Ben was as blindsided by this as he was, then. Ari watched him flop onto a bale of hay, feeling quite as helpless as he did. He’d burdened Ben with the worst part of the explanation, he thought, having to tell the young man why they were both so worried. Tell Mr. Holm why he ought to be disturbed, horrified, offended by what he had seen.
But perhaps the miracle of this situation (so nearly a nightmare) was that Mr. Holm did not react that way at all. There was too sincere a solemnity in his voice to mistake his assurance for anything less than a promise: Ari didn’t even know him and still he trusted him, felt as though there was a light, looking onwards from here. All was not lost.
And what the boy said next; this time Ari felt a pang in his chest that made him wonder whether he was looking at himself as a boy, some oddly refracted memory of that crushing weight come back to haunt him. Wide, disbelieving blue eyes. Ari felt like he and Ben were stringing that albatross around the boy’s neck themselves.
Perhaps it was only compassion, perhaps it was only sympathy. Or perhaps it was something more -
Ari smiled sadly and shook his head, wishing there was anything else he might say. “Anyone who might would be risking a prison sentence, years of hard labour if they did. They would face certain social ruin.” They, he said, as if he was not talking about the men in this very building. “It’s... well, it’s a high price, you see, to confront a society which is - not easily persuaded.”
(For a moment, Ari could almost picture that the space in these stables existed entirely out of place and out of time. That there was nothing on the outside that could destroy them, that there was no one in the world who would care. That this was just life, this was just how things were, and they might be happy and honest and free.)
A lump rose to his throat; his voice was a murmur. “But thank you.”
But perhaps the miracle of this situation (so nearly a nightmare) was that Mr. Holm did not react that way at all. There was too sincere a solemnity in his voice to mistake his assurance for anything less than a promise: Ari didn’t even know him and still he trusted him, felt as though there was a light, looking onwards from here. All was not lost.
And what the boy said next; this time Ari felt a pang in his chest that made him wonder whether he was looking at himself as a boy, some oddly refracted memory of that crushing weight come back to haunt him. Wide, disbelieving blue eyes. Ari felt like he and Ben were stringing that albatross around the boy’s neck themselves.
Perhaps it was only compassion, perhaps it was only sympathy. Or perhaps it was something more -
Ari smiled sadly and shook his head, wishing there was anything else he might say. “Anyone who might would be risking a prison sentence, years of hard labour if they did. They would face certain social ruin.” They, he said, as if he was not talking about the men in this very building. “It’s... well, it’s a high price, you see, to confront a society which is - not easily persuaded.”
(For a moment, Ari could almost picture that the space in these stables existed entirely out of place and out of time. That there was nothing on the outside that could destroy them, that there was no one in the world who would care. That this was just life, this was just how things were, and they might be happy and honest and free.)
A lump rose to his throat; his voice was a murmur. “But thank you.”
