Yhako and I decided to spend the
afternoon walking along Maidia
Street, as we had many years before, with
Ansidrion. We invited Qhema along, but
she declined, perhaps astutely recognizing that we needed this moment to
ourselves.
We merely exchanged our fare
further, and I told him a few words more about my experience while he had been
away. I mentioned that I had reconnected
with P’att and that he had stayed at our home for a time, but that a dispute
had caused him to leave, offering no details as to this dispute. There would be time for those stories later. Instead, I mostly spoke of protests, and
pointed out spots to him along Maidia
Street where certain momentous occasions had
happened.
When we approached the Apgha,
however, we fell silent. Yhako studied
the fallen gate, the broken windows, the tattered standards. He said nothing, but merely sighed at the
magnitude of it.
“Life certainly has changed in the
months since you left,” I said at length.
“It has,” he whispered. Then I saw a satisfied smile cross his
face. “And you have done this, Federan.”
“No,” I argued back quickly. “I have not done this at all. When brave Ilepyans took to the streets, I
was in my bed. I failed to sacrifice as
Ansidrion had.”
“If we all gave Ansidrion’s
sacrifice there would be no one left to enjoy the fruits thereof. But you have worked for this. You spent many nights in the street, and each
one of those nights was a risk on your life.
Federan, you are as much a revolutionary as any one of the others.”
I thought about my first protest,
and the nights with P’att in the streets.
I had passed many nights in my bed, yes, cowardly hoping others would
carry out the revolution on my behalf.
But I had also protested, I had also taken part in the Parebhur, I had
shouted my guilty name at the Apgha, and I had helped tear down those awful
gates. I was not the single hero, a
leading revolutionary, as I had fancied myself, but I was one of many who had
done his part to bring about profound change.
I smiled. “Yes, Yhako, I suppose
you are correct. I have done this. And so have you.”
“No, I am but a stuffy old academic,
kept in his study when the revolution began, fled abroad as it ended.”
“Yhako, do not decline this praise
again, for you have done many things in your own way. You have risked your life and livelihood to
seek help in Grontinion, you have trained and supported your brothers in their
activity. You must take your own credit
for it.”
But Yhako merely shrugged,
unconvinced.
“No single man brings about a
revolution, Yhako,” I continued. “No one
deed wins a war. It takes many
individual and collective actions by thousands of people. I have been one of those, Ansidrion has been
one of those, and you have been one of those.
We are no greater than the grocer who simply complies with the Parebhur
and the Evatarr, but otherwise goes about his daily life. But we are no lesser than the martyrs who
have given everything. Everyone has his
part to play, and we all must take pride therein.”
Again, Yhako said nothing, but where
before he had appeared full of doubts, now he seemed lost in thought. There was no way for me to know what he was
thinking just then—pressing Yhako never yielded much result—but for now I
contented myself that he was at least considering my argument.
After a few minutes’ silence, Yhako
placed his hand on my shoulder to indicate he was ready to continue walking, so
we ambled forward, away from that terrible form, that symbol of crushing
oppression that had, itself, been crushed.
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