Although he'd already suspected enough to make the guess in the first place, and it hardly matters anyway if this situation would force him to tell the truth, it's still something of an unpleasant shock to have the confirmation. He doesn't blame Francis for talking about this, especially since he'd been here for some time before James arrived; it's entirely understandable that Francis would need to talk about things that happened, especially to a trusted friend. On some level, James is even glad that Francis has the opportunity to do so.
But at the same time, he feels a somewhat nauseating sense of... Resignation, perhaps. Just one more thing that has been so utterly out of his control, one more thing he's had no choice in, one more thing he just has to figure out a way to deal with.
"He didn't kill me." James finds himself saying, focusing on one thing he can perhaps do, which is to defend Francis in some way. He's not certain if that wording is exactly what Francis had used when describing what happened to Raju, but he thinks it's unlikely Raju would've put it that way if it weren't.
His tone is distant, controlled, as he continues; if he has nothing else, at least he can choose how he conducts himself. The darkness, which has been so terrifying for the first few minutes, is now welcome as it hides him while he speaks. "I asked him, because I couldn't do it myself. The scurvy would have killed me, but more slowly, and I didn't..." He didn't want to go through it, and so he'd made that horrible request of Francis, who had agreed despite the weight it would mean he has to carry. They'd spoken about it, during the meeting, and James believes Francis meant what he'd said about not regretting it, but that doesn't make it something easy to live with.
"The symptoms of scurvy are... Varied. But for me, one of the first things to occur was a worsening of my vision." It had been so early on, before anything more noticeable, that James had just though it was exhaustion causing his blurry vision; it had taken some time to make the connection even after he'd figured out he was unwell, and fortunately it was only really bad in one eye rather than both. But he doesn't think he needs to elaborate much further on this--and doesn't want to, because the horror of what had happened with his illness is an entire separate layer to what he's already had to speak of--as the answer to the initial question of Raju's likely now easy enough to infer.
And although there's no ominous rumbling of the cave system following his words, neither is there the sound of a passage opening.
cw discussion of suicide
But at the same time, he feels a somewhat nauseating sense of... Resignation, perhaps. Just one more thing that has been so utterly out of his control, one more thing he's had no choice in, one more thing he just has to figure out a way to deal with.
"He didn't kill me." James finds himself saying, focusing on one thing he can perhaps do, which is to defend Francis in some way. He's not certain if that wording is exactly what Francis had used when describing what happened to Raju, but he thinks it's unlikely Raju would've put it that way if it weren't.
His tone is distant, controlled, as he continues; if he has nothing else, at least he can choose how he conducts himself. The darkness, which has been so terrifying for the first few minutes, is now welcome as it hides him while he speaks. "I asked him, because I couldn't do it myself. The scurvy would have killed me, but more slowly, and I didn't..." He didn't want to go through it, and so he'd made that horrible request of Francis, who had agreed despite the weight it would mean he has to carry. They'd spoken about it, during the meeting, and James believes Francis meant what he'd said about not regretting it, but that doesn't make it something easy to live with.
"The symptoms of scurvy are... Varied. But for me, one of the first things to occur was a worsening of my vision." It had been so early on, before anything more noticeable, that James had just though it was exhaustion causing his blurry vision; it had taken some time to make the connection even after he'd figured out he was unwell, and fortunately it was only really bad in one eye rather than both. But he doesn't think he needs to elaborate much further on this--and doesn't want to, because the horror of what had happened with his illness is an entire separate layer to what he's already had to speak of--as the answer to the initial question of Raju's likely now easy enough to infer.
And although there's no ominous rumbling of the cave system following his words, neither is there the sound of a passage opening.