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raspberryhunterUmm. Instead of a) doing all the RL work I have to do, b) working on the post on the Aeneid I have only owed ricardienne for the last month, c) working on the SGU fic, or d) working on my rarewomen fic, I have instead written my first Les Mis fic, because it apparently bothers me that much when people say that Javert won't be in heaven because he committed suicide.
On AO3 here.
Title: Resignation (974 words)
Summary: Javert isn't singing in Barricade Heaven, but it's not because he committed suicide.
Notes: Barricade Heaven is, of course, from the movie. I've tried to stick to the book otherwise, especially Javert's book characterization.
Javert had expected darkness. He remembered the last moments of darkness, water clogging his lungs, the brief flash of panic; but even with his eyes closed he could feel the harsh light on his face.
He finally made himself open his eyes. The light was bright, too bright. He squinted against it.
"Ah, there he is," he heard a voice say. "Inspector? Inspector Javert?"
The light dimmed, or his eyes adjusted to it. He was lying on some sort of soft cloth pallet. Beyond him was something that looked very much like the student barricades he had spied on, with a number of people standing atop it.
He was very tired, and he had thought he was beyond this. A face swam into view, the face of a young man, really no more than a boy.
This boy had been at the barricade, Javert remembered. He had been the one they called Joly. Some sort of medical training had been mentioned. This doubtless explained why he was at Javert's side.
Apparently he must have said some of this out loud. Joly looked relieved. "I am glad to see that your mental faculties and powers of recall are undiminished," the youth said gaily. "But yes, I was at the barricade. I will admit to not having a great liking for you at that time, Inspector. But now all is different, you shall see."
Javert scowled, not understanding, glancing away from Joly and at the monstrosity of broken furniture that was clogging the street. "I am -- alive?"
"You're not," Joly said, looking just a touch worried. "I do hope that does not alarm you to hear. You are, indeed, in the afterlife."
"No," Javert said, frowning heavily. He sat up. "No, it does not alarm me. I had expected that answer." He had also expected oblivion, to the extent that he had expected anything at all of what would happen after his death. Or perhaps some sort of harsh judgment. Yes, he would have welcomed the idea of judgment.
What he had not expected was for the afterlife to be so full of debris. Certainly, had he put any thought into it, he would have assumed it to be a great deal more orderly. And he had not expected the worried, hopeful boyish face looking at him earnestly and saying, "Inspector Javert, you have been unconscious for quite a long time. We had not seen anything like it in this place, my friends and I, and we did not know what it meant. But recently it all became clear: you were waiting for someone."
Javert frowned even more deeply. He stood up, testing his legs. They seemed in relatively good working order.He did not understand this place in the slightest, nor why he was there, and he certainly had no idea what the boy was going on about. "Waiting for whom?"
"When M. Valjean came, it was obvious how you came here and what you were waiting for. It is because you saved him," Joly blithered on. "The good Lord has seen fit to save you in your stead --"
"I find your theology tiresome, obnoxious, and incorrect," Javert snapped. Really, it was not as if his religious education had been anything noteworthy, and even he knew better than that.
"-- even though you were a suicide --"
Was it not enough that he must be familiarly accosted by the very rebels he had attempted to denounce before his death? Must all the world know his private business? "How did you know that?" he choked out.
"M. Valjean told us when he came here, while you were indisposed," Joly said to him, beaming. "He read it in the Moniteur. Look, there he is --"
Javert turned. At the top of the barricade was, indeed, Jean Valjean, clean of the grime and mud that had covered him the last time Javert had seen him. Valjean, apparently somehow sensing Javert's eyes on him, turned to wave cheerfully. There was a faint luminosity about his figure, as befitted a saint.
Surely this was Hell. The only consolation was that Valjean had not known his true state of mind, the reasons why he had let Valjean go and why he had jumped into the Seine. That of all things he could never have abided.
"Oh, Inspector Javert," the boy went on, "let me take you to Valjean, all is forgiven and understood here. He did not come to wake you, for he thought it might be too much, too soon. But only come with me; he will be so pleased to see you here in Heaven --"
Javert shuddered.
"The whole point," he finally managed to snarl at the boy, "was never to have to deal with any of you again, especially him." And never to have to deal with any of the problems and questions the man raised, even here, even now. He did not want to think about them. He was not going to think about them. He did not want to be either understood or forgiven, by either Valjean or God. It would only underscore his failure in life, that he had not succeeded in maintaining his irreproachability.
Joly did not look hurt -- Javert supposed that one could not, in fact, hurt another person in Heaven -- but he looked almost as bewildered as Javert felt. Javert pushed past him brusquely. Improbably, as he trudged off, he heard the strains of some sort of song rising from the barricade behind him, something about swords beaten into plowshares. He thought he could pick out Valjean's voice, though he had never heard the man sing, strong and firm in the chorus.
Clearly, suicide was not a sufficiently strong message, but surely, somewhere in Heaven, God would have an office where he could turn in his resignation, again, and depart this place.
He kept walking away, looking for it.
On AO3 here.
Title: Resignation (974 words)
Summary: Javert isn't singing in Barricade Heaven, but it's not because he committed suicide.
Notes: Barricade Heaven is, of course, from the movie. I've tried to stick to the book otherwise, especially Javert's book characterization.
Javert had expected darkness. He remembered the last moments of darkness, water clogging his lungs, the brief flash of panic; but even with his eyes closed he could feel the harsh light on his face.
He finally made himself open his eyes. The light was bright, too bright. He squinted against it.
"Ah, there he is," he heard a voice say. "Inspector? Inspector Javert?"
The light dimmed, or his eyes adjusted to it. He was lying on some sort of soft cloth pallet. Beyond him was something that looked very much like the student barricades he had spied on, with a number of people standing atop it.
He was very tired, and he had thought he was beyond this. A face swam into view, the face of a young man, really no more than a boy.
This boy had been at the barricade, Javert remembered. He had been the one they called Joly. Some sort of medical training had been mentioned. This doubtless explained why he was at Javert's side.
Apparently he must have said some of this out loud. Joly looked relieved. "I am glad to see that your mental faculties and powers of recall are undiminished," the youth said gaily. "But yes, I was at the barricade. I will admit to not having a great liking for you at that time, Inspector. But now all is different, you shall see."
Javert scowled, not understanding, glancing away from Joly and at the monstrosity of broken furniture that was clogging the street. "I am -- alive?"
"You're not," Joly said, looking just a touch worried. "I do hope that does not alarm you to hear. You are, indeed, in the afterlife."
"No," Javert said, frowning heavily. He sat up. "No, it does not alarm me. I had expected that answer." He had also expected oblivion, to the extent that he had expected anything at all of what would happen after his death. Or perhaps some sort of harsh judgment. Yes, he would have welcomed the idea of judgment.
What he had not expected was for the afterlife to be so full of debris. Certainly, had he put any thought into it, he would have assumed it to be a great deal more orderly. And he had not expected the worried, hopeful boyish face looking at him earnestly and saying, "Inspector Javert, you have been unconscious for quite a long time. We had not seen anything like it in this place, my friends and I, and we did not know what it meant. But recently it all became clear: you were waiting for someone."
Javert frowned even more deeply. He stood up, testing his legs. They seemed in relatively good working order.He did not understand this place in the slightest, nor why he was there, and he certainly had no idea what the boy was going on about. "Waiting for whom?"
"When M. Valjean came, it was obvious how you came here and what you were waiting for. It is because you saved him," Joly blithered on. "The good Lord has seen fit to save you in your stead --"
"I find your theology tiresome, obnoxious, and incorrect," Javert snapped. Really, it was not as if his religious education had been anything noteworthy, and even he knew better than that.
"-- even though you were a suicide --"
Was it not enough that he must be familiarly accosted by the very rebels he had attempted to denounce before his death? Must all the world know his private business? "How did you know that?" he choked out.
"M. Valjean told us when he came here, while you were indisposed," Joly said to him, beaming. "He read it in the Moniteur. Look, there he is --"
Javert turned. At the top of the barricade was, indeed, Jean Valjean, clean of the grime and mud that had covered him the last time Javert had seen him. Valjean, apparently somehow sensing Javert's eyes on him, turned to wave cheerfully. There was a faint luminosity about his figure, as befitted a saint.
Surely this was Hell. The only consolation was that Valjean had not known his true state of mind, the reasons why he had let Valjean go and why he had jumped into the Seine. That of all things he could never have abided.
"Oh, Inspector Javert," the boy went on, "let me take you to Valjean, all is forgiven and understood here. He did not come to wake you, for he thought it might be too much, too soon. But only come with me; he will be so pleased to see you here in Heaven --"
Javert shuddered.
"The whole point," he finally managed to snarl at the boy, "was never to have to deal with any of you again, especially him." And never to have to deal with any of the problems and questions the man raised, even here, even now. He did not want to think about them. He was not going to think about them. He did not want to be either understood or forgiven, by either Valjean or God. It would only underscore his failure in life, that he had not succeeded in maintaining his irreproachability.
Joly did not look hurt -- Javert supposed that one could not, in fact, hurt another person in Heaven -- but he looked almost as bewildered as Javert felt. Javert pushed past him brusquely. Improbably, as he trudged off, he heard the strains of some sort of song rising from the barricade behind him, something about swords beaten into plowshares. He thought he could pick out Valjean's voice, though he had never heard the man sing, strong and firm in the chorus.
Clearly, suicide was not a sufficiently strong message, but surely, somewhere in Heaven, God would have an office where he could turn in his resignation, again, and depart this place.
He kept walking away, looking for it.
