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“Don't- name Marzia in front of me. I have listened to her every plea in life, but we are now separated. What may please her does not concern me nor moves me to kindness." what? No- this was not it. Why was Cato saying that? He should have been happy to hear Marzia's name, that should have been their ticket into Purgatorio...
"But, I suppose, if Beatrice sends you then you do not need to flatter me. So go, then; but first wind a smooth rush around his waist and bathe his face, to wash away all the stains of your previous journey, for it would not be fitting to approach with eyes still dimmed by any mists, the first custodian angel, one from Paradise.” Virgil had made a false move, but they were granted passage and instructions, everything was alright. Just a miscalculation.
Then why did it feel like he had done something irreparable?
Cato then told them where to find the items they needed, but Virgil was only partially registering what was being said to him.
The sun was rising.
So many things were being said and he was registering maybe only half of them.
The sun was rising and his eyes were slowly adjusting to such a light he had not seen in forever.
When Cato had finished giving his instructions he and Dante started walking towards the beach, slowly, almost dreamlike.
So much was missing in Virgil's head.
They came to a place were the sun had not yet evaporated the dew on the vibrant green blade of grass.
Right, Dante had to wash his face of the sins of Inferno.
Virgil passed his hands on the wet grass, then gestured for Dante to come closer, so he could-
On his face there still were the sings of the tears that had rolled down his cheeks, his face was enlightened a bit by the rising sun... Virgil didn't know how long he spent with his hands on his cheeks, but neither of them had spoken to notice the time passing.
Time, time, time, not going on, just going round in circles...
Dante had seen so much he was clearly not ready for, had been so scared... he still was, probably, but his face did not show as much. No... there was a trace of something else in there...
Dante tilted his head of just one or two degrees, his look got just a little fonder, in a sort of understanding, but here and there Virgil really wanted for him not to see how little he knew of this place, how utterly confused he was, how he did not know what he was doing as much as he did when they were back in Inferno and he knew everything, he had all the answers, he had been sent by Beatrice who had been sent by others who had been sent by God himself, he couldn't misstep again like this, he-
“Is everything alright, Maestro?”
“Just- just call me Virgil. A mentor shouldn't mess up as much as I did before, so just...”
“For what it's worth, I don't see how that was anything but a brief lapse, but, as you wish, Virgil.” all said with a smile.
Oh. Oh, it was so excruciatingly painful how he had been the one giving Dante that soothing look of reassurance and not vice versa, but... such was the way of the Lord, apparently, ever astonishing.
Dante placed a hand on Virgil's, and he could feel his mind gently tumbling down.
They sat down for but a moment, the soft grass beneath them, with no one but one another, no one but one another, no one but-
The sun was rising.
The sun was rising and the journey was long.
The sun was rising and the journey was long and so they had to get up and leave the precarious stability they had in each other and get to the beach and get a rush and tie it around Dante's waist and see his face lit up in awe when a new rush grew by itself, see the faith of a man that was so lost in sin but was destined to come back to this very place, a man that, once at the top of the mountain of Purgatorio, he was destined to never see again, a man so lost in sin that yet had faith, so, so much faith.
Born after Virgil's time. Born with a choice. Born with a choice, and he was making the right one with this journey, but was he making the right one getting so close to him?
Purgatorio had brought so many doubts to him.
Dante looked at him puzzled- worried?
“'Publius Vergilius Maro, the man that once out of Inferno didn't even know how to place a step in front of the other.' They should have written that on my grave.”
“Virgil-” started Dante, but then found that he didn't have words in him that fit, so he simply took Virgil's hand.
And that was enough.