What’s wrong with Bach?
The days continued that way. The two of them circling one another, never getting too close, yet unable to exit the other's orbit. More often than not his brother was there too, and even more often than that, Sirius and James would spend their time alone.
Regulus didn’t know what they did, and told himself he didn’t care. Perhaps they met up with the few other young people in town, all of them Sirius’ friends, none of them Regulus’. Maybe they drank, smoked, and danced. Maybe they played football, or swam in the ocean and nearby river. Regulus continued to decline their invitations until they were seldom offered.
He didn’t need to go out of his way to spend time with James, somehow they always ended up around the other regardless. One of their favourite spots became the small pool in La Maison’s backyard. Regulus sometimes lazed there, perched under a tree with a book, while James swam and scrutinised any new revisions his French editor made to his paper.
“M’amye, je vous supplie me conseiller lequel vault mieulx parler ou mourir.”
“Come again?”
James slides a pair of sunglasses off his eyes and onto the top of his head. Salt water falls off them in heavy droplets, weighing down his hair, turning once brown curls an onyx black.
“Why would you ask to hear what I’m reading if you don’t understand French?
“Because I’m a huge fan of..” He cranes his neck to read the cover, “Marguerite de Navarre. The Heptaméron has been on my list forever. I love that story.”
“It’s 72 short stories.”
“Sure, great, I knew that. So, which one are we up to?”
Regulus bites his tongue to keep from saying something harsh or untrue like, ‘there is no we’. Instead, he simply complies. It’s Tale Number 10. He continues to read, this time translating as he goes.
Un beau jeune chevalier est follement amoureux d'une princesse. Elle aussi est amoureux de lui. Même si elle ne semble pas en être entièrement consciente.
“A handsome young knight is madly in love with a princess. She too is in love with him. Though she seems not to be entirely aware of it.”
Malgré l'amitié qui fleurit entre eux, ou peut-être à cause de cette même amitié, les jeunes le chevalier se trouve tellement humilié et sans voix qu'il soit totalement incapable d'aborder le sujet de son amour.
“Despite the friendship that blossoms between them, or perhaps because of that very friendship, the young knight finds himself so humbled and speechless that he is totally unable to bring up the subject of his love.”
Un jour, il demande au princesse à bout portant: M’amye, je vous supplie me conseiller lequel vault mieulx parler ou mourir?
“One day he asks the princess point-blank: M’amye, je vous supplie me conseiller lequel vault mieulx parler ou mourir?”
James blinks up at him, strong arms holding all of his weight, perched over the bricks lining the water. “And, uh-” His voice falters the first time, so he clears his throat and tries again. “And, what does that mean?”
“He said, ‘Is it better to speak or die?’ ”
“Right.” He nods, slipping deeper under the water, “So, which one is it?”
“I don’t know. Haven’t read that far ahead yet.”
“No, I mean, what do you think? Which is better? Speak or die?”
“Oh.”
Regulus liked how their minds seemed to travel in parallel, how they could instantly infer what words the other was toying with but at the last moment held back. Other times, it was difficult being forced into such transparency with another person. He had to select every word carefully, unable to speak how he feels and yet unable to truly feel the falsehoods he speaks.
“I don’t know. I’d never have the courage to ask a question like that.”
“Hm.” James hums, deep and melodic. “I think I would.”
He rolls his eyes. “Of course you would.”
“In the face of certain death, what reason do we have to stay silent? Both roads pass through sorrow, and lead to the same end.”
“..You just made that up?”
James grins, “Nah, probably not. Maybe I read it in an article or something.”
Regulus thinks James would speak. He was sporadic, spontaneous and fearless. Sometimes he did things that defied reason, escaped explanation or meaning. He’d be gripped, fixated on Regulus’ every move, then inexplicably go cold and shut him out. Their conversations would come to sudden halts, as if the other man had enough of him and didn’t care to waste his energy engaging any further. Lazy, and withdrawn, like his casual ‘cheers’.
Some days it was total avoidance, just a makeshift hello, good morning, nice weather, shallow chitchat. Then, without explanation, things resumed. Did you want to go jogging this morning? No, not really. Well, let’s swim then. I don’t swim, you know that. Okay, I’ll swim, and you can read to me.
“Well, does he or doesn’t he?”
His heart races, distraught at what it finds once finally catching up with his thoughts. He skims the pages quickly, playing as if he’d been reading the entire time.
Mieux vaut parler, dit-elle. Mais elle est sur ses gardes. Elle sent un piège quelque part.
“Better to speak, she said. But she’s on her guard. She senses a trap somewhere.”
“So… Does he speak?”
Regulus swallows, “No.”
“No?”
“No. He’s avoiding it. Still stalling.”
“Figures,” James scoffs, “He’s French.”