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Jun. 27th, 2005 10:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lastgunslingerThe woods that Roland saw through the front door of Milliways -- the forest of East Stoneham, Maine -- are greatly like the woods that Shardik, the Bear Guardian, ruled northeast of the Western Sea. Tall pine trees and vibrant undergrowth, with sunlight filtering through in a haze of green and gold. As Roland recovered from his sickness, brought on by losing two fingers, often he would find himself transfixed by the way the light shifted through the canopy. The light of the woods behind the lake at Milliways is different; and the woods of Calla Bryn Sturgis, where Roland came from, do not have quite the same richness of color as his brief glimpse of the Maine woods.
The forest of Calla Bryn Sturgis makes Roland think of Pere Callahan. One afternoon, between Susannah's display of her skill with the oriza plate and the throwing contest between the three women of the Calla, the Pere and the gunslinger had ridden out to the woods.
They're not exactly like the woods where I grew up, the Pere said, but sometimes you need a taste of home. Don't care what Thomas Wolfe had to say about it.
What was that? the gunslinger asked idly, pulling his horse away from a patch of grass. There'd be time to let them graze later.
Mr. Wolfe was of the opinion that you can't go home again. And he was right -- you can't. But that doesn't mean we stop trying. Callahan stared off into the distance. I'll tell you something, Roland -- there are days I wonder what my mother and father would have made of all of this, and sometimes I want to see them so badly it hurts. And then there are days that I'm glad they're dead and gone, and I only hear them up at the Doorway Cave. They'd be ashamed, of course. But all the same...it's good to get a taste of home.
Roland didn't reply.
It's ironic, when you think about it -- Wolfe saying you can't go home again, and then Rowan Macgruder's shelter being named Home. And Rowan was well-read -- I have no doubt that he knew what he was doing. The Pere shook his head. A good man. It's those kinds of people -- they're family.And the Pere smiled to himself. My parents. Mo cuishle.
The gunslinger looked at the priest.
Irish. Gaelic. It's a phrase that means my darling. My blood. I haven't thought about that in years -- but when I was younger...that's what they called me, every now and again. Callahan didn't say anything for a moment, and when he did, there was a huskiness to his voice. You can't go home again, Roland -- but that doesn't mean that memories won't come along to knock you on your ass when you least expect it.
Now, in the here and now, Roland sits in his chair in his room, with his feet propped on the windowsill, and a cigarette in his hand.
Parents. Celeste Kane -- a stone bitch. Gabriel Tam -- a son of a bitch.
Roland knows well he's going to have to hurt River if the Academy plan is to work. It'll make her a better gunslinger, though...and maybe, if they're all very lucky, she'll find some peace.
It's going to be hard to keep Simon Tam calm. It's going to be even harder to watch her hurt, and deal with the accusing glares from Simon and Ted Brautigan.
But hardest (and best) of all: to see how River fights it, though it hurts.
Mo cuishle, Roland thinks. Mo cuishle.
He stubs out his cigarette and watches the sun go down through tired eyes.
The forest of Calla Bryn Sturgis makes Roland think of Pere Callahan. One afternoon, between Susannah's display of her skill with the oriza plate and the throwing contest between the three women of the Calla, the Pere and the gunslinger had ridden out to the woods.
They're not exactly like the woods where I grew up, the Pere said, but sometimes you need a taste of home. Don't care what Thomas Wolfe had to say about it.
What was that? the gunslinger asked idly, pulling his horse away from a patch of grass. There'd be time to let them graze later.
Mr. Wolfe was of the opinion that you can't go home again. And he was right -- you can't. But that doesn't mean we stop trying. Callahan stared off into the distance. I'll tell you something, Roland -- there are days I wonder what my mother and father would have made of all of this, and sometimes I want to see them so badly it hurts. And then there are days that I'm glad they're dead and gone, and I only hear them up at the Doorway Cave. They'd be ashamed, of course. But all the same...it's good to get a taste of home.
Roland didn't reply.
It's ironic, when you think about it -- Wolfe saying you can't go home again, and then Rowan Macgruder's shelter being named Home. And Rowan was well-read -- I have no doubt that he knew what he was doing. The Pere shook his head. A good man. It's those kinds of people -- they're family.And the Pere smiled to himself. My parents. Mo cuishle.
The gunslinger looked at the priest.
Irish. Gaelic. It's a phrase that means my darling. My blood. I haven't thought about that in years -- but when I was younger...that's what they called me, every now and again. Callahan didn't say anything for a moment, and when he did, there was a huskiness to his voice. You can't go home again, Roland -- but that doesn't mean that memories won't come along to knock you on your ass when you least expect it.
Now, in the here and now, Roland sits in his chair in his room, with his feet propped on the windowsill, and a cigarette in his hand.
Parents. Celeste Kane -- a stone bitch. Gabriel Tam -- a son of a bitch.
Roland knows well he's going to have to hurt River if the Academy plan is to work. It'll make her a better gunslinger, though...and maybe, if they're all very lucky, she'll find some peace.
It's going to be hard to keep Simon Tam calm. It's going to be even harder to watch her hurt, and deal with the accusing glares from Simon and Ted Brautigan.
But hardest (and best) of all: to see how River fights it, though it hurts.
Mo cuishle, Roland thinks. Mo cuishle.
He stubs out his cigarette and watches the sun go down through tired eyes.
