'
He opens his eyes.
A shadow has fallen across the altar and obscures the cross on the wall. David turns and he forgets how to breathe. Silva is leaning against the doorway, small smile on his lips as he watches David. David is at a loss for words as he sets the Bible down and stands. God never responds to him, God has never sent him a sign or an answer before. But here is Silva, standing in front of him as clear as day.
"I came here first." Silva crosses the room and stops in front of David.
"Shouldn't you report to Nasri?" David's words are hesitant; he doesn't want to assume anything.
"I didn't come back for Nasri."
David's feels his heart beating in his throat, his chest suddenly weightless as Silva reaches for his hand. Silva has to lift up slightly on his toes to brush his lips against David's cheek and he feels his skin begin to blush. David can't remember anything ever feeling this right and emboldened by this, his turns his head and catches Silva's lips with his own.
The waters of the storm raging around him begin to dissipate. Silva's lips are the dry shores of regeneration and redemption. As he wraps his arms around Silva, clutching him tight and unwilling to let go, he emerges from the water reborn.
David is ready to live.
Pairing David Silva/David Villa, Samir Nasri/Gael Clichy, Helena Seger/Zlatan Ibrahimovic, Gerard Pique/Cesc Fabregas, Past David Silva/Adam Johnson, Alluded Karim Benzema/Yoann Gourcuff
Rating PG13
Word Count 5610 (16059 so far)
Disclaimer Not true
AN: Thank you to albion_lass for being amazing. I know I said it was going to be done in three parts but it's not. I lied.
October brings the first hints of relief from the heat plaguing them. New Orleans smells sour from weeks without a good rain and a haze hangs over the city like a cloud. The hurricanes have largely passed them over this year; everyone craves the cold the rain would bring. At the house, Nasri's rose garden has withered and it's too dry for the fall flowers to bloom. The willow tree seems to droop more than usual. There is no water to save them.
David finds himself stealing away to the small chapel more often. At first he sneaks out once or twice a week, but soon it becomes every other night. The front pew is the first place he cleans and for a few weeks that is enough for him. He spends an hour in quiet contemplation before leaving. Soon he is dusting all the surfaces and removing all the grime and signs of age he can reach. The floors are swept and the only thing the chapel really needs is a good mopping. David keeps the boards over the windows- he likes this idea that this is his private room to speak to God in. That hasn't happened yet, speaking to God, as David doesn't think he is ready. He can't find the words.
At the front of the room the large cross remains untouched. In its decay and offending dirtiness, Silva's handprint remains pressed into the dust like he was just there. David pretends Silva never left.
*
Madam Seger has a habit of staring at people as if they are made of dirt. David has never spent time around a woman like her before, but he finds her a shrewd businesswoman and much smarter than most men he has known. The phrase 'as cold as ice' would almost be the perfect way to describe her, except much like Nasri, her significant other is her weakness. Her disposition thaws when she looks at her husband. From her office on the third floor they can see out into the casino on the ground floor where Madam Seger's girls are entertaining gentlemen with flirtatious smiles and revealing clothing.
"Are you tired of being one of Monsieur Nasri's marionettes yet?" She asks him, words sharp with her accent.
He doesn't answer her. Below he sees Lord Hart sitting with one girl on each of his legs. A cigar is perched between his lips and one of the girls is wearing his garish stovepipe hat, something he swears is the latest fashion trend. David tries to picture Silva wearing one of the hats and an amused sort of grin floats across his face.
"Do you see someone you like?"
David doesn't. The women are beautiful, and he knows they are skilled in their trade. He doesn't want them. David craves something more, someone else.
"No Madam, I do not." He answers after a while, after his eyes search the room and he still does not feel temptation pulling at him with her fiery ropes. "My companions however..."
Joe has disappeared with the two girls and David sees Pepe following another up the staircase to the second floor. Cesc is speaking with Madam Seger's husband about something; there is a tall man wrapped around him. David sees blue eyes and an easy smile.
"Gerard is not our only male worker, if that is more to your taste," Madam Seger continues. "I can call more of them out if you wish?"
"No thank you Madam Seger," David turns away from the floor. "Your ladies are lovely, but I cannot indulge."
She smiles at him, a gesture that is calming and terrifying at the same time. David feels like she sees through him, that every word he says reveals three more. David finds he enjoys speaking with her and that like Vincent, she is one of the only people who truly understands the events unfolding around them. Before he calls on a family to inquire about donations for Nasri's projects, Madam Seger tells him everything he needs to know. She is the keeper of New Orleans' secrets and nothing sneaks by her.
*
David stands at the lectern. His eyes roam over the empty pews as he remembers reading to packed rooms. David can't remember if he chose the life of serving God and spreading his message because he wanted to or if it was expected of him. His memories have faded with time.
Flipping to a random page, he begins to read aloud. The vaulted ceiling carries his voice high and it echoes around the room, filling the small space with sound as if he is not alone. His words tell a story, lay a scene in his mind's eye that takes him far from his present troubles. As he relearns the lexicon of his trade the world disappears around him until he's alone with his thoughts and memories and he recalls all he wanted out of life was to know he could make a difference in the lives of others.
But now his life is uncertainty, a spinning vortex of words, shadows, and the inability to ask for forgiveness. It's an undertow that is pulling him down, down, down and he's not sure if he can breathe. He feels the burn in his lungs as anxiety begins to take control and the water threatens to drown him instead of save him.
David opens his eyes. He finds he still wants to help others, but he knows he can't until he saves himself. His fingers ghost over the spot on his chest where his cross normally hangs. David wonders if there is a balance, if taking one life in a heated moment can possibly be countered by the lives he's helped and the souls he's saved. There's not a balance and David knows it doesn't work that way, but if he pretends it does, it makes sleeping at night a little easier.
*
Vincent knocks on his door in the middle of the night. David is not sure how long he's been asleep but he knows it was not long enough. He's cranky when he opens the door, dead set on glaring down whoever is on the other side of it. The words die on his lips when he sees the red splattered on Vincent's white shirt, his forearms covered in blood.
David has always wondered why the carpet in the lone bedroom on the ground floor is red, but now he wishes he didn't know. The drops of blood that show up brightly on their white shirts and the light brown floors disappear into the plush carpet. The room is stifling hot; the fire is going and the room feels like the hottest day of summer. Nasri is sitting at the bedside with his hands in his hair. On the other side of the bed is a man David has never seen before, a doctor of sorts, the only one in the room wearing colors blood doesn't stain. The bowl of water in front of him is pink. Long, white strips of cotton bandages are laid out for him to use.
Pepe has a cut across his cheek and lacerations on his arms and hands. If David didn't know better, he would guess they were from a whip. The only reason Pepe is not screaming in pain is the empty bottle of alcohol next to the bed; the room smells heavily of whiskey. A gash on his forehead is bleeding profusely, but the main area of concern is his shoulder. When the doctor removes the cotton David can see bone. The lantern light catches a glint of metal; there's a piece of a bullet caught in Pepe's flesh.
"It might be better to cut his arm off," the Doctor tells Nasri. "Amputation runs a lower risk of infection."
David's eyes settle on the saw in the Doctor's velvet lined box. The metal instrument looks cruel and David feels cold. Pepe is coherent enough to understand what they are discussing and no one misses the terror that flashes into his eyes.
"No." Nasri shakes his head. "See if you can get the bullet out first."
"Hold him down."
Nasri and Vincent move to restrain Pepe from flailing. David isn't sure why he's in the room until he sees the Bible sitting on the table. As the Doctor pulls a pair of forceps from the velvet box, David has to grit his teeth together to prevent himself from being sick. He looks away when the Doctor begins to extract the pieces of the bullet. Pepe's screams are muffled by the leather strips in his mouth holding his tongue down so he doesn't bite it off.
David forces himself to look at Pepe's face, the pain and terror written across it as the Doctor pokes into his body to remove the small bits of metal that attempt to kill him. He wonders if this is how that man felt when David pulled the trigger, if all the pain that Pepe feels was intensified and pushed into that man's body until he could take it no longer and died.
A loud clinking noise pulls David from his thoughts. The Doctor drop the largest and last piece of the bullet into the metal bowl containing the rest of them. Blood and small bits of flesh cling to the pieces. Another cotton strip is soaked with blood as the Doctor cleans the area around the wound with the steaming bowl of water that turns darker and darker pink every time they turn to it. The room begins to smell more like copper than whiskey. Once the wound is clean, the Doctor goes over to the fire and grabs the handle of what David assumed was a fire poker. It's not though, it's a cauter.
The scream of a man while his flesh burns is one David will never forget. The primal fear and pain that rips through the room, the sizzling sound of skin blistering and dying, the smell of cooking and burnt flesh; this is a face of evil David has never seen before.
When the Doctor is done, and Pepe is bandaged and passed out from the pain and alcohol, Vincent escorts him from the room to settle the payment. Nasri has resumes sitting by the bedside, his hand over Pepe's bandaged one. There are tears on his face as well as blood from wiping at them.
"You never asked what was in the bag." Nasri stands and rings for one of his servants who appears a few minutes later with a bucket of water.
David watches as Nasri takes a cloth and gently starts to clean the remaining blood off of Pepe. When he is done, he washes as much of the blood from his own body as he can. There's a bottle of brandy on the dresser and Nasri takes the stopper out and drinks straight from the bottle. When he offers the bottle to David, David shakes his head.
"It was money, a lot of money," Nasri collapses back down into the chair. "Money used to pay slave catchers and money that was going to be used to buy more weapons for the Alabama militia." David's not sure why Nasri is telling him this, but he doesn't say anything. "Because of Silva, because of you, we can use that money to help people instead of hurt them."
"Why are you telling me this?"
Nasri looks at him for a long moment and between that and the heat of the room David wonders if he's finally found Hell.
"So you can stop thinking that man you killed was a good man."
"It's not up to anyone but God to decide whether or not someone is good." David tells Nasri firmly. "A life is a life."
"If your God lets men who enslave and degrade others based on the color of their skin into his kingdom than your problem is larger than one dead man." Nasri's lips are pressed together and David knows he's angry; it's the most genuinely animated David has ever seen him.
David stands; he has nothing to say and served no purpose in the room. This is Nasri's way of pushing him, of showing David the risks associated with what they do. Vincent returns to the room and whispers something into Nasri's ear. Nasri slumps down into the chair and waves both men out of the room.
"They were all recaptured," Vincent tells David. "The family Pepe was helping."
David knows what happen to families who are caught trying to escape. They are whipped, they are starved, and then they are sold to different places. Breaking up families is how owners keep control. It's cruel and inhumane, but most owners don't view slaves as human. Slaves are something less than human, subservient and there to be exploited. It makes David sick.
As he slips back into bed, he comprehends what it is about Nasri that makes him uncomfortable. Nasri is a necessary evil. He dwells on that thought for a long time, and wonders if he has committed a necessary evil by killing that man for Nasri. Before he drifts off, he realizes he killed that man for himself and, by extension, Silva. David won't commit any sort of evil for Nasri, but for Silva he would... he drifts off before he can name the evils he would commit for Silva.
*
Lincoln wins the election in November. There are calls for secession. David is busier than ever, as construction begins on the new hospital and more and more slave owners are willing to donate to something that will support their soldiers and way of life. Nasri disappears for a few weeks- social callers are told he's inspecting the plantations he purchases cotton from, but David suspects he's traveled North to solidify allies.
War is on the horizon.
*
Each time he sneaks away during the night he wonders how he isn't caught. David knows it's only a matter of time before someone notices and tonight is that night. As he approaches the chapel, he sees a person sitting on the front steps. It's Gael, with a mop, bucket of water, and a loose smile. David wonders if Silva told him or if he's followed him here.
"There's a lot of history in this place," Gael tells him as they move the pews against the wall so David can mop. "It was a church for slaves until the last Pastor was sold. But that's how it goes, I guess."
There are questions David wants to ask Gael, but he feels they are probing and inappropriate. He wants to know about slavery, what it's like for someone to be born a slave and then freed. David has been surrounded by slaves his entire life, but other than a few words here or there he's never asked.
He dips the mop into the bucket and begins to clean the floor.
"My parents were married here," Gael continues, picking up a rag and wiping the dust off of one of the windows. "I remember coming here as a child before they boarded it up." He goes to the door and shakes out his rag before moving on to the next window. "People have been asking what you're going to do with this place, I said I'd ask you."
"I didn't think anyone had noticed me," David tells him as he scrubs at some caked on mud. "I haven't given it much thought."
"This is New Orleans- everyone notices everything and nothing."
It's the most honest description of the city David has heard. He doesn't think you can be alone in this city, that there is always someone watching you. Even in this church, his place of escape, people he doesn't see have seen him coming and going. David takes this as a sign- he is too caught up in his thoughts to see what is around him.
He still finds it hard to see himself speaking to a congregation. If he ever does finish the Chapel and opens it, he knows that he wants it to be for everyone. David never believed there was one true interpretation of the Bible and likewise does not believe that it belongs to one group of people. Men, women, any denomination, all colors, free, and slaves; David wants this Chapel to be for everyone.
"God is for everyone," Gael smiles at him as if he knows what David is thinking, and David nods. They clean in silence for a while before Gael stops and turns around. "I know that Samir can push and come off as cold and demanding, but he means well. He's not the easiest person to read."
"You grew up together?" David's curiosity gets the better of him as he finishes mopping the small room.
"When were little we both lived out on the plantation," Gael sets the rag down and they begin to move the pews back. "My mother raised him. When we were older Samir came to live in the city so he could attend school and I stayed in the fields."
David's seen the men and women working the fields, the way the sun beats down on them and draws life away. It's hard to imagine that Gael for all his smiles and gentle manner was ever forced to be out there. Gael's sleeves cover them now, but David has seen the scars on Gael's forearms from hard manual labor and the shiny lines that whips leave behind.
"They were going to sell me, but Sami threw a fit and said he'd leave if his father did," Gael's smile is soft, his eyes distant as if seeing into the past. "I was his only friend growing up. He saved me."
The way two people fit together is nothing short of miraculous. David thinks everyone has a soul mate, that God designs someone to perfectly compliment another. The way Gael speaks about Nasri saving him, the way Gael has saved Nasri more than he'll ever know- it's telling and David sees the depth of their love and devotion to each other. It's beautiful and painful at the same time.
"I think he would do anything you asked of him," David tells him. "I think he does what he does for you."
"I know he does," Gael picks up the bucket and takes it outside to dump. "I didn't ask him to do it. There are other ways he can make me happy."
"Anyone can buy or grow a rose, not everyone can do what he does."
Gael's smile is sweet and David can understand what it is about him that has Nasri so ensnared. He is the perfect mild to complement Nasri's sharp and blunt composition. Two halves that make a whole.
*
A letter comes for him one day, the envelope stained and ripped, but it is whole none the less. Silva writes of being lonely on the road for the first time in a long time, of having trouble sleeping at night. He speaks of the large sky and what it is like being back among his family and the tribe he was raised in. It's not very long, but David runs his fingers over each word until the oils on them threatens to blur the ink.
The letters are shaky and many of the words are misspelled, but it brings a warmth that settles in his chest.
*
New Orleans seems to have an abundance of eligible young women, and Nasri and his unattached circle of wealthy friends attract many party and ball invitations. David has managed to avoid attending them, but Nasri insists on bringing him to the winter Cotillion. As Nasri's supposed cousin, David has not gone unnoticed by the families he calls upon. The two are joined by Comte Gourcuff and Lord Hart; David doesn't think they could stand out anymore. They stand and watch as the debutantes are presented to the crowd and David can't help but feel a pang of sympathy. Most of these women are being paraded out hoping to catch the eye of a suitor or in essence, the highest bidder. In the back of his mind he remembers Silva saying everyone is a slave to something.
This was his life before Alabama, this was his life when he was married and even before then. David had all of this once and was part of society like this once before his family died and he wanted nothing more than to disappear until God saw fit to reunite him with them. He loses count of how many dances he has and the names of those he dances with. It's suffocating- this mask he wears as he pretends like he belongs with the people around him. The memories and the motions are too much for him and he retreats to the brisk air of the outside garden.
"I hope you're not feeling unwell?"
David doesn't know what strings Madam Seger pulled to be invited to the Cotillion, but here she is with her dour expression. Strapped into her corset and what he's sure is a nightmarish weight of the skirt she is wearing, he knows she can't be comfortable. Unlike the younger girls in their white and lighter colored debutante dresses, Madam Seger has opted for a red dress with black lace over the top. She's twice the age of half of them, but she's the one who is stealing the show. It's scandalous, but he would expect nothing less from her. The lace alone probably costs more than any dress one of the debutantes is wearing. Money is power, the right knowledge is priceless; Madam Seger might be the wealthiest resident of the mysterious city. He admires her tenacity.
"I'm not one for crowds," he tells her, pulling out a chair from one of the garden tables for her to sit on.
"You don't like to be thrown to the wolves and left to fend for yourself?" She raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow at him as she arranges her skirt and sits.
David deflects her question with a small smile. Her face transforms as a laugh overtakes her and she throws her head back. Drawing a cigarette and a holder from her bag, she allows David to light it for her.
"You're evasive enough like Samir that I'd believe you were his cousin if I didn't know he was a lying sack of excrement," David's not surprised to hear the words tumble out of her mouth as she takes a drag. "You're good at avoiding the truth, but you're not a liar. How's the hospital coming along?"
He doesn't bat an eye at her quick change in topic. "The foundations have been laid and the supporting parts are currently in construction. It shouldn't be more than a few more months."
She presses her lips together in a facsimile of a smile. "It is the hospital we're speaking of, right?"
No, it's not. The same words can be used to describe all of Nasri's plans and even the state of the country. If he looks internally, David feels like he can apply the same idea to himself. He's nothing more than a skeleton of a building except he's not sure if he's being put back together or being ripped apart.
*
Pepe drags him down to the Quarter one morning. It's cold enough to see his breath, but he figures if the man with his arm in a sling and a hole in his shoulder doesn't complain then he shouldn't. With Pepe out of commission for a few months, David finds himself spending more time with the jovial man. Even with one usable hand, Pepe still beats David in cards; David is surprised he enjoys Pepe's company.
"It's a crime that you live here now and you've never had a beignet," Pepe tells him as he pulls him into one of the cafes that dot the streets.
Cesc is already there, powdered sugar on his lips as he happily munches on one of the fried pieces of dough. Pepe flicks his ear for not waiting for them and as they sit, one of the serving girls brings them coffee. Pepe winks at her and she blushes and giggles as she leaves. David rolls his eyes.
"You look horrible," Pepe tells Cesc, who makes a rude hand gesture. "Out late?"
"Gerard didn't get off of work until late."
David doesn't say anything, just adds some milk to his coffee and sips at the bitter drink. He knows Gerard is one of Madam Seger's boys, and if the way they act around each other is any indication, he suspects their relationship is very much like Nasri and Gael's. Another girl puts a hot plate of beignets in front of him with a small dish of jam. He takes a small bite and as the fried confection melts apart in his mouth, he wonders how he lived without it for so long. David feels like he thinks that a lot these days.
"Have you heard from Silva lately?" Cesc asks him.
"A letter the other week," David tells him; Cesc and Pepe exchange wide grins. "What?"
"He doesn't send us letters," Pepe's expression tells David everything and he just shakes his head. "That's sweet."
"Yeah, well who would want to talk to you two," David grumbles and Pepe and Cesc chuckle. "It's nothing."
"You don't have to lie to us."
"Yeah, we're the most reputable gents we know."
David snorts into his coffee. He bites his lip to prevent himself from smiling with them. It's nice to have friends again, to have someone to talk to about things outside of the church. He thought he'd never have this again. David feels the slightest amount of anxiety and trepidation that whatever his relationship to Silva is, others can see it. He doesn't want anyone to know when he himself doesn't understand what he feels and what is going on both inside him and in the ever changing world around him.
"Just treat him well and all will be okay," Cesc tells David cheerfully but there's a gleam in his eye that tells David if he does anything to hurt Silva, it might be the last thing he does. "He deserves to be happy after everything that's happened."
David doesn't know what they're talking about. He knows bits and pieces of Silva's life from when he was a child and little stories here and there, but he knows next to nothing about Adam or how he came to work for Nasri. Sometimes David thinks he's developing feelings for someone he doesn't know, as if Silva is a puzzle and he has the outside complete but the inside is jumbled and pieces are often swept away.
"Do you owe Nasri something or are you here because you want to be?" Pepe asks him after Cesc leaves with a small bag of beignets for Gerard. When David doesn't say anything, Pepe doesn't give up. "I used to run with another group, but they've all been caught or quit by now. Samir was the only person who had enough money and wit about him to really know what he was doing." He laughs and looks at his arm. "Doesn't really look like that right now though."
"I don't have anywhere else to be," David tells Pepe as he swirls the last bit of coffee around the bottom of his cup. "I couldn't stay where I was."
"Leave when you can." David's hand stops and he looks up at Pepe. "Don't let our vendettas take over your life. When Silva feels like he's done paying Nasri back, take him and leave or else you'll be stuck fighting other people's battles."
David isn't sure what rattles him more- Pepe's certainty that war is coming or knowing that Silva is only here because he owes Nasri something. Both thoughts weigh heavily on his mind for the rest of the day. At night, he realizes Pepe's belief that Silva will go with him and follow him away from New Orleans is both humbling and terrifying. He doesn't sleep for a long time.
*
On December 20th South Carolina secedes from the United States. Rumors run rampant in the city and add to the brewing tension. Propaganda posters supporting Louisiana's secession begin to show up on walls and doors as well as recruitment posters to join volunteer militias in South Carolina. David feels like the pictures of Charleston that dot a few of the posters are put there to taunt him, to remind him that no matter where he runs, he can't escape his past.
Sleep is more and more infrequent. David spends the mornings calling out in the country at large plantations because it's no longer the season to live in the city. The afternoons are spent overseeing the building of the hospital, negotiating with the contractors and workers, and filing and organizing all the paperwork that Nasri should be doing. At night he's the smiling face of Nasri's charity projects at dinners at Nasri's house or others around the city. The nights he's not needed he spends at the Chapel- a few boards are rotting and beg to be replaced, a coat of paint is sorely needed, and there is always more to be cleaned. The carriage becomes slept in more than his bed.
One morning he notices a few gray hairs around his temple and wonders if age or anxiety will drive him into a grave first.
*
David doesn't feel like standing at the lectern. It's been a few days since his last visit and he spends the first half an hour clearing dust off surfaces and then sweeping the floor. He needs a few shingles to repair the holes in the roof that keep letting leaves and other items in. A bird has been sleeping in one of the ceiling rafters, its lopsided nest sticks out at an awkward angle as it stares down at David with its dark eyes.
There are a few candles lit on the altar; he sits in the front pew with a lantern next to him. The Bible is open on his lap, but he's staring at the candles on the altar instead of reading. He's too tired to read; he's too tired to do anything but sit there and stare.
He closes his eyes.
His mind takes him to months ago, to the day by the river when he watched Silva catch the catfish. The water glistens on Silva's skin, catches the sun and David can see every drop make its way down Silva's tan skin. The smile on Silva's lips is honest and open as if he has nothing to hide and bares everything for David to see. His laugh is the river- pure, endless, and perhaps the most beautiful sound David has ever heard. When he thinks of Silva, this is how he sees him. He remembers the river singing and knows this is the moment he decided he wanted to live again.
'Please don't take him away from me,' David speaks to God for the first time in a long time. 'Please bring him back.'
He opens his eyes.
A shadow has fallen across the altar and obscures the cross on the wall. David turns and he forgets how to breathe. Silva is leaning against the doorway, small smile on his lips as he watches David. David is at a loss for words as he sets the Bible down and stands. God never responds to him, God has never sent him a sign or an answer before. But here is Silva, standing in front of him as clear as day.
"I came here first." Silva crosses the room and stops in front of David.
"Shouldn't you report to Nasri?" David's words are hesitant; he doesn't want to assume anything.
"I didn't come back for Nasri."
David's feels his heart beating in his throat, his chest suddenly weightless as Silva reaches for his hand. Silva has to lift up slightly on his toes to brush his lips against David's cheek and he feels his skin begin to blush. David can't remember anything ever feeling this right and emboldened by this, his turns his head and catches Silva's lips with his own.
The waters of the storm raging around him begin to dissipate. Silva's lips are the dry shores of regeneration and redemption. As he wraps his arms around Silva, clutching him tight and unwilling to let go, he emerges from the water reborn.
David is ready to live.