Vanessa Ives

Had I had been older, I would have seen more. Beneath the laughter, beneath that great, easy outpouring of conversation, it wasn't tension exactly, was it? Not amongst two such congenial families. No. It was more a tremor of something. Like words hollered down a bottomless pit that come back occluded and more complex. Adulthood.
And on that terrible night, that night it happened, did anything particularly important happen at dinner? No, not that I recall.

— Do you know how many men I have killed? In Africa we walked in blood every step. There was a time I would gladly have killed you. There may come a time I gladly shall. But for now, I can make use of you.
— And no more?
— What else? Forgiveness? Go to your Roman church for that, you'll find none here.
— Have you imagined for one moment what this has been for me? An unforgivable transgression that has marked me for life. You think you've suffered. You think you know blood. You think you've walked on corpses. Spread them from here to the horizon and I have walked further! You weak, foul, lustful, vainglorious, man. How dare do you speak to me of death.
— Then we will speak it together.