[The rain is harsher here, elevated and exposed. Paul kneels at Lazarus' side and tips his head back as he waits, his eyes closed against it, and his eyes ache with its relentlessness.]
Do you think she'll be able to see me, like this?
[No one ever sees me, but he could be wrong. He has wanted, does want, so badly to be wrong. There is nothing so lonely as not being seen.
So he turns, still gleaming, to his guide.]
Would she have found us, without the water?
[The question comes to him unbidden; it weighs on his tongue like a teaching, though it isn't one.]
no subject
Do you think she'll be able to see me, like this?
[No one ever sees me, but he could be wrong. He has wanted, does want, so badly to be wrong. There is nothing so lonely as not being seen.
So he turns, still gleaming, to his guide.]
Would she have found us, without the water?
[The question comes to him unbidden; it weighs on his tongue like a teaching, though it isn't one.]
Would we rise, without the flood?