OOM: Building II

[road_to_calvary]

Without allowing himself to think much about it, Valjean wanders in the direction of Javert’s building site this afternoon. It has been almost two weeks since the evening with the rock, and he has not tried to come back since. But the work at the charcoal kilns has finished; he has not seen Javert; he is back to having few ways to fill his time. The clearing in the woods calls to him. A place that will become a place of God. He does not want to leave it alone.

Things have changed somewhat. The dug foundations remain as they are, but Javert has evidently turned his attention to the making of bricks. Valjean is a little confused as to why he did not start with that, because they could dry while he dug – but then, of course, the weather. Not that it is ideal now, but at least it has stopped raining.

He leans on a tree, and watches. In one corner of the clearing, there is a stack of already-made bricks. There is a large bag of red sand on the ground, a moveable table set next to it. Two moulds are filled, and scraped off, on the surface. There is a large wooden board set off to the side, raised to an even level by four sawn-off logs. About a hundred bricks sit on it, neat and brown. He has evidently found the knack of the work, then. Valjean knows a little of this business, as he knows a little about most peasant’s occupations. Still, he frowns. They look dried. They should not have had the time to do that. They were not here last time he visited, and they are supposed to sit for around a month before they can be fired, so that some of their moisture leaves them.

Javert himself is occupied with the stack already made. He appears to be building a wall in a square, around two metres on each side. A kiln, then. Valjean watches the precise movements of his hand as he applies the hand-made mortar, the deft scrape of trowel against stone as he removes the excess that squeezes out when the weight of a new layer is applied. He works fast. He has evidently taught himself this at some speed also.

Perhaps he should leave him to it. His gaze roams the building site once more. It is peaceful here, below the trees with a mountain towering above. The air smells like Spring this afternoon. In his mind’s eye, he can imagine what it might look like; a white building perhaps, with a cross. Stained glass windows? Flowers along the wall that will smell sweet, and show their colour against the paint, and the grass that will grow back once the work is done. He smiles at the image – and then it turns rueful. This is Javert, after all. He may not paint it at all. He may not allow flowers. He may not even build windows.

His gaze returns to the man, and then he straightens because Javert is looking at him, half-turned, the trowel in his hand paused with a load of mortar balanced on the blade. Valjean nods to him. Javert turns away, and resumes his work. It is likely a silent instruction to leave, but the man is never shy of saying that aloud, so perhaps not. He will chance it. He walks over.

‘Good afternoon, monsieur.’

Javert’s glance flits sideways at him. Valjean puts his hands behind his back.

‘It is a beautiful day.’

‘Why are you here?’

A fair question, but one he does not know the answer to, exactly. He elects to ignore it. ‘Your bricks have dried quickly.’

‘They had help. Not, I hasten to add, help I asked for.’

Valjean almost smiles, but manages to stifle it. Javert is still looking at him. ‘There is nothing wrong with taking assistance. Though by the speed of their drying, I assume some magic was involved.’

Javert snorts quietly, and focuses back on his task. ‘Divine intervention.’

‘Oh?’

‘It is not your business.’

He cannot dispute that. And the answer intrigues him, but he will not pry. ‘The roof over your new bricks is not secure. If it rains-‘

‘You do not need to tell me, Valjean. I am as capable as you of learning how to make things.’

‘My apologies.’ He slides off his jacket, and begins to roll up his sleeves. ‘And of course you are. I would venture you already know how to fix it. It is simply that it is a two-person task.’

Javert visibly sighs. He sets down his trowel, and turns. Valjean watches him watching him, but does not stop what he is doing.

‘You are presumptuous in the extreme, Valjean.’

‘Perhaps. But I am also here, and have no wish to see your work ruined. I imagine you would prefer it not to be either. Therefore, accept my help and we shall see it done.’

He tucks his sleeves into themselves at the elbow and stands waiting. Javert – ever unable to keep his thoughts off his face – is clearly maddened, but there is resignation there too. And his ire does not approach the levels of their last confrontation on this matter. Perhaps he is becoming accustomed to the idea. Valjean can only hope this is a good sign.

‘…very well,’ he says eventually, through gritted teeth. ‘I will allow it. Only because I have been told that I should. I would rather it not be you.’

Valjean accepts this as a given. He smiles. ‘I will hold the ceiling up, then. You secure it. It will not take long.’

It does not take long. It is almost disappointingly quick with the two of them working together. When it is done, Javert turns away from him without a word, and with only a nod of thanks. It is presumably a dismissal, but Valjean finds – somewhat to his surprise – that he does not want to go. If he leaves, it will be to another day without Cosette, another afternoon drifting through the hours with only the thoughts of his daughter to keep him; a poor substitute for the real thing, and almost more painful than the reality of her absence. If he could not think of her, perhaps her absence would not twist in him so much.

Javert is looking at him. He realises he must not have moved, or there must be something on his face to give away his pain. He rectifies that; Javert frowns, and averts his eyes. Valjean hesitates. And then, while being sure to temper the desperation he feels starting to rise, he says, ‘may I help with your kiln?’

Javert sucks in a deep breath, and lets it out. Valjean does not understand his expression; something like agony, and a lot of resignation still. He was expecting an outright ‘no’ – but seconds have passed, and the man still has not said that. So he waits, expecting it to come whenever this unknowable internal battle is over.

‘…I have no choice but to agree.’

Valjean blinks. Javert rounds on him.

‘Understand this, Valjean. I will allow it, but only because I told another that I would. I still do not want you here. But-‘

He stops, struggling with something. This is a look he recognises. He saw it in Montreuil on occasion, when the Inspector was asked a question and he answered it with something he considered less than the whole truth. It was something you could count on with Javert; whatever the man’s faults, he was never anything than utterly honest. Damningly honest, at times – and if it was ill when others suffered for that, the man also made sure to condemn himself just as harshly.

‘…I do not mind so much as I did.’

Valjean blinks again. That…was not the truth he was expecting. A small bud of hope – that they might find a way through this, so he might be free – starts to cautiously unfold itself in his chest. ‘Javert-‘

‘No, do not.  Of course I would rather not see you again. Of course I would rather you did not help.’

‘But -?’

Javert huffs in frustration, and his fingers curl into a ball. He speaks with the manner of someone who would rather not say these words, but is forcing them from his mouth. They appear to cost him something but what, Valjean cannot tell. ‘You have said it yourself, in the past. You will not leave until we have resolved something. I do not know what there is to resolve, but I imagine you know more than I on this. For my part, I must-‘ he breaks off, and whatever war he is trying to fight, he clearly loses, ‘-I must allow people to assist. I have been told. And you have asked, so by all means, come and-‘

Valjean cannot watch this anymore. Javert looks almost in physical pain. He steps forward. If this were anyone else, he would grasp his arm. ‘I would like to help.’ He did not realise how much, until now. ‘You are building a house of God. I would very much like to assist, if you will permit it.’

It is cruel to ask, perhaps. Javert clearly does not want to say yes. But Valjean must – has no choice but to – live by his conscience, and his conscience tells him that if they can work together at least a little, some understanding may come. They will be free of each other. And more than that, Valjean must occupy himself. If he is to fulfil the task before him, and resolve matters with Javert, he must not spend his time alone, thinking of Cosette. There will be plenty of time for that when Marius takes her away forever.

‘I will permit it.’

It has been a long time since Valjean saw a man look so beaten. Pity wells up through him, as well as shame for putting him in this position in the first place. But they must progress. He cannot stay here much longer without being pulled back to a place he has no wish to see again. So in the end, he feels nothing but gratitude. ‘Thank you. Sincerely.’

Javert does not look at him. He just turns away, and walks back to the kiln. ‘I will show you what to do, if you do not know already. I only have one set of tools, but the bar will lend you more at no cost. You may start tomorrow, after luncheon.’ It is a mutter, but clear enough. Valjean catches up to him, and puts his hand over the trowel to stop him picking it up right away.

‘Javert.’

And waits until there is eye contact. It takes a moment or two.

‘I must be clear. I am not trying to take your project from you. If this is something you truly cannot allow, I will understand. No matter what you have been told by someone else. I will not see you forced into this.’

Javert’s lips press together. Once more, a war on his face. But it does not seem so bad as before, perhaps. In any case, the silence that follows is not so long. ‘I said I will permit it. Do not fuss.’

Valjean smiles, and removes his hand from the trowel. ‘My apologies. I will not fuss. Show me your methods, and I will follow them. And I will return tomorrow.’

And the day after that, and every day after that, until this is finished. Until they have done what must be done.