Текст книги "Ravages"

Автор книги: R.A. Padmos

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people you don’t know around. I wouldn’t like it either.” He kisses Steve’s cheek. “If only it were just

you and me.”

He sees a lot, his Daniël ...

*

A quartet of doctors (more than one? Has he slept again?) talking in a language that sounds

like English, but isn’t quite the same thing. They talk about him in big words that seem to excite them.

They are important people and they know it. Some are more important than others. They talk the least,

like they recognise their words carry so much weight that using too many of them would disturb a

fragile balance. They talk to him, too, but he’s not under the illusion they actually expect a reaction

from him. Still, it’s fairly easy to understand at least part of what they’re saying. The words, that is,

and their meaning as to be found in any dictionary, but why they’re telling him about ventilation and

brain scans and healing and not healing fractures and drips with pain medication is something he’s not

quite sure about.

He knows he only has to allow the memories to fill him and every word the doctors and nurses

say will be clear. But he’s terrified the monster with the many faces and the many voices will return to

tear the flesh from his bones, to break his bones, to taunt him. To take Daniël’s name in its foul

muzzle and defile it. So he doesn’t remember.

*

“Good morning Mr Gavan.” She’s a good woman, he knows. Her voice is filled with the kind

of compassion that can’t be bought by any kind of salary. She’s the bringer of all things good and

merciful.

Could she please leave him and Daniël alone?

“I have very good news for you. Doctor Nisha will remove the tube so you can breathe on your

own. Just follow her instructions and it will be over in seconds.”

A petite woman, the doctor, Steve assumes, talks with Daniël. He sounds a bit excited, but in a

positive way. Like something good is going to happen. That’s all he needs to know.

“Give yourself a few moments to get used to the sensations. Don’t fight it.” Her small hands

seem to fiddle with something that apparently needs fiddling with.

Daniël’s touching him.

“You’re ready?” the doctor asks. Out of politeness, he’s sure.

He nods. Also out of politeness.

“Welcome back, Mr Gavan.”

The hard part is over as soon as he realises there is a hard part. To be honest, very honest, he

feels like shit. The tube, at least the one down his throat, is gone, but it still feels like something nasty

is halfway stuck and no amount of coughing is able to get it either up or down. But there’s also the

radiant happiness on Daniël’s face, like when they managed between them to prevent Manchester

United from scoring the winning goal in the very last minute of the match and they walked away from

Old Trafford with a point, and a feeling that can’t be expressed in any of the languages they speak

with some fluency.

He’s breathing on his own. Despite the huge chunks missing from his memory, the magnitude

of simply letting his lungs do their job feels like a milestone. He sees it in Daniël’s huge smile, feels it

in the way he touches his face, hears it in the way he says, “Oh Steve.”

It makes him more aware of the other things that make his body feel it’s no longer his own.

There’s a big needle in his forearm, but it doesn’t bother him all that much. He hates the tube in his

penis, for obvious reasons, but he accepts it. Not much to be done about that at the moment. There’s

more, but what’s the use of trying to check his whole body for things that weren’t there before.

Before what?

Not being able to touch Daniël, even if it’s only moving a finger over the back of his lover’s

hand, is unbearable. He doesn’t care about the pain it will cost or how exhausted it will make him, but

he will lift his hand and place it, gently, against the most beautiful face he has ever known, and Daniël

will rest a moment against Steve’s hand and no words will be needed.

He still wants to talk, though. Daniël may be clever at interpreting his nods and smiles and

stares, but there are questions he needs to ask and those he needs to answer. He wants Daniël to

experience the joy of hearing his name coming from the mouth of his lover. Isn’t that the reason he

came back from somewhere better than where he is now in the first place?

His list of things to achieve is growing. There are already two things he wants to accomplish:

touching Daniël’s face and saying his name. Strange how he was never aware how complicated

talking, saying even one single word, one name, actually is.

The sound he produces is at least halfway human, but that’s about the only positive thing he’s

able to make of it. It reminds him of...he doesn’t want to be reminded. So he falls silent again. It

doesn’t prevent Daniël from having that big, happy smile on his face, from bending over and kissing

their special patch on Steve’s arm. Even though there’s a lot more now that can be touched and kissed,

those few centimetres of skin are still favoured.

“One day, you will lie in my arms again and you will say my name. You have taught me that

I’m much more patient than I ever thought. I guess you have taught me how to stop looking at the

clock.”

It’s then that Steve notices Daniël isn’t wearing his watch.

Chapter 8

He makes sounds. He forms them, again and again, with great dedication and dogged

perseverance. It is a conscious act, an act of will, not the by-product of unimaginable distress. He

wants to make those sounds, even if they are still not real words. At least he has the choice. Perhaps

the doctors have some plan in mind about when and how his rehabilitation is going to happen. But he

refuses to wait. He has waited long enough. And if practising vocalisation is the only thing he has any

influence on at the moment, then that’s exactly what he’s going to do. Daniël, too, has been patient

long enough. Even without his watch to look at every few minutes, time still eats up his youth. He

discovers certain sounds make syllables, then very short words, then short words. Whenever he’s

alone and awake, he practises. His jaw feels heavy, his face not like before...before that thing he

remembers not to remember. Then suddenly, when he wakes up and finds his lover not with him, he

says Daniël’s name. He says it again and again, just to be sure. He keeps repeating it until the sound

fades away into the sounds of the room he’s in.

It’s not often he’s alone. There’s almost always Daniël. He has no way of being sure about it,

but he has the impression the amount of time he’s awake and aware of his surroundings is slowly

increasing. And so the time he can actually spend with his beloved gets longer by the day. Sometimes

Daniël just sits next to the bed, quietly looking at Steve. Not saying a word. Someone has brought him

his laptop from his apartment and almost every day, he’s reading and writing. Steve sees him smile

and frown and read some more, write some more.

“Does it bother you when I’m typing?” Daniël asks.

It doesn’t. Daniël believes him, not asking again to be really sure that Steve isn’t just being

polite. They’re not ready yet for politeness.

Far too often, there are nurses and doctors. They try not to hurt him, and he believes them, but

they do so anyway. It’s nothing personal, he understands that. They give him “something for the pain”

but that makes him drowsy, which means he has less time to enjoy with Daniël. They do explain to

him what they are doing and why, but it never really registers. He’s familiar enough with his body to

know that it takes whatever time it takes. He’s been relatively lucky with injuries for most of his

career but once or twice, some problems with his left knee kept him off the pitch for months on end. It

never did him any good to feel sorry for himself, to get impatient. This time is no different than all the

previous ones. The medical staff do their job. One day, most likely sooner than he prefers, he will

remember why he finds himself in this room, in this bed, and he will understand why so many doctors

and nurses walk in and out of this room and talk about him, to him, do things to his body.

He’s truly thankful, though, when he’s deemed ready to take sips of fluid. Water first and very

little of it, but once he has proven he doesn’t choke with the first drops, he gets promoted to juice. The

taste of apple on his tongue. The liquid coolness sliding down his throat. Daniël’s delighted smile

while he watches Steve sip on a flexible straw. It’s not the single best taste in the world, obviously,

but it comes damn close.

No, he isn’t very often alone and awake. But when he is, he thinks of words to say and he says

them. Bit by bit, the old familiarity of using language returns. His throat feels almost normal. His jaw

doesn’t. He knows he no longer has a complete set of teeth, but chooses to ignore it. Some words

probably sound funny when he pronounces them, but what can he do?

His mind thinks Daniël and his mouth says Daniël almost instantly. The ever-moving boy who

learned to sit still for him. Who talks Dutch through his mobile to his parents and little sister and

reads the weather forecast from English newspapers, like he and Steve are planning on taking a trip

this very afternoon. Who cheers like he had just watched his lover scoring a goal because Steve moves

his fingers a little. Who isn’t a saint by far (the red card he got for that trick he pulled during the away

match against Wigan last season had been totally deserved), but who has a heart full of love and

compassion like few others.

It’s time to surprise his lover.

“Daniël?” he simply says it. No huge drama, no waiting for the perfect moment.

And Daniël turns in his direction. “You want to tell me something, love?” He sits down next to

Steve’s bed, touching his hand.

Steve nods, out of words.

“You said the one thing I needed to hear so much. That’s what you wanted to tell me, isn’t it?

My name. You came back to say my name.”

“Daniël.” Steve says it again. “Daniël, my Daniël.”

“Your Daniël. You said that right.” He kisses Steve’s lips.

The warm, intimate silence that follows is all too short.

“Good morning, gentlemen. Are you ready for your sponge bath, Mr Gavan? We’re sure you’ll

also appreciate nice clean sheets and some fresh dressing. It gives us a perfect opportunity to check on

that infection. It did look good, yesterday, so I’m optimistic.”

It’s not a real question. It’s not a real attempt to start a conversation. They, two nurses as usual

for this procedure, are going to increase the amount of morphine via the drip in his arm until he’s gone

enough to be almost indifferent to the pain.

*

“Good to see you awake.” Degaré gently touches his shoulder for a few seconds and smiles at

Steve.

Steve smiles back. At least, he hopes that’s what he’s doing. “Daniël ...” he says. He just has to

say it.

“I know, he told me.” The gaffer understands. “He just went outside for few minutes. I told

him to get some fresh air. Stretch his legs for a bit.”

“Good.”

And it is good. Fresh air makes Daniël’s eyes shine, his voice cheerful. Makes him smell so

wonderful all Steve can do is close his eyes and enjoy the sensation.

“The boys ask if it’s okay to visit you again. They were here when you ...”

“I know.”

If the manager is surprised, he doesn’t show it.

They don’t talk about it, whatever it is they don’t talk about. Still, the silence between them is

not unpleasant. Everything has changed and will not change back to what it was before.

Before...

No, they don’t talk about it. Degaré tells about his four daughters and one grandson. About

madame Degaré. A few anecdotes. A sentimental memory. Enough to give Steve a reminder of the

normal world outside the room he’s in, not enough to make him feel the desperation that’s lurking

from every corner.

“You’re getting tired, non? Is it okay for me to talk to Daniël about who’s going to visit you

during the next days?”

Steve is strangely touched, not only by Degaré assuming the damaged man in the bed still has a

will of his own, but also how he involves Daniël in this decision in such a matter of fact way. It’s only

later that Steve realises what the manager’s words actually implied.

*

By twos, they visit him. Never longer than a few minutes. Daniël is strict about that, even

without a watch. He simply looks at Steve’s face and a short, “Guys ...” is enough. Steve enjoys those

minutes. Even if he reacts with hardly more than nods and smiles, their grumbles about the ref and the

linesman seeing it wrong because Gael was so totally not offside when he scored that goal, fill the

room with something akin to normality.

Francesco brings roses of an almost modest red, and from the expression on his face Steve

knows the boy thinks it’s silly to do such a thing. “The girl in the flower shop said they have an extra

nice smell. Dan told me, well you know, so I thought ...”

Steve simply closes his eyes and for a few seconds, he sits outside in a garden and feels the sun

on his face.

Ray’s tall body and short, short hair make him look boyishly clumsy while he tries to find a

safe way of giving Steve a hug.

“Thank you,” Steve says, and Ray blushes.

Niko shows the latest pictures of his sons and daughter. Flaxen heads and blue eyes: all three

of them. Nope, no question about who’s the daddy.

“Juice. Stacy bought it from this organic thingie shop. Don’t ask me,” Anthony says.

Gabrysz hands Daniël a booklet. “Poems. To read.”

They all bring him something beyond shy smiles and awkward attempts at normality. They

bring him friendship that knows how to remember the questions, but also to realise this isn’t the time

to ask them. They may have their opinions about certain things, but they keep them safely hidden in a

place where they can’t hurt their team-mate. Of course, there are words that are not being said, even if

they are omnipresent. Instead they make jokes about the cute nurses and express their, and it’s honest

too, admiration when Daniël tells them Steve has eaten half a cup of chicken broth. And they all want

to see how he moves the fingers of his left hand.

“Must have taken a lot of practice, from what I hear they did to ...”

Etienne’s words are cut in half by a nervous-sounding Alexandre saying that “Steve must be

very tired by now.”

“Good afternoon, Mr Gavan, Mr Borghart.” A nod to the visitors. “Gentlemen ...”

The reading of the stats. Temperature, blood pressure, what more? The changing of the bags

with fluids and medicines. The changing of the urine bag. The questions about pain and other

discomfort. Sacred routine between nurse and patient.

Steve’s knows now he can hide for the rest of his life and still the monsters will find him.

“Tell me about you when I was away. Tell me about me.”

The typing on the laptop stops.

“Tell me.”

“Shall I get a doctor to explain it all to you?” Daniël tries, helplessness shining from his eyes.

“Tell me your story.” Steve insists.

“I will tell the wrong things in the wrong way. I will hurt you. And you’ve been hurt enough.”

“Please, Danny?”

“The doctors and the nurses have been working so hard. You are doing so well.” Daniël sighs.

“You have no idea.”

“Then tell me.”

“You’re exhausted.”

“Tell me.”

Steve’s voice is hardly a whisper, but Daniël bows his head to it.

“Go to sleep. When you wake up and still want me to tell what I have seen, I will.” Daniël

gently touches Steve’s face. “I love you so much.”

Steve stares defiantly at the monster with the many voices, which are somehow one voice,

lurking behind his beloved. This will hurt no less than learning to breathe on his own again, swallow

again, talk again, and move his fingers again. He accepts it. Knowing that it will be hard for Daniël to

tell what he knows is less easy to be complacent about. But hadn’t he already learned that love is a

harsh ruler at times?

Chapter 9

Daniël sits next to the bed. He talks. His voice is soft, falters every few words, but he talks.

Steve listens, not asking questions, not commenting on anything Daniël says.

“The gaffer called me. I had such a nice dream about you. Then the dream changed and the

gaffer called and mum told me I couldn’t drive so I called a taxi. I think I did.

“When we were having dinner I couldn’t stop thinking about you and about what we had done

the night before. Mum and dad even asked me where my thoughts were hiding. I wanted to tell them

so much about you, but I didn’t want to spoil your chances with other clubs if Kinbridge Town had

told you they would have to let you go after the season.

“I was afraid it would destroy my career. Us being together. Us being found out. That’s the

truth of it, isn’t it? Is to keep totally silent about something, someone, really all that different from

telling a lie?

“I kept seeing your face, like it was right after we had made love, while we were having dinner

and mum talked about family and dad asked about the upcoming match.

“And then I couldn’t remember your lovely face, I could only see that other face.

“I didn’t know you kept that passport photo of me in your wallet. A bit hidden away, I bet. You

sometimes looked at it? When we couldn’t be together? They’re always a bit stupid, those kinds of

photos, huh? It’s how Degaré guessed about us. The police found that photograph. They asked him if

he had any idea what it meant and he called me. Never asked me one wrong question.

“They knew who you were. They didn’t recognise you. Not even when they found your I.D.

“I was faster than any of them. Smarter too. They couldn’t keep an eye on me all the time. I

stood in the corner, not moving, not making a sound because I was afraid they would send me away.

They were too busy working on you to notice me. I wasn’t supposed to see you like that.

“Why didn’t they notice me and send me away?

“I couldn’t find you at first. You were hidden behind all those doctors and nurses doing things

to you that were meant to keep you alive but looked so much like violence. They fought like an army

and your body served as their battleground.

“I can’t say how you looked when I finally saw you. I try to say it, but I don’t have the words.

Not in English. Not even in Dutch. I can talk about broken bones and bruised skin and blood, blood,

blood and more bruises, bruises and more broken bones and your legs twisted and your hands like

claws and your beautiful face that was no longer your face or even a face and the sound you made and

the silence that was even worse than that sound ...

“But they’re not the right words. There are no right words.

“I had never smelled blood before and still I recognised it.

“I remember how bitter the bile in my mouth tasted. How my own blood tasted because I had

bitten my tongue.

“I didn’t make a sound. Not even to say your name.

“I forgot you. I tried so hard to remember you, but I couldn’t. You had been inside my body so

many times. I had been in yours for the first time only hours before. I had touched you with my hands,

with my whole body, kissed you. I had looked at you while you were eating, reading the paper,

watching TV, sleeping, running with the ball at your feet. I couldn’t remember how you looked. I

couldn’t remember anything about us.

“There was nothing left.

“I saw death. Not seeing it like it was a real person. But I still saw it. I knew death was there,

trying to touch you, to lure you away from me. It had been sent to liberate you, because your body was

too damaged. I couldn’t let that happen.

“I claimed you as mine.

“You remember the first time we kissed? When we both thought the other wanted ‘Cesco? I

was so sure no one and nothing in the whole world could have separated us. Don’t laugh; I was even

thinking up ways to stay together when one of us, or perhaps both, would be sold off to another club. I

was selfish enough to hope you would perhaps end your career as a professional player a few years

early, so you could find a job near where I would be playing. Start your own business. Do a bit of

coaching. Something like that.

“You see, I’m not such a perfect guy. I wanted it all, playing football and having you. Keeping

it all out of the press, so we wouldn’t be bothered.

“Did your hands itch too, like when we were training and I just had to touch you?

“If I had been a braver person, I would have told mum and dad and you would have been with

us and not in that park. You belonged with us, having dinner. Mum and dad. You and me. The four of

us.

“I told myself it was all for the better to keep quiet about you. It’s private they all say. But it’s

fucking not private. It never is.

“I saw them, trying to get tubes and needles in you, trying to get your heart to beat again.

Trying over and over again. But there was nothing left to put needles in, to put tubes in.

“And I stood there. Death would have been kinder to you than I was, but I fought it off. I

couldn’t let you go. Not even when I saw you lying there.

“You were blood and bruises and broken bones and I stood there and watched. Not once I

looked away. My eyes were wide open.

“Strange, isn’t it, all that time I knew I wasn’t dreaming, I wasn’t having a nightmare. It was

you lying there, it was me standing there.

“They were hurting you. You were dying and they wouldn’t stop with their needles and

instruments, like you weren’t even there. Like you didn’t matter. But they were the only ones who

could do anything for you. They made sure your heart kept beating long enough so your body could

start fighting for itself. They kept you alive long enough to get you into the operation room to repair

the most dangerous damage that would have killed you for sure.

“So strange, such a tiny woman, she didn’t even reach my shoulders and she was wearing shoes

with high heels, telling me what they had found when they admitted you to the hospital. I couldn’t

believe hearing someone so small and fragile using those words.

“I saw them leaving with you. I didn’t stop them to say goodbye. I was stupid enough to

believe, to know, I would see you again and you would see me again.

“I couldn’t stand mum’s touch, or dad’s. I didn’t want to be touched if it wasn’t by you. Not

my family, not the gaffer, not any of the boys. Just you. But they wouldn’t leave me alone. Not until

you were in intensive care and I could be with you.

“Mum didn’t understand why I hadn’t told her and dad. I think she was a little bit upset with

me, like I didn’t trust them. Like they hadn’t given me the right upbringing, or something. They would

have welcomed you into the family, after asking a lot of questions, of course. She was always worried

I would fall in love with someone who wasn’t really interested in me, Daniël, but in someone who’s a

bit famous and with money. You have made a name of your own, have your own money.

“They stayed a bit longer than they had planned, but they had to go home. They have phoned

every single day. Naomi too. I wish she would tease me and make jokes about you and me, because

then I’ll know everything is all right. They’re all so nice and caring.

“What the doctor told me? Yeah, right, I tried to forget that, but I can’t. She looked so perfect,

with shiny black hair and tiny hands. She never used medical language that doesn’t mean a thing to

me. She tried to explain to me why you would die without actually saying it.

“Cranial bleeding. Swelling of the brain. Fractured cheekbones. Fractured eye socket.

Fractured upper jaw. Fractured lower jaw. Several teeth missing. Bruising and swelling.

“Several fractured ribs. Fractured collarbone. Fractured bones in both left and right hands.

Fractured wrist on the left side. Fractured bones in both left and right under arms. Fractured right

upper arm. Bruises covering most of the torso and the arms. Bruises covering almost all of the back,

several overlapping. Ruptured spleen. Damage to the stomach, liver and kidneys. Severe internal

bleeding. Damage to the spinal column.

“Complicated open fractures in both legs. Fractured ankles. Fractured kneecaps. Fractured

bones in both feet. Severe bruising of both legs.

“Bleeding wounds all over the body. Grazes. Bruises.

“You were in a shock because of the blood loss and the pain. You went into cardiac arrest twice

during the time they tried to get you into the operating theatre, once more in the theatre itself.

“They only worked on the life threatening injuries, leaving most of the fractures and cuts and

bruises for later.

“You were kept in an artificial coma. I guess they were surprised you came out of the theatre

alive and they wanted to give you the chance to die in peace. You know, going slowly from here to

whatever there is. Perhaps that’s why they let me stay in the beginning. It would be over soon, they

must have thought. Give the boy a few hours to get used to the idea.

“But you didn’t die. Not that day, not the day after that, not the week after that or the month

after that. They suggested I could go home after a day. To get some rest.

“I thought: as long as I’m with you, in the same room, death doesn’t stand a chance. Yeah, I

know, stupid me.

“I’ve haven’t left the hospital for even half an hour since that day. The head nurse made me

solemnly promise to never get into their way and let them do their job. Sometimes the gaffer or the

captain and the other boys bring club shirts, signed and all, to hand out to the kids. The nurses even

put up a bed on the other end, so I don’t have to sleep sitting on a chair.

“I didn’t leave the room for the first week, not even if they had to take care of your wounds and

infections or when they cleaned the mucus out of your lungs. I couldn’t take the risk.

“There was that tiny patch on your arm that was just undamaged skin. I started touching that.

One finger first. Just touching, because I had to know there was still something left of you. And I

began to remember you. How you tried to look inconspicuous while you were watching me reading a

book. How you forgot to eat sometimes to watch me eating. How you couldn’t take your eyes off of

me when you fucked me. How you had given me the most wonderful six months of my life.

“It wasn’t like what you see in medical series, on TV. You lying there, all pale and still and not

making a sound, and then, suddenly, opening your eyes and be all awake and present again.

“It wasn’t like that.

“Sometimes your lips moved, but there wasn’t a sound. Or your eyelids fluttered. There were

those little spasms and twitches. A few times it looked like you tried to move your hand, but of course

you couldn’t.

“Sometimes you moaned. They said you couldn’t be aware of the pain. I wish I could believe

them. I was selfish for letting you suffer because I didn’t want to live without you.

“I sat and watched and wondered where you were. Would you come back to me?

“I touched that small piece of your arm, and then I kissed it. I started talking to you, because it

was impossible not to talk to you.

“The first time you looked into my eyes again it was almost five weeks after...

“After...

“It’s now more than three weeks since you opened your eyes. And you’ve done so well. You

can stay awake for nearly five hours a day, though not all on end yet. You can sip juice and broth. You

can move your fingers. And most wonderful of all, you can talk. It’s perhaps a bit slow and you need a

bit of time to remember some words, but I know that will be much better with practice.”

“They couldn’t make you leave me. But I will not talk of them.”

“You’re tired.” Daniël bows his head to kiss Steve’s arm. “Ik hou van je.”

“Two months...

“You...

“With me...

“Two months...”

Steve falls silent with the realisation of Daniël’s words.

Chapter 10

It can’t be avoided. A crime has been committed and he’s the only one, apart from the

perpetrators, who’s able to tell what actually happened. After what Daniël told him, Steve understands

the need for justice, for society to know who did this and punish them according to the law. Sounds

great and all but the thing is, it’s about him and he doesn’t want to let the monster come this close. As

long as it’s safely cowering in the far corner of the room, he can pretend he’s able to deal with it. But

as soon as the two officers, or rather detectives, one young man and one not-so-young woman, enter

the room and greet him and Daniël, he starts to shake. It’s the most peculiar feeling, the chattering of

his teeth, the tremors that make his body move in a way he couldn’t accomplish voluntarily.

The police officers simply wait, not commenting on anything, not trying to make him feel

more at ease. They stand aside and let Daniël touch Steve, let him whisper calming words until he’s

able to at least hear and understand their introduction.

The woman talks in a friendly, compassionate tone, but also in matter-of-fact words. She and

her colleague are here to do a job.

It’s been days since Daniël told his story. Steve can only try to guess the price in nightmares

his lover must be paying for his courage to sit and talk. He doesn’t mention it, since some things are

not meant to be seen, not be talked about, and what time but in his dreams to store such terrible

knowledge in a safer place? They don’t need to speak about it to see guilt move between them, thick

and tangible. Steve knows it’s no use telling Daniël it happened for no other reason than that it

happened. The risk to their careers of being indiscreet had been a very real one. The thing that actually

came to pass was hardly imaginable.

He wants to see the guilt gone from the eyes of his boy. They both had taken the most logical

decision, no matter that they could have placed their feet on another road and just taken the risk to see

if their fear of total rejection had indeed been justified. Who knows, they might actually have been

pleasantly surprised. But behind the guilt, there’s something so much worse. They are both still far too

brittle to face the stark truth that every human at some point has to come to terms with: knowing that

one is truly empty-handed when it matters most.

Daniël has spoken the words, has given him a terrible gift at a price that’s very nearly too

costly to himself. Now it’s his turn. Daniël didn’t ask for it and will not ask for it, but Steve knows it