Re: Let the Long Night End
Posted: Sun Dec 03, 2017 3:44 am
What the heck, here's another snack thrown your way. Out of order, too, because I think it's more fun that way. Keeps the mystery intact, makes you hunger for those pieces in-between what I'm showing off. So, enjoy a flashback to Oskar's first time dealing with Eli's hibernation cycles.
- - - - - - - - - -
Oskar returned to his new home just a little after 6am, blearily climbing the single flight of stairs that led to his floor and sliding the key into the doorknob. He turned the key, but did not hear the telltale sliding of a latch; he must’ve forgotten to lock up before he left. Stupid, he scolded himself, entering. What if someone came in and took everything? Huh? No more rings to pawn or money to pay rent. What would you have done then? Idiot. After a quick search of the premises to ensure that nothing had in fact been taken, Oskar locked up and pried his boots off from his feet, followed by his gloves, snow pants, and parka, leaving them at the door. He left his socks, sweaters, and jeans on, as it was still quite cool inside the apartment and he wanted to keep warm.
He went to the kitchen and rummaged through the cupboard, pulling out two slices of bread and setting about the process of making himself a sandwich. A little ham, some cheese, and mayo later he held a pleasingly constructed breakfast in his hands. Humming softly, he chewed down the meal and walked to the calendar pinned above his mattress, fingers trailing across the red lines marked by pen across each date of December, 1982. He held his sandwich in his mouth and used both hands to pull out the thumb-tack pinning the sheets of paper to the wall, flipping it upward to expose the next page: January, 1983.
Fifty-two days since Eli had went into hibernation. This was the third cycle since they had left Blackeberg.
∆
Even a year and some months after he and Eli had run away together, he still couldn’t help but count the days spent apart and watch the clock tick down to some invisible threshold. Eli hadn’t been able to explain it very well when he asked her about it: “It’s just how it is,” she would say, as she had when he pressed her for other details about her condition. Her curse. It was frustratingly vague and short, and sometimes it was difficult for him to remember that Eli, for all her intelligence, was not entirely aware of the details behind the mechanisms of her affliction either – “It’s just how it is,” was her way of saying that she didn’t know.
All she could tell him was that when she slept, it was usually for two or three months at a time. Seasons didn’t seem to factor into it; one night she would feel perfectly lucid and strong, the next she would start to wane in vigor and sleep longer and longer into the evening before rising. Within three days, she had to be somewhere safe and isolated to stay until her long sleep ended and she rose again, weak and “foggy” in the head. When she woke, it would be dangerous for him to be near her until she was fed and aware of herself again. Before it knew it, that time had come calling again: his first, Eli’s god-knows-what.
That the sleep came on so suddenly had been the hardest thing for him to come to terms with. One night he and Eli would be wandering the streets of whatever city or neighborhood they happened to be lurking around, laughing, making up stories about the people they watched pass by. Playing games and listening to the radio. Then the next day, Eli would become sluggish and slothful. The day after, hardly able to pull herself out of the bathtub and looking downcast, defeated. They had to say their farewells, temporary though they were, and as Oskar watched Eli settle into the makeshift bed he insisted she have, the two of them lit only by the ray of torch-light squeezing through his clenched fingers, his throat squeezed inward and his eyes stung bitterly. Clicking off his light, he tentatively stepped close and kneeled down, wrapping his arms around Eli’s ice-cold form and exhaling into her hair.
“Oskar…” Eli had slurred, eyes half-lidded. “You should get home. I’ll…be away soon. I can feel it.”
Oskar shook his head. “I don’t want you to go to sleep alone.”
“Oskar…” Eli’s voice trailed off, and she settled back against him with a contented sigh, head beneath his chin. Oskar tapped fingers along her back, murmuring to himself. “Bulleri, bulleri bock. How many fingers are…up?”
“Mmm…three.”
“Three you say and three there are. Bulleri bulleribock.”
Eli hummed, head sinking into her pillow. “One more time...”
Oskar smiled. “Okay. Bulleri, bulleri bock. How many fingers are…up?”
He paused, waiting for her guess. “Eli?”
Eli rumbled softly, a smile frozen against her face. Oskar listened to her undulations for a long, long time, and his heart caught in his throat as he realized they were growing softer and softer until he had to strain to hear them. Eli had gone away, whisked into a torpor of dreams and shadow.
He waited several more minutes to be certain she was asleep. Then, he rolled away onto his back and let the tears slide down his cheeks
- - - - - - - - - -
Oskar returned to his new home just a little after 6am, blearily climbing the single flight of stairs that led to his floor and sliding the key into the doorknob. He turned the key, but did not hear the telltale sliding of a latch; he must’ve forgotten to lock up before he left. Stupid, he scolded himself, entering. What if someone came in and took everything? Huh? No more rings to pawn or money to pay rent. What would you have done then? Idiot. After a quick search of the premises to ensure that nothing had in fact been taken, Oskar locked up and pried his boots off from his feet, followed by his gloves, snow pants, and parka, leaving them at the door. He left his socks, sweaters, and jeans on, as it was still quite cool inside the apartment and he wanted to keep warm.
He went to the kitchen and rummaged through the cupboard, pulling out two slices of bread and setting about the process of making himself a sandwich. A little ham, some cheese, and mayo later he held a pleasingly constructed breakfast in his hands. Humming softly, he chewed down the meal and walked to the calendar pinned above his mattress, fingers trailing across the red lines marked by pen across each date of December, 1982. He held his sandwich in his mouth and used both hands to pull out the thumb-tack pinning the sheets of paper to the wall, flipping it upward to expose the next page: January, 1983.
Fifty-two days since Eli had went into hibernation. This was the third cycle since they had left Blackeberg.
∆
Even a year and some months after he and Eli had run away together, he still couldn’t help but count the days spent apart and watch the clock tick down to some invisible threshold. Eli hadn’t been able to explain it very well when he asked her about it: “It’s just how it is,” she would say, as she had when he pressed her for other details about her condition. Her curse. It was frustratingly vague and short, and sometimes it was difficult for him to remember that Eli, for all her intelligence, was not entirely aware of the details behind the mechanisms of her affliction either – “It’s just how it is,” was her way of saying that she didn’t know.
All she could tell him was that when she slept, it was usually for two or three months at a time. Seasons didn’t seem to factor into it; one night she would feel perfectly lucid and strong, the next she would start to wane in vigor and sleep longer and longer into the evening before rising. Within three days, she had to be somewhere safe and isolated to stay until her long sleep ended and she rose again, weak and “foggy” in the head. When she woke, it would be dangerous for him to be near her until she was fed and aware of herself again. Before it knew it, that time had come calling again: his first, Eli’s god-knows-what.
That the sleep came on so suddenly had been the hardest thing for him to come to terms with. One night he and Eli would be wandering the streets of whatever city or neighborhood they happened to be lurking around, laughing, making up stories about the people they watched pass by. Playing games and listening to the radio. Then the next day, Eli would become sluggish and slothful. The day after, hardly able to pull herself out of the bathtub and looking downcast, defeated. They had to say their farewells, temporary though they were, and as Oskar watched Eli settle into the makeshift bed he insisted she have, the two of them lit only by the ray of torch-light squeezing through his clenched fingers, his throat squeezed inward and his eyes stung bitterly. Clicking off his light, he tentatively stepped close and kneeled down, wrapping his arms around Eli’s ice-cold form and exhaling into her hair.
“Oskar…” Eli had slurred, eyes half-lidded. “You should get home. I’ll…be away soon. I can feel it.”
Oskar shook his head. “I don’t want you to go to sleep alone.”
“Oskar…” Eli’s voice trailed off, and she settled back against him with a contented sigh, head beneath his chin. Oskar tapped fingers along her back, murmuring to himself. “Bulleri, bulleri bock. How many fingers are…up?”
“Mmm…three.”
“Three you say and three there are. Bulleri bulleribock.”
Eli hummed, head sinking into her pillow. “One more time...”
Oskar smiled. “Okay. Bulleri, bulleri bock. How many fingers are…up?”
He paused, waiting for her guess. “Eli?”
Eli rumbled softly, a smile frozen against her face. Oskar listened to her undulations for a long, long time, and his heart caught in his throat as he realized they were growing softer and softer until he had to strain to hear them. Eli had gone away, whisked into a torpor of dreams and shadow.
He waited several more minutes to be certain she was asleep. Then, he rolled away onto his back and let the tears slide down his cheeks
