Chapter Text
After, my life took on the cadence of a dance.
I lived and breathed the moves that drew the lines of my body into shapes that curved around audiences like wisps of candle smoke. Desire was a tamphon drum that beat its rhythm into the air around me, holding it in heat that was pitched to the perfect temperature, a caress that was gentle and soothing as a warm bath. Gone were the jeers and insults, or the endless, strange hands that grasped at my body with the vulgarity of a stray cat swiping at an untended piece of meat.
Now, when people looked at me, they would never again dare say that I wasn’t elegant or skilled enough. When messages for companionship inevitably came, they were humble with intent, accompanied by gifts that I could reject or accept at will, because I was my own master now, and no one could take anything from me unless I gave it of my own free will.
At Man Suang, you either earned respect through position or you earned respect through endurance.
I had earned it ten times over and the others had no choice but to respect me, whether it galled them or not
One day, I would have my own apprentices and dance students. They would arrive with hope in their eyes and calluses on their feet. They would look to me for guidance and find that beauty that everyone since my childhood had called rare, and discover that to be like me, they would have to learn to slowly and painfully mold their bodies and hearts into shapes for which they had never been intended. They would cry and grovel for relief and some would even fade away in defeat, while a precious few would find triumph in their own endurance. To those, I would teach them my most precious secrets, like how to move and dance and survive the brutality of their dreams.
**
The first letter came a month after he vanished into a beam of sunlight, like Phra Lo slipping away from his handlers as his armies marched on a mission of intimate conquest through the city of Suang. Lo moved towards his prize in a straight line, over and through each obstacle his enemies placed in his path, but Chatra had never known how to do anything with such a direct offensive. His way was to circle around and around like a kite spinning in the breeze, until someone finally grasped the cord and tugged him back to the center. It was fitting, given how our friendship had bloomed in the dark spaces and shadows of a house of illusions.
Parchment was expensive, as was the wax he used to seal his letter but I was careful to slip my finger between the fine paper and gently open it. Seated at my small dressing table, I caught an aroma wafting from the folded page and discovered its familiar counterpart in a covered dish near the looking glass. I at once recognized it as the finishing powder I use on my face when I dressed for a performance. Hesitating, I raised the paper to my nose and inhaled deeply, marveling at the minute details of my friend’s attention.
Beneath the powder was another, fainter smell, one I had always associated with Chatra - something green and pure that came from the world outside, like spring rain or flower roots freshly dug from the dark-brown earth. I let it consume me, fill the quiet places where I kept my endless memories of him tucked away. It was unseemly to allow anyone to occupy my thoughts to the extent Chatra occupied mine, but those thoughts were my secret comfort, a soothing balm to the charred places that even my dance could not tame. Gentle, like petting Ruang in bed just as the light of another morning streaked across the covers, and bathed us both in a fresh brush stroke of a newly gilded day.
Those tiny details brought back the dark nights and strange days of only a few months ago, the recollections of which I savagely shoved away. I’d had enough of mourning and regret. I wanted to remember without aching.
I began reading.
**
Khem,
I am writing this letter as I finalize preparations to depart with the Siam delegation on a merchant ship in a few days’ time. Our ultimate destination is to arrive in England within the month. I was assured by the British Consul himself that the voyage would be as comfortable as such a long journey can expect to be. He even insisted we would be dining in Queen Victoria’s court within the fortnight, which I know to be a gross underestimation of the time required to get there. Out of decorum, I humored his authority and thanked him for his consideration. It is an honor my father could have hoped for, but I know better than to trust the impression of a foreigner who has already decided that my accented English and polite smile must mean I am as gullible as the children who run underfoot in the market.
Even as I pack the last of my effects, I find myself thinking back on the last few months, and the events that brought me to this pass. Those memories would be unforgivably incomplete without taking account of you. I have reports that your dancing improves a pace, and that what was once a remarkable, natural talent has become exquisite through discipline and practice. It was nothing like that first dance for which you had been so decisively dressed down. The criticism was unnecessarily harsh. To me, you always danced beautifully, from the very start. But you bore that punishment, as you bore so much else with admirable obstinacy. I understood very quickly that you were made of something stronger than your circumstances could justify.
You may ask who the spy has himself employed as a spy to monitor you, but in this, I must beg your indulgence. I want to receive my impressions of you in your most natural state without imposition of some artifice at knowing you are being watched. Now that I reread these lines, perhaps I have undone my intention by revealing my hand too soon, but I must beg you now as I did once before - do not change or hide your true nature from me. You are always at your best when you are most yourself. You would do a disservice to yourself and to all who esteem you by being anything other than who you are. You owe it, if not to me, than to yourself.
Please do not inform Ruang that I’ve written three long paragraphs before remembering to ask after him. It is not that I have forgotten him, but that a true alchemy has taken place in my mind. He is no longer Ruang as I have left him, a process that began the instant he first met you. It was clear when he took to you almost immediately, as if you’d been cut from the same cloth. Now the memories of him and of you are fused in my mind and I cannot think of my beloved pet without finding you there as well. You, in your deceptively simple country dress and refined feline movements, all energy and purpose lying in wait behind your wary eyes.
Because I have been so egregious in my inquiries of Ruang, you must make reparations in my place. Caress him generously. In particular, you must take care to scratch the soft skin behind his ears, paying particular attention to the wonderful, flawless slope of its shell. If you have not discovered this already, you will soon know what it means when he dips his head, exposing the tender skin of his smooth neck. It will draw you in like a lodestone seeking true north, and it will be all you can do to resist running your fingers over its sweet curve. But in particular, do not ignore the proud jut of his shoulders or the narrow dip of his hips, making sure to scratch carefully until he overcomes his natural diffidence and purrs in your lap. It is this stroke that he will most recognize as mine, and by this he will understand that it comes from me.
When you have done all this, if he can still tolerate you after so much devotion, then find a bit of crayfish, cleaned and well cooked, and offer it to him. He deserves the indulgence, and will be best persuaded by satisfying the appetites left unexplored by his circumstances.
I will think fondly of his purring under my palm as I sail these windy seas to make my acquaintance with harsh people on a desperately cold and brittle island. And each burst of chill will remind me of the warmth and gentleness I left behind, a warmth I hope will wait for me upon my return.
And if you are very brave, and if he allows it, leave him a kiss on his forehead from me. It is very likely he will scratch you for your efforts. But if he has been persuaded just so, he may allow you that small pleasure before running off to his safe place.
If he is not, remember that I am patient, and so must you be. I know that one day, he will come around to it. I must believe that. He is aloof, but he aches for the same comforts I do, even if he cannot speak of them because his nature does not allow it, or act on them because the society of cats stifles him.
In that unique and wondrous place, take care of him, if possible, better than I would. For I fully intend on returning one day to reclaim a small place in that wild beast’s heart.
I must end this letter as I began - with the banality of my preparations. I have tested the patience of my manservant long enough and he glares at my delay to attend a dinner this evening. I took the liberty of including an address where all my correspondence will be collected. Perhaps I will find a letter from you upon my arrival on those cold English shores, or soon after. Some small token of my father’s land to sustain me during these months of tedium that await me. I will be sure to explore the arts when I arrive and watch them with an eye on sharing with you the fashions and styles most popular there. But mostly, I will be thinking of Ruang, of his playful ferocity, and his unwavering steadfastness as I count the days of my return. I can only hope he does not forget me during my absence.
Yours,
Chatra
Title inspired by the song Come Back…Be Here by Taylor Swift.