The disgust on Francis' face puts confusion on Raju's, for a moment. But it's not as if his topic doesn't match; disgust at having been so skeptical, maybe, or sharing that remembered bitterness of a ship full of men whose wellbeing was his to care for with no way in his power to care for them at all. That would be enough to put disgust on anyone's face, no matter how long it's been.
Francis' hand grips the shirt over his ribs more tightly and Raju's hand over Francis' shoulder tightens a little in sympathy. It stays that way as Francis goes on.
If this had been before, if he'd met this man in Delhi, or at home, that would have been easy to dismiss. Hardship can do strange things to even a strong and structured mind. But here, here and now, what Raju has heard has to go into that in-between place inside his mind where everything that he's observed and written down and struggled to make sense of has to go, the place which says wait, you have to wait to understand it and you don't have the full picture yet, you have to wait.
And Raju is still, now, prepared for a strange story. It's only the way that Francis says it, the thought, the possibility there that he's carved out for something else. Hickey had said gods and been sure, and it had been easy to disbelieve. Francis had said he couldn't tell enough to know, and that's... that's more difficult to turn away from. Devouring souls is impossible, easy to place as a desperate mind's explanation for the unexplainable, for whatever it was that had killed at least most of Francis' men. But what exactly had done it, what it is that those dead men had seen— Francis leaves more room for the unknown there, and something about that makes it worse.
Raju's frown is troubled now. But he'd said, if only to himself, that he could listen to whatever impossibilities he hears now, for the sake of a good man carrying this unknown burden, and he can. Raju doesn't have to believe it, or even understand it. Not right now. It takes him a moment to remind himself, and then put the questions in the thing away.
What he does have to do is get to the centre of this, to what pains Francis this way. Raju can't do much, ultimately, for the man's ribs, but maybe he can do a little for his heart, or his mind.
"Madness," Raju decides as he looks solemnly down at Francis, voice quiet in respect for the weight of the story, no matter what some unknown parts of him might be thinking about its contents. "You don't mean the kind which drives men to see the unexplainable, do you. You're afraid of something else."
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Francis' hand grips the shirt over his ribs more tightly and Raju's hand over Francis' shoulder tightens a little in sympathy. It stays that way as Francis goes on.
If this had been before, if he'd met this man in Delhi, or at home, that would have been easy to dismiss. Hardship can do strange things to even a strong and structured mind. But here, here and now, what Raju has heard has to go into that in-between place inside his mind where everything that he's observed and written down and struggled to make sense of has to go, the place which says wait, you have to wait to understand it and you don't have the full picture yet, you have to wait.
And Raju is still, now, prepared for a strange story. It's only the way that Francis says it, the thought, the possibility there that he's carved out for something else. Hickey had said gods and been sure, and it had been easy to disbelieve. Francis had said he couldn't tell enough to know, and that's... that's more difficult to turn away from. Devouring souls is impossible, easy to place as a desperate mind's explanation for the unexplainable, for whatever it was that had killed at least most of Francis' men. But what exactly had done it, what it is that those dead men had seen— Francis leaves more room for the unknown there, and something about that makes it worse.
Raju's frown is troubled now. But he'd said, if only to himself, that he could listen to whatever impossibilities he hears now, for the sake of a good man carrying this unknown burden, and he can. Raju doesn't have to believe it, or even understand it. Not right now. It takes him a moment to remind himself, and then put the questions in the thing away.
What he does have to do is get to the centre of this, to what pains Francis this way. Raju can't do much, ultimately, for the man's ribs, but maybe he can do a little for his heart, or his mind.
"Madness," Raju decides as he looks solemnly down at Francis, voice quiet in respect for the weight of the story, no matter what some unknown parts of him might be thinking about its contents. "You don't mean the kind which drives men to see the unexplainable, do you. You're afraid of something else."