I call him the devil because he makes me want to sin
(and every time he knocks, I can't help but let him in)
This is important, he thinks, following behind his father dutifully. He does not fear the rocks, the slippery path, the threat that stares up at them plain-faced and open. He has confidence in his own sure-footedness and an arrogance that comes from both power and youth. Perhaps, when he is older, he will stare upon the rocks and see his own morality. Perhaps he will stare upon them and will see his body breaking, bones shattering, flesh piercing. For now, he only sees something to be tamed, something to be conquered.
They come upon the shore, and Pollock provides instruction that he soaks in, internalizing it and filing it away. One day, he will not just tease the edges of art. One day, he will not just begin to mold the edges of the clay given to him; instead, he will dive into the belly of the beast and emerge a man, a master. He will have strewn the pieces aside, cast it asunder, and carve out the masterpiece that was just waiting—
Waiting for him.
He nods, dark eyes fever bright, watching as his father washed himself in the saltwater, as the ocean came and grabbed the gore from his forehead and nose and pulled it out to sea. He watched as the water turned pink around him, the foam of it discolored and beautiful—art. He can feel a rare excitement brewing in him, an understanding blossoming beneath the tide as his father emerges and turns to face him fully.
Silence continues to reign over them, Bruise just nodding. There was no need to answer him; he was not going to refute what his father knew and he didn’t need to agree to it. This was simply the truth of it, they both knew it. Bruise liked to test his boundaries, like to test new material. Some was soft and supple, like Rhae who easily molded; others were hard as steel and just as likely to cut him as he they. All had value. He just simply needed to learn them—to discover them—and that required what Pollock called play.
Still, the excitement grew within him, and he just nods in agreement.
“Yes,” he says, knowing there was a final step—one he looked forward to taking.
And then he just dips his head, following his father once more.
