It always hurts. Our minds inter-locked, and our faces would register
pain, affectation, pleasure, at the same exact moment as we read a text
together - which we did often.
He often read for his voice was deep and resonant.
He often read portions of the Old Testament to me. He had been raised
on a fundamentalist fringe and it is to the ancient scripture his
people most often turned. He liked to tell me the feats of David in
particular. He would become quite antimated, and his voice would
quiver with admiration at that red haired King's adventures, conquests,
wars and devotion.
I often thought that the Old Testament was a substitute for a boy's
wonder at great heroic deeds such as Zoro or Robin Hood. And now
tonight, I quietly read a portion of The Deeds of Louis the Fat a
twelfth century text that I know he uses currently in his history of
punishment class.
And I wept. For I knew immediately what portion of the text he must
have picked. King Louis' avenging of one of his lord's murder, by
slicing the heart out of the body of the culprit and then hanging him
with a dog who tore at his flesh as his body dangled. Fierce as the
Old Testament.
And though now he says he does not believe in God, I knew -- quick in
my heart -- that he remained captured by the tales of heroic acts,
grand betrayals, stunning acts of vengeance, and justice redeemed that
held his attention when we read scripture . . .
I always saw the young boy in him. Why not? He is 15 years my junior.
A young lonley boy who dreamed of being a hero. . .there must be good
in him somewhere. No? I miss him at moments like this.
But I will put it out of mind in a moment of two and simply focus on
the text, and then go on to tuck Maria in, translate my Latin, and be
glad at least that I have my daughter, and recouped part of my mind . .
..
Rosena
.
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