I'm a soldier || wounded so I must give up the fight
The little window is blue stained-glass. It’s cracked in three places, probably after yesterday’s… episode. It’s a wonder it wasn’t shattered last night, the way it was rattling in its pane.
I use my shirtsleeve to wipe away the dust layered on the glass, as I crouch near the window on my feet, knees bent, rear-end an inch away from the black tarmac.
Yes, I’m back in Gibbets Alley. No, you don’t need to tell me that I must be insane. I am well aware of it.
The window is still too dirty to see through even after all that rubbing, so, with a sigh, I add a bit of spit to my sleeve and begin wiping again.
I wouldn’t be back here if it wasn’t for something Eton said in school this morning. He was swaggering around the school courtyard when I arrived, grinning and waving his arms and talking loudly. I had a feeling I knew what he was telling the students gathered around him.
‘” and he was screaming like a little baby the whole time, it was hilarious!’ Eton was saying as I slowly approached the crowd.
‘What’s in there Eton?’ asked a small boy, clutching his bag to his chest and looking up at Eton with large, round eyes.
Eton blinked, as if the question surprised him. ‘Why, Sapphire Wings, of course!’ he replied after a moment.
‘Who?’ questioned someone.
‘Sapphire Wings! Everyone knows about Sapphire Wings!’
It seemed however, that everyone didn’t. People were exchanging confused looks.
‘Sapphire Wings?’
‘Is that someone’s name?’
‘Maybe it’s a dog!’
Eton shook his head, looking a little confused and a little amused. ‘It’s a man! He’s lived down there for years! A barmy old nutcase! How can you not know?’
Finally someone piped up with an interesting question. ‘Why do you call him Sapphire Wings? Who told you his name?’
Eton raised an eyebrow and shrugged slightly. ‘My brother told me “ I don’t know where he heard it from. Everyone calls him Sapphire Wings. He is Sapphire Wings. That’s all there is to it!’ He knelt down and grabbed his bag off the ground and then turned towards the school entrance. End of discussion. Story over. Luckily, he didn’t catch sight of me.
The effects of Eton’s tale were apparent throughout the day “ the topic of most conversations was Sapphire Wings. From all the eavesdropping I did, I only learned a few things: Sapphire Wings is a man who has lived down in the abandoned cellar in Gibbets Alley for as long as anyone can remember (though when I spoke to Tray Sanders the class know-it-all, he insisted that “as long as anyone can remember” meant “only a few years”) and that he has never come out of the cellar that is his home and no one has ever really seen him up close (though someone must have at least spoken to him at one time or another to find out his name).
Basically Sapphire Wings is an enigma. I hate enigmas - so I’ve come to find out more about this one. How can a man live in a cellar for years? Doesn’t he eat? Or relieve himself? Or bathe?
The little blue window’s still not very clean but at least I can see through it better than before. Not much is happening inside the cellar. Actually, nothing’s happening. There’s no movement, no sign of life at all. I can see trunks and boxes stacked and piled wherever there is room: against walls, in the center of the room, anywhere. One large trunk catches my eye. It’s made of plain wood as far as I can tell and hinged with a shiny metal that glitters and looks blue (only because the stained-glass is blue). It catches my eye because there is a dark shape leaning against it, curled up into a small ball. I watch the lump for a moment but it doesn’t move at all. Doesn’t he even breathe? I wait and watch and watch and wait and finally get bored. My legs are aching, curled up underneath me and I can’t stand just sitting around anymore, so I decided to do the stupid thing and go inside the cellar.
The piece of wood that I jammed into the cellar door-handles yesterday is still there. It’s wet and soggy (have I mentioned that it’s raining again today?) but I slip it out slowly, wondering if I have a death wish that I don’t know about, open the cellar doors and pick up the package I brought with me from home. I walk like a robot down the stairs, slowly, reluctantly, even though I’m entering this prison by choice. When I reach the fifth step down, I turn back and pull the doors closed. Almost all natural light suddenly disappears and when my eyes adjust, I see that once again, it looks like I’ve stepped into an ocean. Blue light glitters, flickers and swims across the walls and stairs of the cellar.
By now Sapphire Wings must know I’m here (unless he’s died) so there’s no turning back, unless I want to look like a coward.
Not that there’s anything bad about being a coward “ and anyway, who would know…?
I suck in a deep breath, try to shake away my doubts and hurry down the rest of the stairs. I try to be as quiet as possible but it doesn’t help much. The stairs creak as I go down them, the wood on the floor squeaks as I walk across it, the trunk moans as I set the package I brought down on it. Up close, I can see that the trunk is made of some shiny dark wood (because it looks a darker blue than, say, the cardboard boxes). The metal hinges and locks and trunk-borders have vines and flowers carved into them. Sapphire Wings is leaning against one of the shorter sides of the trunk. I can see initials engraved above the trunk lock, but I can’t make them out.
The man still hasn’t moved.
Even though I can’t see his face or anything, it’s obvious that something is wrong with this man. Something about his back… it’s larger than normal and seems to stick out and look deformed. Like he’s a hunchback or something. He is sitting with his knees close to his body, his arms curled around his legs, his head down and hidden.
He must know I’m here; I’m standing so close now. My heart is beating is beating so fast that it’s become a steady stream of pain in my chest and my stomach is clenching tightly. I wish he would say something, yell at me even, I wait for it, but he doesn’t do anything.
Finally, after an infinity of waiting, I choke out, ‘I brought you something.’
No motion.
I wonder if I should touch his shoulder to see if he’s okay. I don’t do it though. I’d rather not trigger another mad-screaming fest.
I grab the package resting on the trunk and slide it towards Sapphire Wings. It’s a paper bag with a loaf of bread, some chicken soup Cedrick made for lunch yesterday and a slice of store-bought blueberry pie. I don’t know why I’ve brought him food. I just have. ‘F-food,’ I stutter. ‘For you.’
When he still doesn’t move or say anything, I start to back away. I leave the food with him and mumble a quick, ‘I’ll leave now,’ before racing out of the cellar as fast as my legs will carry me. I hurry over to the short-of-clean stained-glass window, get onto my knees and peer down into the room.
The dark shape leaning against the trunk is still unmoving. I bite the inside of my cheek and wonder if I’ve insulted him or something “ when suddenly he moves. One of the arms curled around his legs reaches out, grabs the bag of food. He opens it, peers inside the paper parcel. I can see his unkempt hair, hanging down over his eyes. His fingers are long but strangely bent as he reaches into the bag and pulls out the food, the sliced loaf of bread in plastic wrap, the glass bowl of soup, the aluminum-foiled blueberry pie slice. He sets everything down in front of him. I think he’s just staring at it. He doesn’t move for a long time. I remember reading somewhere about how, after a long time without anything to eat, people start to feel nauseated by the mere sight of food. My heart clenches “ I hope that isn’t the case. I wonder if I should just leave “ maybe he can sense me watching him. Just then, he opens the bowl of soup. He puts it to his mouth and drinks; it’s gone in less than two seconds. He unwraps the bread, grabs three pieces at once and takes a massive bite out of them. Half the bread disappears as I watch, feeling shocked and slightly sick. Still in the middle of the bread, he pauses, shifts behind a box and retches violently, over and over, until most, if not all of the food, is no longer in his stomach. He’s not used to food.
I stand up. He’s trying to eat again, slowly this time, but I don’t care to see anymore. I stumble away from the cellar, out of Gibbets Alley. I feel like crying.
I’ve just witnessed the feeding-frenzy of a starving person. When was the last time he ate? Why is he living down there, without the basic necessities?
‘Will you talk to me?’
Operation Sapphire Wings, Day Two. I don’t know why I’m back again “ I just am.
Yesterday, after leaving Gibbets Alley, I tried to forget about the starving man making home in a cellar “ I didn’t want to think about him, didn’t want to remember what I’d seen. But just like the black-cloaked gliding creature I saw a couple of days ago, this too has a “car-crash-mentality” factor to it. Despite all my reservations, I can’t help returning. I’m drawn to this man like I am drawn to those mysterious floating demons. I brought him more food today. He has eaten now, and I’m sitting a few feet away from him, on a cardboard box.
Sapphire Wings is sitting in practically the same spot he was yesterday, in practically the same position, when, for the first time, he speaks. ‘If you are willing to listen.’
I’m stunned into a semi-coma: my jaw hanging, my eyes popping. Even in my shocked state, I register the hoarseness of his voice and I can’t help but think that Tray Sanders has not lived up to his title of class know-it-all, because there is no way that this man has lived down here for “only a few years”. His voice is that of an old man who has not spoken for an age. His back, deformed and difficult to look at because of the way it juts out, is bent and he slumps as if the weight of the world is on his shoulders. The knuckles of his fingers are swollen, his fingers themselves looking twisted and broken.
I snap my jaw closed, swallow hard and say, ‘I’ll listen.’ I want to look at his eyes, or his face even, but his head is hanging, his face shaded by the long hair hanging over his forehead.
‘Will you?’ he says softly, and his hoarseness is less noticeable. The way he says it, his remark doesn’t sound like a question.
‘Who are you?’ I blurt out suddenly.
‘I am…’ He sounds unsure, but I can’t be sure because I can’t see his face for the curtain of hair he has grown. Finally he continues, ‘Me. Just me.’
‘Where did you come from? Don’t you have a family? Why do you live here?’
‘I had a family once. I live here because it is the only place I have left.’ He doesn’t answer the first question and I feel like repeating it, to see if he’ll answer it the second time around, but he doesn’t give me a chance.
‘You said you would listen.’
Oh. Yeah.
‘Right “ right, I’m listening.’
He pauses and I have a feeling that he’s wondering where to begin. I wonder what he’s going to tell me “ and why.
‘This story is about a world of magic, and… a man “ I guess a hero… and the arrogance that people show once their safety is guaranteed,’ he begins, his tone one of utter disgust.
I snort derisively. I can sense without his saying so that he’s implying that the story is true. ‘A world of magic? You’re kidding, right?’
‘No, I’m not,’ he spits out harshly. ‘If you’re not prepared to listen then you can leave now!’
I still have my doubts but I settle for rolling my eyes, instead of saying anything. He can’t see me making faces can he?
Sapphire Wings coughs softly, almost as if he’s afraid that I’ll hear, and begins to explain. ‘A few years back a man was killed. His name was Lord Voldemort “ a name he fashioned for himself, during his student-life.’
‘Is this the same man you mentioned before? The hero?’
‘No “ no this man was a villain. He was a monster. The hero was the man who killed Voldemort, during a war,’ he says, and when he uses the word hero, he does so scathingly, as if the word is a curse.
‘What was his name? The hero’s?’ I ask, too curious to stop myself interrupting.
‘His name was Harry Potter.’