act one, chapter four
the child and the beast
IN WOOL'S ORPHANAGE, the children who died of inhalation or cholera were buried in the back yard. their papers were burned and their existence turned opalescent until it became transparent. the ravages of war were still visible in the eyes of those whose parents had been slaughtered in the trenches.
in the inter-war period there was no place for childhood, a term for more modern times. the children were nothing more than soldiers too weak to hold a rifle. every year, the British Army visited the orphanage and implanted its military propaganda in those delicate young minds, desperate for glory. Tom Riddle still remembers the lessons he learned there from the four horsemen of the apocalypse:
Death; a girl with crimson cheeks fell asleep under a willow tree, a winter storm awoke her as the rain soaked her clothes. she cried out but Mrs. Cole had closed all the windows and doors. the girl freezed to death and was buried in the yard. T̶o̶m̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶ ̶f̶i̶v̶e̶ ̶w̶h̶e̶n̶ ̶h̶e̶ ̶c̶a̶u̶g̶h̶t̶ ̶M̶r̶s̶.̶ ̶C̶o̶l̶e̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶p̶r̶i̶e̶s̶t̶ ̶b̶u̶r̶y̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶g̶i̶r̶l̶ ̶b̶e̶f̶o̶r̶e̶ ̶d̶u̶s̶k̶
Famine; during the war, anti-tank mines had been cultivated in the fields and the farms. there wasn't much food and the prices were too high. the children were fed once a day, if they were lucky. some children, the most skilled ones, killed street cats and sold them among the others for the right price. T̶o̶m̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶ ̶s̶e̶v̶e̶n̶ ̶w̶h̶e̶n̶ ̶h̶e̶ ̶s̶a̶w̶ ̶a̶ ̶b̶o̶y̶ ̶k̶i̶l̶l̶ ̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶o̶w̶n̶ ̶d̶o̶g̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶e̶a̶t̶ ̶i̶t̶s̶ ̶m̶e̶a̶t̶ ̶r̶a̶w̶
War; the soldiers came during summer, gave them clothes and fed them with stew. the orphans listened closely as the generals compared the devotion they felt towards the homeland to the love provided by a parent. after each visit, boys dreamt about becoming soldiers and girls looked forward being nurses. while they played, they made the shape of guns with their hands and pretended to kill one another in cold blood. T̶o̶m̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶ ̶n̶i̶n̶e̶ ̶w̶h̶e̶n̶ ̶h̶e̶ ̶s̶a̶w̶ ̶h̶o̶w̶ ̶a̶ ̶c̶h̶i̶l̶d̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶n̶g̶e̶r̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶n̶ ̶h̶i̶m̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶ ̶r̶a̶p̶e̶d̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶b̶e̶a̶t̶e̶n̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶d̶e̶a̶t̶h̶ ̶b̶e̶c̶a̶u̶s̶e̶ ̶h̶e̶ ̶h̶a̶s̶ ̶a̶ ̶g̶e̶r̶m̶a̶n̶ ̶s̶u̶r̶n̶a̶m̶e̶
Plague; many children were affected by tuberculosis, others by cholera. Mrs. Cole locked them up in the cellar and pretended they no longer existed. those who did not perish to the disease were eaten alive by the rats, those very few who survived became vile towards the gods who had abandoned them in the dark. T̶o̶m̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶ ̶t̶e̶n̶ ̶w̶h̶e̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶f̶i̶r̶s̶t̶ ̶s̶y̶m̶p̶t̶o̶m̶s̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶c̶h̶o̶l̶e̶r̶a̶ ̶b̶e̶c̶a̶m̶e̶ ̶v̶i̶s̶i̶b̶l̶e̶,̶ ̶ ̶h̶e̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶ ̶l̶o̶c̶k̶e̶d̶ ̶u̶p̶ ̶i̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶c̶e̶l̶l̶a̶r̶ ̶w̶h̶e̶r̶e̶ ̶h̶e̶ ̶e̶n̶s̶l̶a̶v̶e̶d̶ ̶s̶n̶a̶k̶e̶s̶
the orphans of The Great War had eyes of cynicism and a melody of obscure ichor instead of a heartbeat. they watched men die and wail, and tried not to flinch. there was satisfaction in the act of watching a man suffer; staring, witnessing the gruesome execution without flinching. there was pleasure in the flinching.
an educated married couple attempted to adopt him once. the wife was a governess unable to bare children, the husband was a veteran and a doctor who enjoyed philosophy and vivisection. they were rich, aristocratic, racist and cynical. Tom would have been very happy with them, but Mrs. Cole whispered to them (before they got the chance to sign the adoption papers) that Tom was an abomination, a monster who had killed his own mother on purpose the day he was born. Tom replied saying it wasn't him who buried innocent children in the yard.
as a punishment, the priest intended to teach catechism to him. the priest (Tom can't remember his name) had yellow teeth and dishonest eyes, he believed a true devotee must suffer the agony of flagellation in order to be closer to god, he caused the death of many girls because of the syphilis he carried. Tom learned with him the doctrines he would later put to good use. he was never a christian, yet he still thanked god for making the priest have no interest in young boys.
THE PRIEST
thomas, you will burn in hell,
boy, remember my words
when you grow old
and decrepit like me.
fear the day of your death,
when death comes you won't
be able to repent.
Tom was forced to spent the nights in the cellar, and that was his hell. the darkness that surrounded him gasped, it stared at the boy as he flinched, but he didn't look away. in the blackness, he screamed (as we all do). begging for someone to hear him, hoping one day someone would scream back.
isolation, Tom decided during his last years at Hogwarts, shapes the world into motion and fractures reality. men created the very same culture that censores them, it is not religion but culture what dictates the actions of virtuous and vicious men alike. but culture, the core of human existence only exists in a civilization. when a man is reduced to solitude he's no longer a man.
children fear the darkness, the abyss of all sorrows. but as they grow up, children forget the reasons behind their fears: the dismembered bodies, the echoes of war, the violence, the beast's sharp theeth. alone in the cellar, Tom was not afraid of the shadows surrounding him, he was afraid of the monsters that could be lurking in them.
during his first months as a private tutor, when he fully understood the problematic behind his childhood fear, he exposed an enigma to his students the day after he finished reading The Lord Of The Flies. the class was quiet, only four students, two of each gender. some older, some younger (none were attending Hogwarts yet). he put his hands on his pockets and formulated the riddle.
TOM
a child, alone in a dark room,
terrified of what hides in the
abyss. he fears the beast and
the sins it commits. he chooses
to be oblivious to the truth,
what truth? i ask you.
he did not bother to remember the names of the young minds he would subdued one day although he awaited expectantly to the curious anwers they would give. a girl, rich, blue-eyes and with braided golden hair raised her slim hand.
BLUE-EYED LITTLE GIRL
there's a mud-blood
in the dark! that's what he
doesn't know!
BOY WITH SILVER HAIR
don't be foolish, cissy!
why would he fear a
mud-blood? they are
pathetic and weak.
it's the darkness
what he fears, obviously,
the beast is an Obscurus.
COLD-BLOODED GIRL
the riddle is wrong, professor!
why does he fear the beast?
what beast? there's nothing
there. nothing in the dark.
if he's alone in the cradling abyss, he's the only creature lurking in the cellar. if there's nothing there, the child is the very same beast he fears with terror.
the four horsemen of the last days taught him that: without light, without culture, men become the very same beast culture taught them to fear.
in this tale, Tom is the child that fears the beast, while Judith is the beast that doesn't understand she's nothing but a child in the blackness. his fingers touch hers and Tom feels the electricity, dark magic blossoming and corrupting the air around him. the boy finds himself in the void once again, but this time the weil of dark magic answers each and every one of his screams. the horrible sound of the magician's cry makes him flinch but god, isn't a cry another kind of melody? isn't it beautiful? i̶s̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶a̶ ̶c̶r̶y̶ ̶h̶u̶m̶a̶n̶i̶t̶y̶'̶s̶ ̶f̶i̶r̶s̶t̶ ̶s̶y̶m̶p̶h̶o̶n̶y̶?̶
JUDITH
let me grab some books
and then i'll guide you to
the cellar and introduce you
to the others.
as she selects various books from the mare magnum of volumes that saturate her shelves, Judith climbs a ladder exposing more of her slender legs that peek out from under her dress skirt. despite the obvious, Tom is unable to consider Judith a woman. he can't see her as such.
she is death with interruptions
she is the cradle and the abyss
she is the warlock's hairy heart
she is the child and the beast
she is a magician (not a witch)
she is herself. nothing more, nothing less. when someone is truly seen and understood, they no longer remain human; they cannot be considered as citizens, men or women, children or adults. they become themselves and no other word but their name can define them.
the vowels shape her name as she bites her nails until her fingers stained with charcoal bleed. Judith selects the books and Tom classify them into categories. a choreography, a waltz for the beasts meant to be danced until the days of wrath end. her fingers brush against his when she offers him a book and Tom feels the magic bloom from her fingertips: putrid, blasphemous, obscure, and addictively beautiful.
Tom absently thinks about his shattered soul and accepts that if he could, he would give all the fragments to Judith with no other intention than the desire to let her possess them, collect them and place them with other precious trinkets on the shelves. the waltz whines its last notes and as the darkness agonizes its song, Tom feels the urge to kiss her in the obscurity and find i̶m̶mortality there.
Judith grabs the cellar's key, rusty and malformed. she guides him through the back of the shop until they reach what in Borgin and Burke's would be a back door. she opens it and allows the darkness to devour it all.
JUDITH
the cellar is humid
and there isn't much light,
not the best place to read,
right?
TOM
i could read the books here.
or at my apartment.
as she descends the first few steps, the termite-eaten boards, warped by damp, creak under her feet. Judith lights a match that barely illuminates her face, highlighting the sharp angles of her features, her sunken hollowed eyes and her bony figure. her ebony hair fades in the darkness while her smile turns sardonic in the shadows.
JUDITH
what are you waiting for,
wizard-boy? don't tell me
you're afraid.
TOM
shut it.
Judith's laughter echoes through the stitches of the world. the match goes out, the abyss engulfs her body. Judith lights another match.
JUDITH
what are you afraid of?
the cellar? the beasts that
might lurk in the shadows?
or a fate worse than death?
TOM
no, just death,
isn't that daunting enough?
the match goes out again. Tom tries not to let go of the books in his arms as his muscles tighten. the starless night that leads to the cellar is barren. the only monsters they can find there can be found in each of the mirrors in which they see themselves reflected. but Judith understands his fear of the fading light and in the freedom the darkness offers her, she utters the words she would never dare to confess in daylight.
JUDITH
i met death when i was only
a child, she stood besides
my mother's deathbed
patiently waiting. i saw her
and she saw me. she had an
abyss where her face should be,
uncannily beautiful; white hair
like a veil. i could feel her
staring at me w̶i̶t̶h̶ ̶s̶o̶m̶e̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶
̶c̶l̶o̶s̶e̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶c̶o̶n̶f̶u̶s̶i̶o̶n̶
Judith shares that memory because she doesn't recognise where she is. Tom admires her in silence. but does she even know this Tom? has she ever shared her books with him and accepted his gifts? has she ever spent the night in his bed? has she looked at him one last time as death finally writes the last sentence of the story? no, not yet.
someday she will be with that Tom, today won't be that day.
TOM
my mother died
when i was born, my father
never wanted me. i know death,
i've conquered death.
JUDITH
yes, love, but have you
ever seen death cry?
that's when you know
you've won, when death cries
because you're gone.
the sound of someone trying to light a match is heard but no light emerges from the darkness. Judith made a deal with the widow of humanity whom she met at a funeral. she pleaded for more time and since then she has dedicated her eternal life to that debt she can never repay. she hides in the blackness and there she remains a prisoner of the now. if she were ever to leave her prison, death would follow her wherever she went; if only to see the eyes of her daughter once again.
JUDITH
if you had seen her weep
your loss you'd have recognized
in her your mother's eyes.
one always recognise the eyes
of a mother, even in the dark,
even in death.
a dying man cries for his mother
and death comes, answering his call.
Judith made an altar and shook hands with death herself; made a deal, burned all the bridges. she knows there is no afterlife for her; she has cursed her own spirit and she don't know where she will go once she becomes a corpse of dust. she doesn't ever want to find out.
despite the fear shared between their corrupted souls, her cyanide-green eyes meet his blue eyes of cynicism and in that gaze, in that infinite instant, Tom flinched when he catches a glimpse of the beast he feared as a child.
TOM
what do you think you'll find
when death cradles you
for the last time?
JUDITH
i don't know. maybe
i'll find the devil in the abyss,
expecting me with a patient
smile. he'll say: you're late.
and i'll apologize for
making him wait.
Tom listens to the broken voice that echoes from the depths of the cellar and follows the beast through the dark.