"Leave All This To Yester-day..."

[psalm_onethirtyone]

My computer is laughing at me. Exceeding hard.

It has just now come back to life again after freezing again &c &c you know the story. GAH.

Anyway, hi. To-day, Soujin's life was trying to eat her. She went to Stoneybridge, and it was only her and Linda, and Linda said unto her "Do not worry, for I shall help you! I shall be there until two, and I shall set up the two o'clock activity for you, and then help you out when I get back from my meeting! Lo, all shall be well!" Then Linda promptly disappeared, leaving Soujin to do the 00:30 activity alone, when it is one of the activities that frightens her most.

Soujin afterwards went out to do calenders, and lo! she finished five minutes are two; but she was secure in the knowledge that Linda had set the activity up for her. Lo! Linda had not done so. Linda was gone. Soujin she did not know where anything was, and she panicked, dammit, because she could not find anything! So she improvised! She pretended that lots of the plants needed repotting, and she got the only three residents who had showed up to help her plant these plants, and she did this for one hour, while they told her she was doing it all wrong. Lo! at three, Linda showed up, and put up the new whiteboard, and said nary a word unto Soujin.

Then Soujin cleaned up the room, which took her forty-five minutes, and had just time to get back so that she could fold fifty-eight brochures with a spelling error in them that made her OCD spaz, scream, and attempt to kill something, before she went out to run the 16:15 activity. Lo, and Linda had given her a think to do for that activity which Soujin, who has been working around these people for five months, knew they would not do. Accordingly, she covertly switched that activity for another one, which went smoothly because thank heavens Crystal showed up to take care of Bobby, and she joined into the activity.

Then, with five minutes left before Soujin had to GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE, she went off to deliver the mail, and indeed she managed to get it all done exactly on time except for Irma's letters. She wanted to tell Linda that Irma would never let her go, and she was so scared of Irma she felt faintly sick about going into her room, and that Irma always shouted at her; but Linda was gone again, so Soujin hurried into Irma's room.

LO! and Soujin finally left twenty minutes late. Then her Mum was angry at her, and she got into trouble.

On the plus side, she lost .6 pounds, and considering how many times her diet committed seppeku this week, that's not bad.

Oh, and Alberta likes her again, for no apparent reason.

Comments

[gileonnen.livejournal.com]

He is not one of the men that Prince Faisal knows.

He does not bear himself with reverence for the sharifs of Mecca, even though they are the custodians of that holiest city--his salaam is hard, like a salute, like something that he has taught himself to do. His skin is darker than even that of the darkest Bedouin, and he wears his elegant robes as though the cloth is foreign to his skin.

He does not like the desert at all, and it is shown in his every movement, his every downward glance.

Faisal cannot tear his eyes away.

He is still a young prince, and not yet the man who will defend Wadi Yenbo and Medinah. He is not yet the statesman who will speak with the English and the French and the Americans in Paris. He is only Faisal, prince in the court of the sharifs, and he is fascinated by this strange man who rails at the Turks and the British alike.

This man tells Faisal's father that the Arabs--for he calls them Arabs, even though no one else does yet--must throw off the oppression of the Turks, but also that they must not trust the British.

This man says that he, too, had trusted the British, and that his nation has suffered greatly for its trust. His nation has become a nation of slaves.

There are fabulous stories that Faisal can barely believe, too--there are stories of guns and technology and discovery, and most of all there are stories of the sea. This strange man who is not an Arab--Faisal savors the word--this man loves the sea beyond all else. He says that there are great and wonderful beasts that live in the sea, and that there will never, ever be an end to the study of nature and of man that can be conducted through the ocean.

The sea. If he had not seen it himself on the journey to Cairo for schooling, he might have imagined it a fable.

Sometimes, when Faisal's father has grown weary of talking but the stranger has not, Faisal will sit comfortably across from the man and smoke or drink coffee while his father abandons the conversation. It doesn't seem to trouble the stranger, that Faisal is the only one who listens.

It doesn't trouble him, because Faisal listens.

They will take places cross-legged on the antique rug, their legs folded carefully and their eyes meeting in challenge. The stranger will tell of his kingdom, long since lost to the British. He will tell of his attempts to work with his sworn enemies, and how again and again he was given nothing although he gave everything. Faisal nods solemnly.

He talks of the kingdom that is to come.

There will be a land for Arabs, they agree, ruled by Arabs and made in the image of the great Persian empires, but held up on the framework of modern technology. They discuss telephones and electricity for every city; they whisper of modern repeating rifles to guard the holiest of cities; they shout-shout-shout that the Turks shall never again take free men captive!

The stranger will grow quiet at these times. He will say, in his odd and accented Arabic, that a nation is not free unless it is comprised of free men. He asks Faisal gently if he will rule his people as a tyrant, as a law-giver, as a parent. He asks if Faisal will love every man he rules as a son and weep at his death like a father.

Faisal tells him that he cannot answer that until he is ruling.

The stranger turns away in disgust.

Soon, they will be talking of the British again--of their empty promises and their harsh retribution against those they consider unfaithful. Of their faithlessness and the way that they make smaller nations their playthings.

The stranger hates the British.

He is not afraid of them, but he hates them like a man afraid.

[gileonnen.livejournal.com]

The stranger leaves one day, taking with him his stories of the sea and his grand ideas. He takes with him his awkward Arab robes and his scowls and the camel that he has been loaned to make the trip to the Suez Canal, where his ship is waiting.

He leaves behind some hundreds of creamy seed pearls and the gold to help finance the sharifs of Mecca in their revolution.

He leaves behind the idea of revolution in Faisal's mind, where it grows like a pearl--layer on layer building around the irritation that is oppression.

He leaves behind a parting kiss on each of Faisal's cheeks, and they burn even after the stranger has disappeared into the darkness.

________________________________________

There will come a time when Prince Faisal will meet the British. There will come a time when he will ask them for more weaponry, or more money, or more respect, and each time, he will be told that all he asks for is coming--but not today.

He will come to distrust the men who think that they can milk the Arabs (for he uses that word now, in his heart of hearts) until blood comes from their teats. He will come to suspect the treaty that will cut his land into pieces and give and his people nothing at all. He will come to resent the British, who trade the slavery of the Turks for their own slavery.

He will come to use the British as weapons, just as they use him as weapons--he will come to make Lawrence of Arabia, and he will come to make use of that man. He will come to milk Lawrence until even the blood runs dry.

But despite his machinations, despite his plans, despite his readiness, he will come to learn that Captain Nemo was right. Would always be right.

They must not trust the British.

It will be a hard lesson.

[rainbowjehan.livejournal.com]

THAT... was just incredible. I kept repeating, 'Wow, wow, oh, my God, wow' out loud while I was reading, from the shock of what you were doing and the fact that you were making it work amazingly and ahhhh, God. Wow.

Lord, but I worship you. o_o Incredible. I love your style of writing, too, and the way it sounds, the way it travels through a sentence or a paragraph; the impact of a sentence when it's been given its own line. Gah.

YOU ARE SO WONDERFUL. OMG. *loves*