Isaev's voice soothed him, and quieted his tremors. It was just good, he thought, that one of them could still think clearly.
Kassian opened his eyes to meet Isaev's, and saw only good-natured bemusement there, and no accusation.
He didn't know what he'd expected exactly. He hadn't been sure. But again, Isaev seemed to make things easy, and Kassian just gave a nod.
"Vitya said something to me once," he said. It hurt less to speak of him now, and he felt less regret. "He was always reading, about the news, about politics. Things he shouldn't have been, I'm sure, though I never paid attention."
He shifted, to ease back some of his weight, so that he wasn't crushing the lieutenant back into the lockers as much.
"He'd been reading about the war, and found something that said that of all the men that were born in my year, the ones that went away to the war, out of a hundred, three men came back, and the other ninety-seven were killed."
The companionable arm around him soothed him further, and his gaze turned more thoughtful, more sage. "He said, 'Kasya, you're damn lucky,' and I was...startled. I'd always thought it had been bad luck, to live through such times, to see such suffering. To lose my friends, my family."
He shrugged. "I had never thought of it that way before. That instead of dying with the others, I lived, and that was what you called luck."
Kassian reached up to run his fingers through a lock of Isaev's thick, soft hair. "I don't know if it's true. If Tennyson was right. But I don't like having good things, because I just end up losing them. But if they're inflicted on me, and there's nothing I can do..." He trailed off, and shook his head slowly. "I might as well enjoy what I have while I have it."
"And be grateful," he added, after moment.
He cocked his head slightly and took in a deep breath. "I don't know if that answers your question, comrade, but that's the way I see it."
no subject
Kassian opened his eyes to meet Isaev's, and saw only good-natured bemusement there, and no accusation.
He didn't know what he'd expected exactly. He hadn't been sure. But again, Isaev seemed to make things easy, and Kassian just gave a nod.
"Vitya said something to me once," he said. It hurt less to speak of him now, and he felt less regret. "He was always reading, about the news, about politics. Things he shouldn't have been, I'm sure, though I never paid attention."
He shifted, to ease back some of his weight, so that he wasn't crushing the lieutenant back into the lockers as much.
"He'd been reading about the war, and found something that said that of all the men that were born in my year, the ones that went away to the war, out of a hundred, three men came back, and the other ninety-seven were killed."
The companionable arm around him soothed him further, and his gaze turned more thoughtful, more sage. "He said, 'Kasya, you're damn lucky,' and I was...startled. I'd always thought it had been bad luck, to live through such times, to see such suffering. To lose my friends, my family."
He shrugged. "I had never thought of it that way before. That instead of dying with the others, I lived, and that was what you called luck."
Kassian reached up to run his fingers through a lock of Isaev's thick, soft hair. "I don't know if it's true. If Tennyson was right. But I don't like having good things, because I just end up losing them. But if they're inflicted on me, and there's nothing I can do..." He trailed off, and shook his head slowly. "I might as well enjoy what I have while I have it."
"And be grateful," he added, after moment.
He cocked his head slightly and took in a deep breath. "I don't know if that answers your question, comrade, but that's the way I see it."