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your-disobedient-servant · 3 years

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Voltaire’s Paméla Letters Translated: Intro and Letter #1

The letters that Voltaire rewrote in the vein of Richardson’s Paméla after his falling out with Frederick the Great have intrigued me ever since I first heard of them in November or December. Only discovered to have been a rewrite and not originals in the late 20th century, it’s hard to say how much of it is authentic and how much exaggerated or made up, but for me, the fact that they have been altered only adds to the fascination.

Six months into learning French, I’m still not sure I’m quite ready to use this as translation exercises, but I’m impatient, I found the book for very cheap, and besides, I feel that to translate Voltaire you must channel some of the hubris, so bring it on. Poetry (to my surprise, it turns out I actually enjoy translating poetry in some masochistic way) and all. In the end, I am proud of the result.

This is not a very juicy letter, but I’m sure one will come along soon enough. I’m not sure how many will I be able to complete because there’s about fifty of them altogether, but I hope I manage at least a few.

Big thanks to everyone who helped me out with the draft. The rest under the cut for brevity, English followed by original French.

FIRST LETTER

In Clèves, July 1750

It is to you, please, niece of mine, to you, woman of a wit superb, philosopher of the selfsame kind, to you who, like me, of Permesse, knows the many paths diverse; it is to you I now address this disarray of prose and verse, recount my long odyssey's story; recount unlike I back then did when, in my splendid age's glory, I still kept to Apollo's writ; when I dared, perhaps courting disaster, for counsel strike for Paris forth, notwithstanding our minds' worth, the god of Taste, my foremost master!

This journey is only too true, and puts too much distance between you and me. Do not imagine that I want to rival Chapelle, who has made, I do not know how, such a reputation for himself for having been from Paris to Monpellier and to papal land, and for having reported to a gourmand.

It was not, perhaps, difficult when one wished to mock monsieur d'Assoucy. We need another style, we need another pen, to portray this Plato, this Solon, this Achilles who writes his verses at Sans-Souci. I could tell you of that charming retreat, portray this hero philosopher and warrior, so terrible to Austria, so trivial for me; however, that could bore you.

Besides, I am not yet at his court and you should not anticipate anything: I want order even in my letters. Therefore know that I left Compiègne on July 25th, taking my road to Flanders, and as a good historiographer and a good citizen, I went to see the fields of Fontenoy, of Rocoux and of Lawfeld on my way. There was no trace of it left: all of it was covered with the finest wheat in the world. The Flemish men and women were dancing, as if nothing had happened.

Go on, innocent eyes of this bad-mannered populace; reign, lovely Ceres, where Bellona once flourished; countryside fertilised with blood of our warriors, I like better your harvests than all of the laurels: provided by chance and by vanity nourished Oh! that grand projects were prevented by doom! Oh! fruitless victories! Oh! the blood spilled in vain! French, English, German so tranquil today did we have to slit throats for friendship to bloom!

I went to Clèves hoping to find there the stage stations that all the bailiwicks provide, at the order of the king of Prussia, to those who to go to philosophise to Sans-Souci with the Solomon of the North and on whom the king bestows the favour of travelling at his expense: but the order of the king of Prussia had stayed in Wesel in the hands of a man who received it as the Spanish receive the papal bulls, with the deepest respect, and without putting them to any use. So I spent a few days in the castle of this princess that madame de La Fayette made so famous.

But this heroine and the duc of Nemours, we ignore in these places the gallant adventure; for it is not here, I vow, the land of novels, nor the one of love.

It is a shame, for the country seems made for the princesses of Clèves: it is the most beautiful place of nature and art has further added to its position. It is a view superior to that of Meudon; it is a land covered in vegetation like the Champs-Élysées and the forests of Boulogne; it is a hill covered in gently sloping avenues of trees: a large pool collects the waters of this hill; in the middle of the pool stands a statue of Minerva. The water of this first pool is received by a second, which returns it to the third; and at the foot of the hill ends in a waterfall pouring into a vast, semi-circular grotto. The waterfall lets the waters spill into a canal, which goes on to water a vast meadow and joins a branch of the Rhine. Mademoiselle de Scudéri and La Calprenède would have filled a volume of their novels with this description; but I, historiographer, I will only tell you that a certain prince Maurice de Nassau, the governor, during his lifetime, of this lovely solitude devised nearly all of these wonders there. He lies buried in the middle of the forest, in a great devil of an iron tomb, surrounded by all the ugliest bas-reliefs of the time of the Roman empire's decadence, and some gothic monuments that are worse still. But all of it would be something very respectable for those deep minds who fall into ecstasy at the sight of poorly cut stone, as long as it is two thousand years old.

Another ancient monument, the remains of a great stone road, built by the Romans, which led to Frankfurt, to Vienna, and to Constantinople. The Holy Empire devolved into Germany has fallen a little bit from its magnificence. One gets stuck in the mud in the summer nowadays, in the august Germania. Of all the modern nations, France and the little country of Belgium are the only ones who have roads worthy of Antiquity. We could above all boast of surpassing the ancient Romans in cabaret; and there are still certain points on which we equal them: but in the end, when it comes to durable, useful, magnificent monuments, which people can come close to them? which monarch does in his kingdom what a procosul did in Nîmes and in Arles?

Perfect in the trivial, in trifles sublime great inventors of nothing, envy we excite. Let our minds to the supreme heights strive of the children of Romulus so proud: they did a hundred times more for the vanquished crowd than we solely for ourselves contrive.

In the end, notwithstanding the beauty of the location of Clèves, notwithstanding the Roman road, in spite of a tower believed to have been built by Julius Caesar, or at least by Germanicus; in spite of the inscriptions of the twenty-sixth legion that quartered here for the winter; in spite of the lovely tree-lined roads planted by prince Maurice, and his grand iron tomb; in spite of, lastly, the mineral waters recently discovered here, there are hardly any crowds in Clèves. The waters there are, however, just as good as those of Spa or of Forges; and one cannot swallow the little atoms of iron in a more beautiful place. But it does not suffice, as you know, to have merits to be fashionable: usefulness and pleasantness are here; but this delicious retreat is frequented only by a few Dutchmen, who are attracted by the proximity and the low prices of living and houses there, and who come to admire and to drink.

I found there, to my great satisfaction, a well-known Dutch poet, who gave us the honour of elegantly, and even verse for verse, translating our tragedies, good or bad, to Dutch. Perhaps one day we will be reduced to translating the tragedies of Amsterdam: every nation gets their turn.

The Roman ladies, who leered at their lovers at the theatre of Pompeii, did not suspect that one day, in the middle of Gaul, in a little town called Lutèce, we would produce better plays than Rome.

The order of the king regarding the stage stations has finally reached me; so my delight at the princess of Clèves' place is over, and I am leaving for Berlin.

***

LETTRE PREMIÈRE

À Clèves, juillet 1750

C'est à vous, s'il vous plaît, ma nièce, vous, femme d'esprit sans travers, philosophe de mon espèce, vous qui, comme moi, du Permesse connaisez les sentiers divers ; c'est à vous qu'en courant j'adresse ce fatras de prose et de vers, ce récit de mon long voyage ; non tel que j'en fis autrefois quand, dans la fleur de mon bel âge, d'Apollon je suivais les lois ; quand j'osai, trop hardi peut-être, aller consulter à Paris, en dépit de nos beaux esprits, le dieu du Goût mon premier maître !

Ce voyage-ci n'est que trop vrai, et ne m'éloigne que trop du vous. N'allez pas vous imaginer que je veulle égaler Chapelle, qui s'est fait, je ne sais comment, tant de réputation, pour avoir été de Paris à Montpellier et en terre papale, et en avoir rendu compte à un gourmand.

Ce n'était pas peut-être un emploi difficile de railler monsieur d'Assoucy. Il faut une autre plume, il faut une autre style, pour peindre ce Platon, ce Solon, cet Achille qui fait des vers à Sans-Souci. Je pourrais vous parler de ce charmant asile, vous peindre ce héros philosophe et guerrier, si terrible à l'Autriche, et pour moi si facile ; mais je pourrais vous ennuyer.

D'ailleurs je ne suis pas encore à sa cour, et il ne faut rien anticiper : je veux de l'ordre jusque dans mes lettres. Sachez donc que je partis de Compiègne le 25 de juillet, prenant ma route par la Flandre, et qu'en bon historiographe et en bon citoyen, j'allai voir en passant les champs de Fontenoy, de Rocoux et de Lawfeld. Il n'y paraissait pas : tout cela était couvert des plus beaux blés du monde. Les Flamands et les Flamandes dansaient, comme si de rien n'eût été.

Durez, yeux innocents de ces peuples grossiers ; régnez, belle Cérès, où triompha Bellone ; campagnes qu'engraissa le sang de nos guerriers, j'aime mieux vos moissons que celles des lauriers : la vanité les cueille et le hasard les donne. Ô que de grands projets par le sort démentis ! Ô victoires sans fruits ! Ô meurtres inutiles ! Français, Anglais, Germains, aujourd'hui si tranquilles fallait-il s'égorger pour être bons amis !

J'ai été à Clèves comptant y trouver des relais que tous les bailliages fournissent, moyennant un ordre du roi de Prusse, à ceux qui vont philosopher à Sans-Souci auprès du Salomon du Nord et à qui le roi accorde la faveur de voyager à ses dépens : mais l'ordre du roi de Prusse était resté à Vesel entre les mains d'un homme qui l'a reçu comme les Espagnols reçoivent les bulles des papes, avec le plus profond respect, et sans en faire aucun usage. Je me suis donc quelques jours dans le château de cette princesse que madame de La Fayette a rendu si fameux.

Mais de cette heroïne, et du duc de Nemours, on ignore en ces lieux la galante aventure : ce n'est pas ici, je vous jure, le pays des romans, ni celui des amours.

C'est dommage, car le pays semble fait pour des princesses de Clèves : c'est le plus beau lieu de nature et l'art a encore ajouté à sa situation. C'est une vue supérieure à celle de Meudon ; c'est un terrain planté comme les Champs-Élysées et le bois de Boulogne ; c'est une colline couverte d'allées d'arbres en pente douce : un grand bassin reçoit les eaux de cette colline ; au milieu du bassin s'élève une statue de Minerve. L'eau de ce premier bassin est reçue dans un second, qui la renvoie à un troisième ; et le bas de la colline est terminé par une cascade ménagée dans une vaste grotte en demi-cercle. La cascade laisse tomber les eaux dans un canal qui va arroser une vaste prairie et se joindre à un bras du Rhin. Mademoiselle de Scudéri et La Calprenède auraient rempli de cette description un tome de leurs romans ; mais moi, historiographe, je vous dirai seulement qu'un certain prince Maurice de Nassau, gouverneur, de son vivant, de cette belle solitude, y fit presque toutes ces merveilles. Il s'est fait enterrer au milieu des bois, dans un grand diable de tombeau de fer, environné de tous les plus vilains bas-reliefs du temps de la décadence de l'empire romain, et de quelques monuments gothiques plus grossiers encore. Mais le tout serait quelque chose de fort respectable pour ces esprits profonds qui tombent en extase à la vue d'une pierre mal taillée, pour peu qu'elle ait deux mille ans d'antiquité.

Un autre monument antique, c'est le reste d'un grand chemin pavé, construit par les Romains, qui allait à Francfort, à Vienne et à Constantinople. Le Saint-Empire dévolu à l'Allemagne est un peu déchu de sa magnificence. On s'embourbe aujourd'hui en été, dans l'auguste Germanie. De toutes les nations modernes, la France et la petit pays des Belges sont les seules qui aient des chemins dignes de l'Antiquité. Nous pouvons surtout nous vanter de passer les anciens Romains en cabarets ; et il y a encore certains points sur lesquels nous les valons bien : mais enfin, pour les monuments durables, utiles, magnifiques, quel peuple approche d'eux ? quel monarque fait dans son royaume ce qu'un proconsul faisait dans Nîmes et dans Arles ?

Parfait dans le petit, sublimes en bijoux, grands inventeurs de riens, nous faisons des jaloux. Elevons nos esprits à la hauteur suprême des fiers enfants de Romulus : ils faisaient plus cent fois pour des peuples vaincus que nous ne faisons pour nous-mêmes.

Enfin, malgré la beauté de la situation de Clèves, malgré le chemin des Romains, en dépit d'une tour qu'on croit bâtie par Jules César, ou au moins par Germanicus ; en dépit des inscriptions d'une vingt-sixième légion qui était ici en quartier d'hiver ; en dépit des belles allées plantées par le prince Maurice, et de son grand tombeau de fer ; en dépit enfin des eaux minérales découvertes ici depuis peu, il n'y a guère d'affluence à Clèves. Les eaux y sont cependant aussi bonnes que celles de Spa et de Forges ; et on ne peut avaler de petits atomes de fer dans un plus beau lieu. Mais il ne suffit pas, comme vous savez, d'avoir du mérite pour avoir la vogue : l'utile et l'agréable sont ici ; mais ce séjour délicieux n'est fréquenté que par quelques Hollandais que le voisinage et le bas prix des vivres et de maisons y attirent, et qui viennent admirer et boire.

J'y ai retrouvé, avec une très grande satisfaction, un célèbre poète hollandais, qui nous a fait l'honneur de traduire élégamment en batave, et même vers pour vers, nos tragédies bonnes ou mauvaises. Peut-être un jour viendra que nous serons réduits à traduire les tragédies d'Amsterdam : chaque peuple a son tour.

Les dames romaines, qui allaient lorgner leurs amants au théâtre de Pompée, ne se doutaient pas qu'un jour au milieu des Gaules, dans un petit bourg nommé Lutèce, on ferait de meilleurs pièces de théâtre qu'à Rome.

L'ordre du roi pour les relais vient enfin de me parvenir ; voilà mon enchantement chez la princesse de Clèves fini, et je pars pour Berlin.

#this nearly murdered me #i mean swearing at Voltaire is nothing new for me but #i open the book as soon as i get it and the first letter containd FIVE POEMS #dramatic little bitch (semi-affectionate)#anyway onto no. 2 #Paméla letters #my translation #Voltaire #Frederick the Great #Mme Denis

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dindjarindiaries · 4 years

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Thunder - Chapter 5: Wind

gif via @pascalplease

summary: With graduation and summer right around the corner, Frankie and Luciana find it harder than ever to keep their feelings for each other repressed.

warnings: mentions of parental death, so much pining, light angst, light fluff

rating: R

word count:

masterlist

chapter 5: wind

Today isn’t an easy day for Frankie. But he rarely has easy days, anyway. Today is just especially hard.

It’s been seven years to the day since Frankie’s mom passed away, and while it does get a little bit easier with each passing year, the wound still feels fresh. There’s a ring his mom always used to wear with his birthstone on it, and today, he finds himself taking it out of the small box of personal knick-knacks he keeps on his dresser. It’s attached to a chain that he can wear around his neck. He clips it in place, his fingers gliding down the silver chain until they reach the ring that hangs there. Frankie closes his eyes and lifts it to his lips. As if in a silent prayer, Frankie remembers the last time he saw his mom, promising her that he wouldn’t let her down and would accomplish his dream of learning how to fly.

Frankie sits down at his small desk meant for work and instead reaches into the lock-drawer, taking out a black leather journal that sits inside. He flips open the first page like he always does to see his mom’s handwriting, addressed directly to him. Francisco Morales, it reads, to write to me while I’m away. You’ll always have me, lovebug. Frankie smiles in a bittersweet way as he reads his mom’s endearment for him. He used to be so embarrassed by it back then, and now, it would mean the world to hear it again.

There’s a black silk marker that tells Frankie where he’ll be writing next. He picks up his pen and opens it to that page, seeing his last entry that’s dated a few weeks back—just before the semi-formal had happened. So much has gone on inside his head and heart since then, and he wonders how he’ll get it all on paper to his mom before his hand gives out. Frankie begins to write.

Mom,

I miss you a lot today. Well, I’ve been missing you a lot lately. Truth is, there’s been a lot happening since last time I wrote, and I really wish you were here to help me through it.

Frankie pauses to sigh, thinking about how he wants to word the rest. He presses the end of the pen against his pursed lips, staring blankly at the wall ahead before he decides on how to continue.

I think I might be in love, Mom. I’m not sure. Santi told me it’s complicated. I believe him. But that’s the problem. I told him I wouldn’t do anything with Luci, but you see Mom, that’s exactly it. I think I love her.

Seeing the words written on paper makes Frankie panic for a moment, and he stops to catch his breath as he reads them over and over. Does he really? Maybe he’s just being dramatic. Luciana’s been there a lot for him in the past few months, and that’s probably why he thinks he’s in love with her. She’s just been nice and a lot of people aren’t. But then his mind always go back to the night at the bar and the semi-formal and he remembers how damn beautiful she is and how her gaze glittered at him so affectionately and Frankie’s sure that he’s in deep for her.

I don’t know if she feels the same way, but I think she might. Maybe. There’s something weighing so heavy when we’re together and I think that’s it. But I’m not sure. I wish you were here to tell me if it is.

Frankie sighs, taking a second to put down the pen and run his hands down his face. He folds them together and rests his chin on top of them. If he’s being honest, he doesn’t know what the fuck to do. He’d been so sure when Santiago talked to him that he wasn’t going to reach this point with Luciana, but here is he, feeling as if he can’t breathe whenever she’s not around. The thought of never telling her and losing her once college ends freaks him out so badly that there’s a change to his breathing pattern. He forces himself to relax and picks the pen back up.

I don’t know what to do, Mom, because I don’t want to break my word to Santi but I can’t let Luci go. She’s an amazing woman, Mom. You’d love her. I wish you guys met. Her and Santi were always there for me when you left. She knows me almost better than I know myself, a lot like you always did. I can’t lose her like I lost you, and I won’t. Somehow, I’ll figure it out. But enough of my crises.

Frankie takes a deep breath and tries to look to the positives for once.

I graduate in a few weeks. Then, I’m off to finally do it: I’m gonna get my piloting license. I hope you’d be proud of me. Luci always says you would.

He pauses to smile at that.

I can’t wait to start flying, Mom. I’ll be so close to you when I do. Will you tell me which star’s yours, so I can try to take it? Or when you’re near a cloud, so I can wave at you? I’m 22 now, I know I can’t actually take a star, especially when I’m just flying a little plane or a helicopter, but I’d try for you.

Frankie swallows hard, willing himself not to get emotional as he writes his closing words.

I miss you so much, Mom. I hope you’ve had a good seven years of rest. I hated seeing you suffer. I’ll see you again someday. I love you so much.

Love, Francisco (your lovebug)

Frankie puts a kiss to the paper before he marks and closes it, setting it back inside his lock drawer. He moves from his desk chair to his bed, sitting on top of it as he holds the ring between his fingers again. His gaze is empty as it stares at the wall across from him. Just like he does every year since her passing, Frankie waits to see if he’ll somehow hear her voice talk to him again. It hasn’t happened yet, but maybe seven’s a lucky number.

Instead of a voice, though, he hears a gentle knock against his door. Frankie blinks a few times and looks over, dropping the ring and letting it knock against his t-shirt covered chest as he calls for his unexpected guest to come in. His heart flutters when he meets Luciana’s concerned gaze, her brown eyes sparkling with a sadder look than usual as she leans against his doorway.

“Hey,” Luciana greets softly, her voice as soft as the blanket at the foot of Frankie’s bed as she speaks. “I just wanted to come and see how you were doing.”

Frankie shrugs. “I wrote,” he answers simply. He’d told her about the journal a long time ago.

Luciana offers a small smile in response. “That’s good. I bet she’s already read it.”

“I hope so.” Frankie lets out a deep breath and swings his legs over the edge of the bed, watching as his sock-covered feet meet the floor. “I just wish I could get a response.”

“Remember what I said.” Luciana walks over to him, pointing towards the left part of his chest. “Her response is in there.”

Frankie gives her a weak smile, the best one he can manage right now. He doesn’t tell her that he needs more than just a feeling to guide him this time around, that the advice he’s seeking is more complicated than that. There’s no use—and he’s not looking to embarrass himself. “I know.”

Luciana’s smile widens a bit as she takes a soft breath, looking into Frankie’s eyes with a tenderness that almost has him weak in the knees. “Listen… you don’t have to say yes, because I know that it’s hard to do anything today, but if you wanted to get out for a little bit, I’d love to treat us to some ‘shakes to get your mind off things.”

Frankie tries to bite back another smile at her proposition. It’s… adorable. Sweet. There’s no better words for it and it makes Frankie’s chest ache in a good way. “You know, I’d really like that, Luce.”

When Luciana’s gaze begins to glitter up at Frankie, he swears he loses his breath for a moment. “Great! I’ll go get my wallet—the guys aren’t here, they wanted to let you have some privacy in the house, but I didn’t want to leave you alone.”

Frankie knows his expression is nothing short of grateful. “Thank you, Luce. That means a lot.”

Luciana gives her hand a nonchalant wave, though Frankie can see the deeper truth within her dark eyes. She turns and heads downstairs, and Frankie releases a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding as he reaches for his boots. There’s a warmth that’s replaced the emptiness in his chest, and for a moment, he wonders if Luciana’s words are right. Maybe he’s getting his response from his mom—and she’s telling him that this is the way to go.

Frankie makes quick work of his getting-ready routine and soon joins Luciana downstairs. She holds her wallet out with a cheesy smile, causing Frankie to chuckle as she leads them out of the house, locking it behind them.

“I hope you didn’t dare bringing your wallet, Francisco,” Luciana says, and Frankie snorts as he digs one of his hands into his pocket and lets the other swing alongside him. “There’s no way in hell I’m letting you pay for a single cent of these frozen bitches.”

“Did you just call milkshakes ‘frozen bitches?’” Frankie laughs, his smile widening when he hears Luciana’s laughter beside him. “You’re crazy.”

“I know. Learned it from some of the best.” Luciana gives Frankie a warm look and a smile as they head off for the dive, her gaze trailing down to Frankie’s swinging arm. His follows hers, and he watches as she slowly inches her hand closer to his. “So…” Luciana pauses, threading her fingers through his until their hands are entwined. Frankie feels a lump in his throat—but not a bad one. “… if your mom was coming with us, what kind of milkshake do you think she’d order? I think she’d have taste and order the Luci special.”

Frankie’s still trying to adjust to the feeling of her hand in his—something he’s only felt once before, that night on the roof after the semi-formal—as he thinks of a response. “Sorry to tell you, but she was a vanilla person. Probably would’ve gone apeshit for a good cookies ‘n cream milkshake.”

Luciana shrugs. “Can’t blame her. That’s a classic—and they make it real fuckin’ good over here.”

Frankie gasps overdramatically as he looks over at her with a dropped jaw. “You’ve had something other than your Luci special? How’s that possible?”

“It’s called the road to experimenting before the creation of the Luci special,” Luciana answers with a playful roll of her eyes. “How was I supposed to strike gold on my first try?”

“Dunno. At least you have it now—and got to try something else before that.”

“Yeah, at least I don’t just go plain chocolate and call it a day.”

Frankie lightly tugs at Luciana’s hand so that she stumbles a few steps towards him, making her laugh as he chuckles himself. “You have no room to come at me, García. They know both our orders like the back of their hands here. That should be equally embarrassing for both of us.”

“Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night, Morales.”

The two remain in comfortable silence for the final stretch of the way to the dive, only dropping each other’s hands when they step inside. They head for their usual table in the corner, sitting down just as Marlena approaches with her usual friendly smile. “Shakes?” she asks, gesturing with a finger between the two of them. Frankie and Luciana nod, and Marlena gives a knowing nod as she heads back to the kitchen.

Luciana sighs and parts her lips as if to speak but stops when she catches the ring hanging around Frankie’s neck. Her gaze looks back into Frankie’s. “Is that your mom’s?”

Frankie looks down at the ring and then back up to Luciana. “Yeah. Has my birthstone on it. She gave it to me the last time I saw her.”

Luciana smiles in a bittersweet manner, hesitating before she goes on. “Is it alright if I…?” she trails off, gesturing with her hand to pick it up. Frankie nods, watching as she reaches across the table to take it in her hands. It’s still on the chain around Frankie’s neck, causing her face to be closer to his than usual. Frankie hears his heart thump a bit faster in his chest at the proximity. Luciana’s dark gaze warms up at the sight of it, admiring the silver band and still-shining stone. “Wow. It’s beautiful.”

“That’s fitting for her.”

Luciana looks up at Frankie to widen her smile, her gaze falling back to the ring soon after. “Can I try it on?”

Frankie’s taken aback a bit by her question, but nevertheless, he nods. He watches with awe as she slips it on her finger—and it fits her as if it was made specifically for her. Luciana looks up at Frankie again with an excited expression.

“Your mom and I must have the same ring size.”

If Frankie’s been waiting on a clear sign from the universe about Luciana, that was it. Frankie’s in such shock of the blatant sign of his mom’s presence—the most obvious one he’s had ever since she passed—that he can feel himself starting to tear up just a bit. He attempts to blink them back, refusing to be so shamelessly emotional in a public place, but Luciana knows him well and she’s close enough to tell. She frowns.

“You okay, Frankie?” Luciana’s eyes then widen a bit as she quickly reaches to take the ring off. “Did I go too far?”

“No, no, no, Luce, I’m alright,” Frankie reassures her, taking a deep breath as he feels the tears melting away. Thankfully.

“Do you want to get them to go?” Luciana questions, gesturing with her thumb to the kitchen.

“No, don’t worry—I swear, I’m okay. I just…” Frankie sighs, trying to decide how to word his thoughts without spilling his entire heart to her, “… I thought I felt my mom for a second.”

Luciana’s gaze flickers with joy. “Here?”

Frankie nods. “It’s hard to explain, but it’s never happened before.”

Luciana grins. “She must really want that cookies ‘n cream shake, huh?”

Frankie laughs, shaking his head as Marlena brings their shakes. They keep the topic off his mom while they enjoy their desserts, solely laughing and joking about other topics ranging from Benny’s latest crazy party to the prospect of graduation being so close. Frankie tries to ignore the ache in his heart at thought of them all going their separate ways. He knows Luciana isn’t going with them into the next phase of life—and the thought of that separation pains him so greatly that he almost feels his milkshake coming back up.

They walk back to the house—hand-in-hand again, but separating when the house comes into view, just in case the boys are back—and the rest of the day is spent watching Magnum P.I. reruns and eating pizza, the boys joining them once they return. The whole group heads to bed earlier than usual thanks to an early morning venture to their favorite mountain peak, the last time they’ll be able to hike it together.

The drive isn’t bad, and they only need two cars as they head there the next day. Frankie’s only concern is making sure that he keeps his feelings for Luciana under control with Santiago being nearby. The incident with the ring is all he’s been able to think about, and he knows it could lead to him doing some things that he shouldn’t in front of his friend. It’s just not the time yet.

The group parks in the dirt lot at the foot of the trail and gets together. They check in to make sure they have everything they need—emergency survival tools with Will, food and snacks with Benny, first-aid equipment with Frankie, and extra water bottles split between Santiago, Tom, and Luciana—and start to head up. Frankie always takes up the rear, wanting to have a clear look at his friends in case of emergency, and the rest of the group clears the way. Though they practically have this trail memorized by now, Frankie’s always on the look for something dangerous, wanting to keep his friends safe in the event that something happens.

Being surrounded by nature lets Frankie’s thoughts expand and become freer than usual. His overthinking about Luciana is given room to breathe, as if he can stretch every worry throughout the entire surrounding forest and not have to feel so suffocated by it. The sound of his boots making satisfying crunches over leaves, twigs, and other debris works in a therapeutic way to relax him. Frankie likes to look around and see if he can spy any nearby animals—but his favorite thing to do is look at the sky. Sometimes, the trees surrounding them block it from him, but at other times he can get a clear view of it. It makes Frankie feel more connected to it when he’s out here.

They’re about three quarters of the way to the top when Frankie suddenly hears a squeal of shock coming from Luciana’s direction. Instantly, he snaps his gaze towards her, watching as her foot gets caught in a dip of the forest floor. She falls to the side, letting her lower half take the weight rather than trying to catch herself with her hands. She lets out a loud curse.

“Luci!” Santiago exclaims as he turns around and stretches his hands out to his sister, as if to help her up. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I think so,” Luciana answers, accepting his hands and letting him help her up. As she goes to take a step forward, however, her ankle gives out, and she practically collapses onto Santiago. “Shit—never mind. I think I wrenched my ankle.”

Frankie hurries over to her, already taking off his backpack as he reaches for the first-aid kit. Santiago continues to hold Luciana up. “Do you need to go back? Maybe you should see a doctor.”

“No, it’s fine, Santi,” Luciana assures her brother. “I’m being a little bitch about it. You guys keep going, we’ll catch up.” She gestures to Frankie, who’s already taking out whatever creams, ice packs, and wraps he needs to work with.

Frankie looks up to give Santiago a reassuring nod, and he sighs as he helps Luciana to a nearby boulder where she can sit. “Alright. But be careful, Luci.”

“I know, I know. You know me—so clumsy.”

Santiago chuckles a bit, nodding as he turns back to the rest of the group. They continue up while Frankie starts to tend to Luciana’s ankle, removing her boot so he can inspect it. “How’s it lookin’, doc?” Luciana asks him. “Am I gonna be able to walk again?”

Frankie snorts, shaking his head as he gently releases her ankle to reach for the tube of arnica bruising cream. “It’s a little swollen, but nothing terrible,” he answers, never looking away from his work. “You probably just have a muscle strain. If you rest it for the remainder of the day, you’ll be fine tomorrow.”

Luciana scoffs, her gaze constantly watching Frankie as he finishes with the cream and cracks an ice pack, placing it against her ankle and securing it there with a cloth wrap. “Leave it to me to fuck up our last hike.”

“Hey, you didn’t fuck it up.” Frankie looks back up to Luciana once he finishes his work, putting the first-aid kit in his backpack and softening his eyes at her. “Look, the show will go on.” He reaches back inside his backpack and takes out his spare granola bar, handing it to Luciana along with two pills for the pain. She accepts them gratefully, swallowing the pills with her water and starting to break into the granola bar.

“I don’t know how when I can’t even walk.” Luciana mumbles the words through a mouthful of the bar, causing Frankie to chuckle.

“You won’t have to walk.” Frankie puts Luciana’s boot in his backpack and hangs it on the front of his body, gesturing to his now-open back as he stands up. “I’ll carry you.”

Luciana raises her brow as she looks at him incredulously. “Frankie, I’m not making you carry me the entire way up and down this mountain.”

“Luci, don’t worry, I can handle it. Plus… I could use the workout.” Frankie slaps a hand over the part of his stomach that isn’t covered by the backpack, causing Luciana to laugh as she shakes her head.

“You’re perfect just the way you are, Flyboy.” Frankie tries not to let the heat rise in his cheeks at her compliment, instead reaching out to help her onto her good foot. He bends down enough for her to be able to get herself onto his back, and his hands grip either sides of her thighs as he helps her slide further onto his back.

“Comfortable?” Frankie questions, waiting for her green light.

“I feel like I should be the one asking you that.” Luciana’s tone is laced with shared gratitude and guilt as Frankie turns his face as much as he can to try to see her. “It’s great, Frankie. Thank you so much.” With a smile, she kisses his cheek, causing Frankie’s heart to stop for a moment as he quickly tries to regather his bearings.

“Uh—yeah, Luce. Of course. It’s the least I could do.” He bits back a smile as he turns his head towards the trail again, feeling Luciana’s arms secure around his neck as he starts to catch back up to the boys.

Before long, they close the distance, and thankfully Santiago isn’t at all suspicious of the way Frankie’s carrying his sister. Instead, he thanks him, grateful that Luciana can somehow still join them on the rest of the hike. They reach the peak in no time, and the sight never fails to take Frankie’s breath away. He looks out in awe, letting Luciana slide off his back for the time being as she stays at his side, leaning on his arm for support.

“I’ve always thought this view was so beautiful.” Luciana’s words are hushed, as if she wants to keep them between herself and Frankie.

Frankie looks from the view to her, watching the way she scans over the landscape ahead with such wonder in her dark eyes. He adores it. He adores her. “Yeah, this is a stunning view.” Luciana finally looks over at Frankie, and upon realizing that he’d been gazing at her when he said the words, he sees the heat rise in her cheeks. She looks out again with a squeeze to his arm, and Frankie does the same.

The group gets together after a few minutes of staring, eating a few snacks to prepare themselves for the trip back down. They crack some jokes and laugh as is routine for them, Will threatening to throw Benny off when he tells an embarrassing childhood story that the group somehow hasn’t heard before. Frankie’s heart feels fuller than ever at the time spent with his family in one of their favorite places, and he refuses to let the haunting thoughts of the future ruin it.

After about an hour on the peak, the group gets their things back together and starts the descent. Luciana’s on Frankie’s back again, and while she continually worries about hurting him or wearing him out, Frankie insists that she feels weightless. It’s true; Frankie doesn’t know if it’s Luciana’s rather petite size or his trips to the gym actually coming in handy for once, but Luciana feels light as a feather. Even lighter than his backpack had been.

By the time they get to the bottom and head home, the group’s yawning from having to be up so early and partaking in so much physical exertion. Frankie never stops helping Luciana even as they get back to the house, taking her on his back yet again as he helps her upstairs and into her room. He sets her on her bed and provides her with more pain medication, ice packs, and the tube of arnica cream.

“You should ice on and off every fifteen minutes,” Frankie instructs her gently, “and keep your foot elevated. That’ll help it to heal fast, hopefully by tomorrow. The bruising doesn’t look too bad, but if you want to get rid of it more, put on some more arnica. And if you need anything, don’t get it yourself. You just yell for help. Okay?”

Luciana laughs. “Alright, doc.” Frankie chuckles and shakes his head, crossing his arms as he looks down at her. She stays silent for a moment, looking up at him through her lashes. Her brown eyes are glittering, and Frankie finds his stomach fluttering again. “Thank you so much, Frankie. Seriously. Everything you did for me today… it means a lot to me.” She pauses, her gaze falling for a moment before it looks into his again. “You mean a lot to me.”

Frankie’s heart soars higher than his airplanes ever could at that. He can’t suppress the smile that grows on his lips. “You mean a lot to me too, Luce. That’s why I did what I did.” He stops for a moment, willing himself to be brave as he leans down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “You’ll be back to normal in no time.”

Luciana smiles up at him. “Bummer. I like having you take care of me like this.”

Frankie shrugs with a chuckle. “You’ll just have to roll your ankle again, I guess.”

Luciana gives him a shove while she laughs, gesturing to her bedroom door. “Don’t let it hit you on the way out.”

Frankie laughs with her, biting back another smile as he heads for the door. He closes it gently behind him, looking to see if any of the boys are around. When he doesn’t spot them, he lets himself lean back against her door, closing his eyes as his smile spreads wide.

Frankie doesn’t know how the hell he’s gonna do it—especially with the opposing pressure of his best friend—but he’s sure that he has to make Luciana his, before he loses her.

next part: chapter 6: thunder

thunder tag list: @youhavereachedtheendofpie @charmantbarnes @theindiealto @fangirl-and-stuff @phoenixhalliwell @maybege @amarvelousmandalorian @seawhisperer @mrsparknuts @saltywintersoldat @softpedropascal @i-hide-inside-my-head @sunshinepascal @domino-oh-damn @thirsty-flygirl

permanent tag list: @mikahid @bestintheparsec @stilllivindue2spite @givemethatgold @xbrujita @mandalorianspace @blushingwueen @sevvysaurus @myakai13 @thisis-theway @beskars @rachelloveseveryone @theindiealto @hiscyarika @burningsoulbloodyheart @wickedfrsgrl @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @bookwafflefangirl @charliepeaceout @cable-kenobi @ezraslittleblondestreak @hdlynn @your-pixels-are-showing @b0n-chann @javier-djarin

pedro characters tag list: @ezraslittleblondestreak @nettyklecan @b0n-chann

#oH BABIES #PLEASE MY HEART #slkdfjskldjfskfj]#frankie morales #francisco morales #catfish morales #frankie morales fic #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #thunder fic #dindjarindiaries

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