13. Stella Cadente (Shooting Star)

Full picture album.

Malaise Like No Other

The sky is turning ochre over the Social Welfare Agency.  The trees are still in the evening air as the clouds drift inexorably by.  Tema III, faint and anxious, plays in the background.  Triela and Henrietta are having tea together again, but the semblance of cheer is gone, Triela’s mournful gaze out the window belying what is underneath.  The light is fading and the night approaches.

Triela notices Henrietta filling her tea with multiple spoonfuls of sugar, surprised her little acolyte has such a sweet tooth:

Henrietta: “It hasn’t seemed very sweet lately, so I wind up adding lots of sugar.”

The savor of life is fading in this new atmosphere as well.  She attempts to compensate the only way she knows how, adding more masking enjoyment, but it no longer tastes as it once did.  Her melancholy cannot be assuaged through pleasure.  Triela perks up with her normal roguish smile:

"Okay!  From now on, I'll call you 'Sugar Girl!'"

Henrietta giggles weakly followed by an embarrassed moan at being called sweet, a blatant show of fondness from her older sister.  But her face does not lift, the mouth remaining hidden furtively behind the cup.  Triela laughingly relents seeing that her bid did not work.  Claes ignores them both, headphones in and book open on the bunk above, obdurately keeping to herself.


Basking for a moment at the sincere attempt, Henrietta smiles blandly in habit and anticipation of feeling soothed.  But it does not come and soon both her will and forced cheer fade, realizing that this cannot distract her either.  She returns her cup to the table, the sugar peering dolefully up from the bottom.  She does not let go the handle, lost still in what is afflicting her.


Triela stares for a moment with affection, the smile also made sorrowful by the uncreased eyes, before turning back to stare out the window.  She cannot fix this for Henrietta, the comforts of custom having deserted the little girl as well.  Looking downward, the memory that Henrietta cannot forget fills her once more:

Angelica: "You know the truth.  We're all going to die!  We're going to die not knowing anything!"

It is inescapable.  Nothing can adequately cover what she is feeling, not pleasure or routine or kind intentions.  Returning to the dormitory room, both girls are again silent, Henrietta stirring reflexively to no avail.  They are all going to die.

Star-Struck and Distracted

Night has fallen and Triela stands at the window, continuing to look out at the sky in thought.  The oppression has lifted for now, although Henrietta still vainly seeks comfort in the bear before her.

Triela: "Speaking of guidance, how'd it go?"
(Henrietta turns her head with a surprised, "Eh?")
Triela: "You know, you were the one who said you wanted to see the meteor shower from the training grounds."
(Henrietta listens to this quizzically, finally straightening slightly in apprehension)
Triela: "You said the lights from Rome would make it hard to see from here."
Henrietta: "Oh... right." (Staring at "Dopey")

Henrietta misunderstood Triela's question.  Triela intended to inquire about supervision for their trip to watch the meteor shower, but what Henrietta heard was the more pointed and worrisome query: "How did your talk with Jose go?"  It is a continuation of their conversation from the beginning of last episode, but still nothing has changed.  Henrietta doesn't trust Jose anymore, afraid to approach him for what it might mean, and now guiltily fears a rebuff for her dawdling.


Underneath, however, is an admonition.  Henrietta is leaving her greater quest of seeing the stars unattended, tripped up by her fears.  She has become so absorbed it takes several promptings for her to understand what Triela is talking about.  This slowness causes a sliver of reprimand to slip into Triela's voice, and she reminds Henrietta clearly that the little girl already knows what she's supposed to do; it was her idea in the first place to get distance from obscuring lights so that she could perceive things unclouded.


After a moment of staring in light chagrin for her self-conscious misunderstanding, misguidedly happy she wasn't scolded, Henrietta jerks in alarm at the reminder.  Jose is waiting for her on the roof!  How could she have forgotten about him for even a moment?  Leaping from her chair she rushes toward the door.

Henrietta: "Sorry!  I have to go!"
Triela: "So, is everything set?"
(Henrietta turns from the door with a reassuring smile)
Henrietta: "Yeah!  It's all set!  I already asked Jose about it."

Henrietta has matured now.  She has a sense of self, a character that is no longer straightforwardly naive and is galled to realize her errors.  It is a compound embarrassment that not only has she failed to sort things out with Jose like her teacher would want her to, but that knowing he is unreliable she may let her friends down as a result.  Defending this ego has now become a priority, and something to lie about to her own detriment.  Projecting a confidence she does not feel, Henrietta fluently misrepresents herself as she leaves, the final piece to creating an independent identity.

Childhood's End

Up on the roof, Henrietta is again with Jose.  But the stars seem fainter, dimmed in the background; they fade along with her faith.  Watching him, she stands in troubled silence, still unable to speak as he distracts himself by staring through the telescope.  After a moment, he calls her over to peer through as well.  She puts on her best blandly happy face and assents, eagerly peering at what new wonder he has brought her:

Jose: "See that double star?  That's Rigel, known as the 'Left Leg of the Giant.'"

Hearing this, Henrietta's eye narrows and her mouth closes in disappointment.  It's the same old thing, the same tired tricks, and the same threadbare stories about himself, Orion.  More ridiculous mythological tales about what patently appear to just be a pair of dots in the sky.  Examined this way, they don't even look to be part of a constellation at all.  Does he still think her that stupid?


But for her next question she has nobody else to ask.  So she turns to Jose, to her god, to the source of meaning who once knew everything:

Henrietta: "Angelica won't be able to leave the hospital any time soon, right?"
Jose: "Yeah..." (Troubled)
(Pause.  Realizing that he will not speak more of his own accord, Henrietta prompts him again)
Henrietta: "Everyone is worried about her."
Jose: "Why don't you visit her tomorrow?" (Pleasantly)

It is the most important question: with death immanent, will Angelica be okay?  Will they all be okay?  And in this moment of supreme import, Jose evades her twice, failing to address her quandary.  This is worse than a negative reply, for he does not even admit to his limits.  It is a confirmation of a fear that has been growing in her, but she had hoped would not come to pass.


The impact of this realization eloquently flows across her face (last three pictures): Henrietta's eyes widen briefly in surprise, before narrowing to disappointed anger, and finally lowering into sadness.  Even with all that has happened, she still hoped that maybe he would come through.  His shortcoming realized, she feels betrayed; she trusted and believed in him, and he let her down.  But in the end, all that is left is the sorrow that her guardian cannot comfort her anymore.

Henrietta: "Yes..."

This is now how it will forever be.  Peering up at the sky, Jose tries to shift the topic back to something safer:

Jose: "Must be the lights from Rome... we can't see as many stars as before."
Henrietta: "We'll be at the training grounds tomorrow, so we'll see the meteor shower really well!" (Forcedly cheerful)
Jose: "Uh, Henrietta..." (Looking down)
Henrietta: "Yes?" ("Happily"... until she sees Jose's face)

Jose: "I'm sorry... I have to work and it's important... So tomorrow... I won't be able to take you."

Jose can't even pretend to be there for her anymore.  He absconds his purpose on both levels, foregoing all but the flimsiest charade of being her caretaker while failing to any longer bring her to the mystical.  Henrietta's face first registers dismay, but shifts to an understanding smile: Jose is sorry he can no longer show her the stars.  Her eyes, however, begin to shimmer slightly, tears only barely perceptible by the liquid gleam they produce.  It is a poignant sadness, long in coming.  She responds with forced nonchalance:

"Oh, that's okay!  Please don't worry about it!  I can probably ask someone else." 

The image as she speaks is of Orion, her black outline framed against the sky.  Unable to give her an answer to death or guide her to the spiritual experience, Henrietta has realized in her heart that Jose will never again be what she needs him to be.  Jose is dead; her hunt for meaning has killed him.  Now, in memory of her love, she places his body in the sky.

There is no one else to ask and she is filled with nothing but emptiness.  Her childhood over, Henrietta never talks to Jose again.

Jose-Shaped Hole

Back in the dormitory Henrietta is slumped on the table, crying piteously.  Jose, her everything, is gone.  Triela and Rico watch her with concern while Claes still continues to pointedly dismiss everything; all this moaning over the supernatural has nothing to do with her.

Triela: "I told you this might happen, right?" (Worried)
Henrietta: "But... everything was okay... until yesterday..." (Sobbing uncontrollably)

Triela saw this coming as her little Henrietta outgrew old understandings.  It was inevitable.  She had hoped that this sincere little girl might be let down softly, but Jose's total and unmitigated collapse has demolished that possibility.  Now she can only observe worriedly as Henrietta realizes for the first time that there is no greater being protecting her with a plan and purpose.


For Henrietta, warnings do nothing to soothe the pain she is feeling.  It seemed like Jose would watch over her forever.  There had been doubts, and recently they had struggled, but it seemed like they could keep pretending.  Make it work like it always had.  But now it will never be the same, for she has realized from within that it is impossible.  She can never go back to how she once was.

Rico: "So we're not going to see the meteor shower?"

Rico speaks with suppressed disappointment, the depth of which is belied by the hand she clutches close to her chest; she needs something wonderful in her dismal life.  Seeing this, Triela caves in; further admonitions would be pointless, and Rico has reminded her that there are those who need comforting.  With an exhausted sigh that turns to a conspiratorial wink she promises to find a supervisor for tomorrow.  Maybe Henrietta no longer has Jose to care for her, but that doesn't mean Triela will leave this seeker desolate and unaided.


With this assurance, Rico and Henrietta say good night and leave.  Back in her room, Henrietta throws herself on her bed in continued heartbreak.  Rico reassures her again that Triela will make it okay, but there are things that even Triela cannot assuage:

"Yeah..." (Desultory)
(Rico is surprised this did not cheer Henrietta up)
"How I wanted to see the meteor shower... (A long pause) ...with Jose."
(Window is shown with the light flowing in gently)

She loved him.  She loved him so much and now he is gone from her heart; it hurts to even say his name and be reminded of the hole that is left in his place.  The stars still shine, but her eyes are averted from the window; she cannot imagine them anymore without Jose there to guide her.  

Inwardly Impounded

Respectfully leaving Henrietta to her bereavement, the view fades to the next day as others grapple with their own dilemmas.

For Marco, the mood is similarly mournful; even as he moves past cages of angrily barking dogs at the pound, the melancholy Tristezza continues to play from the last scene.  And yet, a slanting light reaches even this dark realm of Marco's soul, his outward search through this place reflecting something within.


He stares dispassionately back at the lot, unfazed by their viciousness and unimpressed by their noisy pretension.  Normally they might have intimidated him, but there is a greater reason to be here.  For now, at least, all the sorrow, rage, and recrimination he has filled these cells with cannot frighten.  Looking among the pack he does not find what he searches for and moves on to examine the next cage, resolutely holding a picture in his hand.


It is of Angelica and Pero.  The photograph is crinkled from age and being much handled; this is not the first time Marco has stared at it, her innocent image remaining always.  He is here to find her dog, to locate among all this something he once had that made her happy.  But what hope is there?  Such a gentle thing could not have survived this raucous hell he has populated and now vainly scours.


Slowly his walk comes to a halt, his eyes drawn to settle on her wonderful smile.  That is all that matters.  He cannot pretend otherwise, and sinks into memory:

Angelica: "You know the truth.  We're all going to die!  We're going to die not knowing anything!  If Marco is going to keep treating me coldly, then I'd rather die now!"

It is that same terrible pronouncement.  He was outside the door to hear it, listening as his angel declared she wished to die because of him.  It is the worst a father can hear from his child.  Marco had thought himself benevolent to visit her at all, to stand there playing his usual uncaring self while knowing that she was happy just to be near him.  Even as he tried to crush her he had become reliant on her always coming back.  But this is too much.  What is he doing?  He turns, full of shame and grief, and walks away.


This memento mori from a dying girl has brought forth clarity in more than just Henrietta, and for once Marco does not retreat into himself.  There is no more time for that.  He leaves the agency for the pound, Angelica's picture tucked in the sun visor where he can see it and not forget.  Marco will once again find that which she loved, make her happy like he promised himself, and perhaps then he can be forgiven.

A Reminder

With a gunshot brutally interrupting the mood, Jean and Rico are seen alone at the outdoor range.  At a time like this, when all others are in proper mourning, Jean thinks nothing of continuing target practice.  The dragon yet remains true to its nature.  Seeing Rico has performed unusually well for him, he comments an unenthusiastic:

"Not bad."

A pitiful step up from his usual "Horrible" despite her accuracy, but it will do.  He was pleased enough.  This is Rico's true purpose; even if she is under his heel, she too can manipulate him back a little.  Now emboldened by the success of her ploy, she smiles, knowing it gives her the leeway to ask her question.  The only question:

"Is Angelica... going to die?"

It is sad that she must seek answers of Jean, but this is all she has.  He does not even turn to speak, the wind blowing desolately in accordance with his reply:

"She won't live for much longer."
(Rico blinks)
"A cyborg's life span is limited.  The problem is how to use that time efficiently."

As he explains he continues to time her rate of reloading.  Marco biggest sin in Jean's eyes was to foolishly squander Angelica's life and now her warranty is up; Jean will not make the same mistake with his own cyborg.  These questions about mortality and meaning have no use and distract from the business at hand.  Rico pauses as she listens, her face carefully neutral as she absorbs these implications.  Even with her familiarity with him she is stunned.  This man is empty.


No longer hearing sounds of work he turns slightly but does not look at her.  It is enough to show that he begrudges her wasting even a second of the existence she owes him while still not acknowledging her presence properly:

Jean: "Don't worry about it.  You still have more time."
(Rico smiles and gives the slightest of tremulous sighs)
Rico: "Right..."

There are those who value only power and those who suffer under them.  The Social Welfare Agency was not defeated and will not be swayed by Angelica; the darkness cannot comprehend her.  Even now, Jean's "assurance" is more brutal than a premeditated torment, mercilessly inflicting Rico with the knowledge that she will continue to meaninglessly exist... for him.  There are worse things than not receiving an answer.  This is the last scene with Jean, and he damns himself with every word.

Letting Down and Leading Up to Reality

Elsewhere, Triela and Claes work together to build a wall around Claes' garden.  There is nothing growing inside but the latter lays her bricks resolutely, firmly setting them in place with mortar.  It is a meticulously-crafted barrier that will surround her in impregnable isolation.  Even as she has feigned indifference since her outburst, this is how Claes is reacting inside.


Despite appearances, Triela does not assist in this seclusion.  Her section of the wall is different, the bricks having been used to create steps leading upward, something Claes seems quite unaware of.  Triela won't let her friend do this to herself.  Without the younger girls around to inspire, Triela can express herself more freely:

Triela: "Really...  The things I do for Henrietta..." (Sighing)
Claes: "You're spoiling her.  'Triela can solve anything.'  That's what she thinks." (Dispassionate as she taps another brick into place)

Triela loves Henrietta, but sometimes it would be nice if her emotional initiate needed a little less help maintaining faith.  Claes, however, doesn't see it that way.  Jose failing Henrietta was a positive step, forcing an ignorant believer to confront reality; it was time to get over it.  Tap.  Really, Triela's pampering is damaging, for it gives the masses an illusion that spiritual masters can do anything.  Tap.  Make it all right somehow.  Tap.  It bothers Claes that people believe such nonsense.  Best to pull it all down.


Hearing this in Claes' voice, knowing these objections too are becoming part of the wall, Triela stands up and puts her hands on her hips while smiling to herself:

"Oh, well.  I'll have to meet her expectations then."

Her core again.  Even if the world is not right and she is imperfect, this is a burden she will stand and bear.  She will do what she can, Claes' dismissal only serving to remind her of how much the hope she provides matters.  Like building steps to help others ascend even if they don't ask for it, it is who she is.


Hearing barking, Triela turns to see Henrietta with a bouquet being harassed by the chief's dog.  Quietly, she comments while looking worriedly at her friend:

"Is she visiting Ange?"

Claes does not answer, her face remaining steadfastly pointed away, fixated on the work in front of her.  She has been ignoring a great deal this episode.

Senescence

In the hospital, Henrietta enters the deathly still room, her quiet footfalls unnaturally intrusive.  She calls Angelica's name softly, but there is no response.  The dying girl continues to pensively stare out the window.  It is a view outside of this place, opposite her coming transition; she is drawn to peering toward it, wondering what awaits, if anything at all.  Without reply, Henrietta walks to the nightstand and begins to arrange the flowers in a vase.

Angelica: "Henrietta...?"

After a moment, Angelica returns to the present and greets her with a tinge of confusion, as though she were just waking up from sleep.  Regaining her senses, she properly thanks Henrietta for coming and compliments the flowers, earning a comforted smile in return.  Maybe Henrietta was just overreacting to death.  It's scary to be here, but Angelica is such a sweet girl.  She doesn't seem like something to be afraid of.

Henrietta: "How do you feel?"
Angelica: "My body weighs me down.  I'm a little hazy and I feel like I'm floating in softness."
(Pause)
Angelica: "But other than that, everything else is fine.  I should be able to work again soon."

Angelica was not merely daydreaming when Henrietta entered.  What she describes are symptoms, a detachment from her body and the sensation that somehow it holds her down even as she is weightless herself.  Further reassurance that dying doesn't seem so bad; it's just like floating in clouds peacefully.  Henrietta takes a seat to continue talking but they are interrupted by a faint barking coming from outside the window.

Henrietta: "The chief's dog.  I saw him earlier."

Angelica continues to listen intently despite this mundane explanation, a dawning expression of the recognition she has been so long denied filling her face.  Surprising Henrietta, she struggles to sit up, her body trembling at even this minor effort.  Henrietta assists her and together they stare silently toward the window, Angelica's eyes intense as she tries to grasp at a memory:

Angelica: "Pero...?"
Henrietta: "What is it?  Ange...?"
Angelica: "The name... of the dog I used to have..."

This last line is spoken with a quizzical longing; Angelica doesn't understand how she knows this, but it has now come to her with total surety.  With her pronouncement, she collapses forward, the most delicate of Silenzio playing, but for which girl's questions is uncertain.  The memory is calling to Angelica and yet remains elusive.  She knew something once... something so important... what is it she has lost?

Angelica: "Pero..." (Tortured)

Staring at this, Henrietta is horrified.  Not only worried for another human in distress, she knows this is her future... it disturbs and scares her to see Angelica struggle like this.  This is too much to watch, this flickering in and out of existence that Angelica is enduring.  Henrietta's expression hardens with the realization of this fear.  Life has lost its purpose and dying is not as comfortingly painless as she had hoped.


To confirm her terror, Angelica suddenly draws herself back up, regaining a happy composure:

"Henrietta?  When did you get here?" (Cheery)
(Henrietta is aghast with surprise; Angelica turns to the nightstand)
"What beautiful flowers.  Thank you!"

Angelica is coming apart, unsure of where she is or what is happening.  The normal routines run themselves, but it is all wrong, like a puppet jerking uncannily to familiar tunes.  This is even worse than her anguish.  Henrietta stands up, distancing herself.  She doesn't know what to do, facing this inevitability without Jose to reassure her.  This can't be what happens to humans... all that they amount to... can it?


Henrietta walks, retreats really, to the door in a dazed state.  Reaching the escape she politely asks about Marco, who of course has not visited.

Angelica: "I guess he's busy with work."

Henrietta remains solemnly in the doorway, gazing at Angelica.  Taking a final look at a girl who is no longer fully here before walking away in thought.  Angelica returns to staring out the window as Henrietta leaves, and the light fills the room with an encompassing glow.

Confessions of a Humanist

A moment later, Claes enters unobtrusively, reluctantly.  Angelica greets her questioningly, but Claes returns nothing but a pained stare.  Her distress is deeper than Henrietta's.  Seeking to smooth over the situation, Angelica comments that she appreciates all the visitors; everybody averted their gaze before, ignoring death for as long as possible, so it's nice to be paid attention to for once.

Angelica: "Someone just came... Who was it again?"
(Claes looks thoughtfully at the flowers on the nightstand for a long moment before turning back)
Claes: "I guess you're right." (Small smile)

She knows whose gift they are.  Henrietta in her religious quest was here to confront death first.  All that Claes had patronized as simpleminded can no longer be ignored, for she finds that the other girl's struggle for meaning is her own in a different guise.  But Henrietta took it more seriously and was here without delay, exposing Claes' pretense at aloofness for what it is: a fearful reflex for safe superiority.  This is now Claes' scene and her defining moment.


Claes begins by expressing regret for her harshness.  Angelica replies in kind, apologizing for her lack of gratitude, and wishes she were as strong as Claes.  Angelica turns to stare out the window again, looking to the other side of her passing; Claes joins her for a long moment, trying to see what she does, before responding, her eyes narrowing again in a smile of wistful self-effacement:

"I'm not that strong.  I can't handle being in pain, and I'm afraid of death."
(Claes averts her gaze from Anglica as she says "death")
"I think I read books and draw everyday (breath) just to tell myself that I'm not (breath) wasting my days (breath), so I won't regret anything."
(Claes' hands, which started flat, steadily curl during this confession)

Claes is alone.  Truly alone in the universe.  She isn't part of anything.  Under the daily regimen of experimentation and neglect she has persisted, isolated but proud.  This she can endure, but of death she is more terrified than any of them, for when she is gone nothing will remain, not even a memory of her secluded existence.  How can a lone human, unconnected to any cosmic plan or loving creator, ever achieve the transcendence her formidable soul desires?  How can she ever possibly matter?


It is this problem which haunts her, that despite her best efforts the meaning of a life cannot survive death.  Denied the comforts of fame and progeny, chased by her mortality, she in turn pursues personal enrichment with an intensity that borders on panic to prove to the silent universe that she existed.  Heroically defy fate by cultivating the self until it is too great to pass away.  She hopes it is enough, for with nothing else to believe in, she is all she has left.

Seeing this fear growing in her friend, Triela offered the strangest of solutions: to be a grain of wheat, whereby relinquishing the very ego Claes is fretfully trying to declare.  However, such a suggestion offends her pride as an individual, and so she rejected it with all her vehemence.  Controlled and self-sufficient, she assures herself that she is capable of surmounting any challenge.  Claes, and Claes alone, will be enough.  She will show them.


But in her captivity death loomed large and stripped away all pretension, leaving her raw to the inevitability she had been avoiding: all of her efforts had not provided an answer to her mortal fear.  It was then, unburdened and in extremis, that the vision of the open door came to her.  The truth was startling: there was no guard, it was she who kept herself imprisoned.  Even as Claes appealed to her own ego for salvation, it was the very thing which jailed her.


Yet she couldn't free herself; knowledge alone was not enough, and pride could not be used to overcome pride.  All of her methods had forsaken her in this crucible and when rescue came she lost herself in a different way.  The clamorous need for survival overwhelmed her, drowning out all self-control and idealism.  For Claes there is no worse failure.  It destroyed her faith in herself: how great is her will if it can be so easily subjugated by an animal fear?


Worse yet, just when she had abandoned all that she believed in to cling to her own life, Angelica appeared, risen from her safe sickbed to voluntarily risk herself.  A foolish, weak girl who suffered from delusions under an apathetic god... and yet she could do what Claes could not.  Watching Angelica being taken out on a stretcher, it was with a harrowing guilt Claes realized that underneath her sorrow was relief it was not her, and that although she had been the decoy she had never been willing to die.  A final crippling demonstration of her own limits.

To hear Angelica in the hospital, crying over a trainer Claes does not have, expressing a willingness to die Claes can never match, and declaring a truth that Claes fears above all others, she snapped:

"If you want to die, then die!  I shouldn't have saved you!"

A hysterical exclamation from a scared and humiliated woman, her pride broken by her own actions.  All she has left is her revolted admiration, knowing full well it was not Angelica who was rescued.


Since then Claes has fled.  She has run away from everybody and everything, trying to drown out the world with her old standbys of music and books.  Pretend she has the answers while the others struggle in vain.  Even her garden was being walled off, protecting it from reality in a way that she accuses others of doing.  But in the end her integrity catches up.  Claes must accept that she alone, a mere human, is not enough to conquer herself, let alone death.


Now she comes to confront that which threatens everything she is, shamed by Henrietta's sincerity and prompted by her caring friend who knows Claes has the strength and courage to grow into something greater if only she can find it.

Her confession over, she awaits with closed eyes to hear the response.  Angelica accepts everything with a simple, "Yes."  That is all.  She understands, and acknowledges Claes' plight, but cannot offer further comfort.  What else was Claes to expect?


Without comment Claes stands, but as she does so she smiles.  She was magnificent, utterly magnificent... and she failed; humanity cannot by will alone make of itself whatever it wishes.  But through her admission she now accepts her limitations, and rather than being shattered she has been humbled.  Besides, she has a new solution to pursue: the ending of the self is not disastrous if there is more to her than the self.  It is a keenly reasoned formulation to Triela's intuition.  The hard path still stretches before her, but it is now one that Claes' intellect can assist with.  This, she can accept.

For her last gift, Claes asks if Angelica will be staying up for the meteor shower.  Due to her condition Angelica will have a privileged view of what is coming:

"You can probably see it from this window."

Claes places a disc in the stereo and tells her to listen while watching.  Beethoven's 9th, a religious piece of music, the very tune Triela was humming in Amare as Claes read.  The best of human creations, a supreme offering of the arts, and yet in its essence pointing to something greater.

An Example Unto All

Triela enters a room where many of the members of Section Two are working intensely.  Looking around, she spies Hilshire and calls to him:

Triela: "Hilshire."
Hilshire: "Hey, Triela." (Tired)
(Ferro drops a large pile of manuscripts on the counter and promptly walks away; Triela stares after her quizzically)
Hilshire: "What is it?"
Triela: "Umm, I'd like you to supervise us while we watch the meteor shower tonight.  (Eh?)  Jose can't because he's busy."
Hilshire: "I'm sorry but we're busy here too."
Alfonso: "We gotta translate EU public safety documents into Italian by tomorrow morning."

Too busy, always too busy to help.  The men have their own problems to deal with, and hardly look at her as they respond.  And as Alfonso reminds her: these are public safety documents.  Everybody here is much too concerned with the social welfare of all, and cannot be bothered to perform such a menial kindness.  Their reluctance does not arrest Triela, and with a glance at the paperwork, understanding now why Ferro was particularly unsociable, she declares in her tired-but-willing way:

"Then I'll help you until it's time.  I can translate both French and German."

She could demand by virtue of her faithful performance of duty, she could berate them for their thoughtlessness, or she could cry and cause them to pity her.  But this is not Triela.  She is tired too, but if her service is what is required, then she will give it, and be an example unto these men as well.

Hearing her declaration both stop and give an uncertain chuckle.  This wasn't her burden; she could have easily avoided it.  What is this strange being who now offers to toil with them for the benefit of others?  Alfonso cannot understand and looks at Hilshire, only to see the latter smiling.

This is Triela's scene, and in its mundane trappings demonstrates her grace.  Triela is what Jose should have been.  What all the trainers should have been.  Without expectation she addresses need, acting on compassion rather than expedience.  When nobody else is there for the other girls, she is, offering comfort and wisdom.  It is in these unexalted ways, service that slips by without recognition, that Triela elevates them all.  She is a noble older sister who is more worthy of respect than they'll ever know.

Excuses For the Dogs

Marco has returned from the pound.  Taking Angelica's picture from the sun visor he roughly shoves it into his pocket to hide and forget it.  His energy is spent; he could not find Pero.  This will be his new excuse now, that he tried just a little and was not immediately successful.  He can rest assured it was impossible to help Angelica all along, free of the hope that he could have ever been better.


Before he can get far, he finds Henrietta waiting for him at the gate, she in the light beyond the dark tunnel he stands in.  She has seen what is happening to Angelica, and knows the end is fast approaching.  But Marco still had not come for her; he is derelict in his duty, still putting himself before his dying girl.  Now she bars the way, nervous but resolute:

Henrietta: "Marco."
(Marco lifts his head to see her there)
Henrietta: "Um..."
Marco: "What is it?" (Deadpan)
Henrietta: "When I visited Ange this morning, she suddenly remembered her old dog."

Marco's eyes widen and he clenches the picture in his pocket.  She remembered!  He was on the right track.  Maybe not everything is lost.  Perhaps there is... no.  He recovers himself and his expression falls dully:

"I see.  If I told the engineers about that, they'd cheerfully come to collect data."

Pretending nothing matters is safer; what Angelica's god meant to her is a dead object of study, nothing more.  Marco continues to walk, retreating toward the dormitories where he may lock himself in his room once again.  As he passes, Henrietta gives him a look of dismay for his cold reply.  This man too.  Jose never came for her.  He put himself before her until the very end and she has lost him.  Turning after Marco:

Henrietta: "Um... Where is her dog now?"
Marco: "I don't know." (Not turning around)
Henrietta: "Could we search for it?" (Increasingly desperate)
Marco: "There's no point."

Hearing this last statement Henrietta gives a dismayed exhalation, forced to helplessly watch as Marco incarcerates himself once again.  The world has no use for him if he cannot even return a single child's dog.

Jose, unnoticed by either, stands across the parking lot.  As befitting a ghost he does not speak, observing the exchange without affect.  Nothing to be done.  Then his expression changes to dull surprise, his gaze tracking toward the building to which Marco has fled.

Henrietta Realized

Henrietta was not satisfied with Marco's dismissal, and has now pursued him into the building.  More than any of the girls, she feels the pain of separation, her loss fresh, and knows what his presence means to Angelica.  This is Henrietta's scene, and she will no longer be deferred, arresting this errant god-trainer on the stairs:

Henrietta: "Marco!" (Breathing deeply)
Marco: "Now what do you want?" (Growing anger)
Henrietta: "Please go see Ange!"
(Marco refuses to look at her, staring blindly forward)
Marco: "The doctors have taken all possible precautions.  Should anything happen, they'll contact me."

Marco has become his own skeptic.  Pretend the problems of human life are only physical; let doctors handle them and the meaning he brought may be excused as long as there is bodily comfort.  He was always extraneous.

Henrietta looks down in sadness at his proclamation; she has heard such things before and knows how devastatingly wrong they are.  What such selfishness has cost her personally.  With this her eyes narrow in resolution:

Henrietta: "Please!" (Almost a whisper)
Marco: "There's nothing I can do for her now." (Refusing to look at Henrietta)
Henrietta: "You don't have to do anything."
(Marco finally turns his head)
Henrietta: "Just be with her."
(Silence)
Henrietta: "Please!"

Henrietta is tearing through his defenses.  It is easy to collapse into apathy, to pretend he fulfills no function.  He failed to protect Angelica and is now content to let all hope die.  But this isn't realism.  Jettisoning all that is important in the face of an awful world is an escape, one that allows Marco to hide inside himself, and Henrietta won't let him do it.  She knows where the convenient path of self-obsession and self-pity leads.


A flight below, Jose listens solemnly, having followed them in.  He needed to hear this as much as Marco does; it is the talk that Henrietta never had with him.  Yet it is on terms that he could not accept.  It was always a play to him, and she a performer; he was inflexible to Henrietta's growing maturity until the end.  Now the positions have changed: Henrietta is the one on the upper landing, and it is Jose who must raise his head to listen to her sermon.  What is it that this dead master needed to know?


Up top, Henrietta's entreaties have reached Marco.  He still faces away, but cannot ignore her any longer, and the haunting questions spill out:

"Henrietta.  Are you afraid of dying?"

These guardians never did what they should have, what they promised.  Their girls were doomed to suffer and die whether there was meaning or not.  He can't imagine any of it has relevance when that truth is revealed; it must be that the cyborgs are immune to the fear of death to be willing to risk it for their handlers' sake.  Speaking for all of them, smiling in compassionate understanding, Henrietta responds:

"I'm not afraid to die fighting for Jose."

It is a skillful reply.  Henrietta does not answer directly, for she is terrified, but that is not what Marco needs to hear right now.  These men are afraid too; they were always ruled by their fear.  Instead it is her old mantra that has become a greater truth: Henrietta would die for this meaning, this purpose, this bond.  Nothing is more important.  Angelica would die for Marco too, whether she is afraid or not.  Marco grimaces, and then asks uncertainly:

"You don't resent being given a mechanical body, using guns, and living a short life?"

Cornered, Marco is now admitting his deepest terror of rejection.  Angelica's brief existence is coming to an end, and he wasn't there for her.  He was selfish and when she needed him most he was gone.  It shames him to know he deserves to be despised, and yet is still loved, while his beautiful girl warrants love, only to have it withheld.  What if when he asks forgiveness it is refused?  What if, at long last, when he returns he finds himself unneeded and unwanted?

Nestled within is yet another question, one around which the series revolves: Henrietta, humans, do you resent your condition?  Do you hate that you are saddled with an alien body, a contraption that betrays you and will break down all too soon?  That you are often surrounded by violence and forced to commit it?  Is there disgust that for some unknown reason, life ends swiftly, often before it reaches potential?  Does the universe deserve rage for being so senseless and unjust?


As Henrietta begins to speak her head tilts downward in reflection.  She stares forward, feeling all that has happened to her.  What she has endured is immense, and in her eyes is a sadness that has become part of her being.  Yet her mouth faintly smiles, and with the terrible events of the series standing witness, Henrietta the Seeker answers:

"If by some chance you pity or feel sorry for us... then you’re mistaken."
(The scene fades briefly to look at Marco, who is eclipsed by the little girl's figure, before softly returning to Henrietta, who closes her eyes serenely)
"This may be the conditioning, but I don’t mind.  (Pause)  Even so… I don’t mind.”

Since she awoke in that bed, Henrietta has searched for meaning, for something greater than her to connect to and serve.  It has dominated her whole being.  She scrambled about, frantic in this need, unsure of what she was supposed to be or how to be it.  She tried many things, sought to put her existence together in a way that made sense, and grew desperate when it appeared she was not enough.  She has been so very wrong about the world.


Moreover, there has been pain and confusion and fear and loss beyond anything she could have anticipated.  Her search has cost her deeply.  From the outside it appeared both pathetic and futile, her need for connection merely a byproduct of programmed affection and bad design.  Nothing but a creature of sorry instinct that didn't know better and needed to be rescued from herself.


Now, at the end of it all, her journey has brought her to a place where she knows she will never become what she so fervently desired, and the being who gave her purpose and comfort is gone, slain by that very impulse which sustained her.  Nothing of her old world remains.


Even so.


There is no anger, no resentment.  With everything that Henrietta believed in lost to her, her passion survives.  Jose wasn't the higher order; she sought alignment with the True, and he was its proxy.  And though her search was stumbling, circuitous, often reluctant, but so human, in it was a subtle heroism to defy the convenient in pursuit of what matters most, and having trod that path she now contains a nobility that is unmatched in the complacent.


As to the charge that this is merely the conditioning, an acting out of programmed needs and comforts, she accepts it.  Yes, the source of her love was "artificial"... but that does not matter.  This quest which may have started as nothing more than a compulsion has become more.  It has outgrown its origins, and through this desire to serve something greater she has been able to transcend herself.


Pausing, feeling the full weight, she assents again.  In her condition she has found acceptance.  She is not what she believed or what she hoped, but Henrietta can no longer be described solely as the accumulation of her programming.  It is what gave her life and allowed her to experience all this, but it alone does not contain her.  And standing now before the light, head bowed in grateful affirmation, Henrietta knows: the search was always worth it.

Ending of the Story

Down below, Jose tugs his collar.  Even with this beautiful profession he can still only see her as his mistake.  Henrietta is exonerated from his fall; though she failed to talk to him, this was to be the result.  He never did appreciate this creature of inestimable value for what she was.  This is the final tragedy of his story: it isn't what he has done to Henrietta, but what he did to himself in finding an excuse to no longer be with her.

Marco, too, seems unaffected by her sincerity and continues his retreat up the stairs without comment.  In the background an instrumental Dopo Il Sogno rises, indicating the approaching end as it has in episodes before.  Conclusion of the story, nothing changed; Henrietta has dignity, but this is the fate of all meaning.  Fearing that he has not understood, Henrietta yells after him in alarm:

“I’m sure Ange feels the same way!”  

Marco ascends without acknowledgement, but Henrietta’s words have not been in vain.  He finds himself in Angelica’s room, the evening light slanting in.  Angelica's night is coming.  On the table is the book.  Marco stands in silence in front of it, relieved of his rationalizations, aware of what he must do.

Drop By Drop Upon the Heart

In the parking lot, Rico and Henrietta load into the van while Triela confers with Claes; Hilshire and Alfonso stand at the ready to supervise them on this trip.  Triela has managed.

As Henrietta steps in she stops curiously and looks up and behind her.  There is Marco, walking away from the dormitories toward the hospital.  Seeing this her mouth slowly opens in a happy smile, genuinely comforted to know that he is no longer lost, and that Angelica may see him once more.  She turns back to continue entering the vehicle, her eye lingering with an appreciative and knowing glance.


Henrietta is more than what she was at the beginning.  She is still learning, still unsure, but in this time when everything she believed in has been taken from her, she finds an unexpected peace and clarity; the inner pool has been stilled, and she can see things as they are.  Her smile was true, but in its gradual adoption there is something more.  Twice now she has inspired those greater in stature, drawing closer to what she always admired but never knew she wanted: wisdom.

Actorless

Marco enters Angelica's darkened room at the hospital, Dopo Il Sogno fading into stillness.  What comes next is after the end of the story, when the totality of the action and drama have been left behind.  The stage is finally empty so it may begin.

Seeing Marco, Angelica's face breaks into a gentle smile.  He came at last.  She tries to rise, to say she’ll do better, but he bids her to lie down.  There is no more need for any of that.

Silence reigns.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Out on the training grounds, the other girls are preparing to view the meteor shower.  That first and last silence awaits here as well.  Claes characteristically has a star chart, still prepared to tackle this the best way she knows how, while the other three search for signs of the event:

Rico: "I don't see anything." (Disappointed)
Triela: "Maybe it isn't time yet."
Claes: "It'll start soon, so watch closely.  We're not too far from Rome, but we do have enhanced vision."

Triela listens to Claes appreciatively, smiling at the newfound tranquility her words evidence.  They have endured much, and were still only able to get a little bit of distance, but they are special, these girls.  They await here, prepared and anxious to see what is so easily dismissed and overlooked.



The first glimpse flashes across Rico's eyes.  Even in the most downtrodden it appears, and without thought it tears from her an energetic:

Rico: "I saw one!"
Triela: "Really?  Where?!" (Equally enthused)
Rico: "It was right over there!  Ah!  Another one!"

Triela too stares up in silent marvel at the scene.  It never gets old.  However, before she can get too deep into her own meditation Rico grabs her arm in unrestrained ebullience, yanking the older girl over:

Rico: "Look, Triela!  I saw another one!" 
(Rico hops up and down, pointing at the sky as Triela reorients herself)
Triela: "Alright, Rico.  Calm down a bit."

Triela's face, however, does not match her words.  Rico lacks decorum, but she too is filled with it, and looking at her Triela realizes what this means to the child.  The chiding is not too serious.  After all, how can Rico calm down?  Faced with something so marvelous, filled with the hope that maybe she too is worthy of grace, all she can say in delighted disbelief is:

"This is my first time seeing such things!"

In the background of this exchange Henrietta stands in rapt silence, her hands held reflexively over her heart in gratitude.  She doesn't even notice the others.  The stars are still there.  They're still there!  She had believed they too were gone, but they remain in all their glory.

Perhaps it wasn't Jose who dimmed them before, but herself.  Having lost her simple innocence they were hidden for a time, her ability to perceive dulled in the confusion.  Now she has advanced and they once again emerge, even brighter than they appear to Rico.  There is nothing she could say or express that would add to it, and so she remains in overwhelmed reverence.

As Above, So Within

Angelica breaks the long silence in the room:

"I'm glad you came, Marco."
(Angelica turns once again to the window, and Marco's gaze follows)
"There's a meteor shower tonight.  Claes said I might be able to see it from this window.  I didn't want to watch it all by myself..."

Marco had been lost in himself and his role for so long that he had forgotten what he once knew.  Angelica never required a perfect trainer or that her existence would be unblemished by hardship.  That was not the purpose of meaning.  She only needed to know that she mattered to something, that she would not have to live and die alone.  Feeling this, here not as a savior but only as that which loves her, Marco breaks into a smile:

"So it is, isn't it?"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

On the field the others have settled down onto the grass as the meteors streak overhead in the enveloping stillness.  They stare up, content before it, relaxed in postures which say much of them.  All self-consciousness is gone for now.  They don't have to be anything other than what they are.

Henrietta: "It's so peaceful."
Triela: "The world gets more and more complicated and there are too many things to think about.  It's good to empty your mind like this every once in a while."

Triela's last admonition: don't get distracted or else one misses this.

Rico: "I wish Ange could see this too."
Claes: "She's probably watching it while listening to the Ninth Symphony." (Smiling)
(Henrietta looks at Claes curiously, unsure when this peaceful change came over her; Triela sits up in the background)
Triela: "The Ninth Symphony?  Beethoven's?"
Claes: "Yep."
Triela: "That's a perfect symphony for a night like this." (Appreciative)
Henrietta: "Is that the one that goes..." (Henrietta hums the first few notes) "...like that?"

It is indeed perfect.  Hearing Henrietta, Triela turns and cocks her head fondly.  Her little sister has grown into something truly remarkable, and she dearly loves this moody, obsessive, courageous, purehearted girl.  She always has.  The effort to guide and support, to work to bring them all here, was worth it.  But her brilliant pupil requires a slight correction...


Lunging mischievously, she snatches the unsuspecting Henrietta in her arms before standing up, cradling her like a beloved child.  With her strong voice, Triela sings the same opening stanzas as Henrietta, winking confidently at the stupefied girl in her arms as she does.  Having finished, she smiles with encouragement:

"Like that!"

To just have it on the lips is not enough, Henrietta.  This delight, that it exists, that they exist, and reflects round them, allowing them to partake of it, is more than happiness.


It is joy.


Triela continues singing once again, and Henrietta joins in with her melodious voice.  The other two are stunned for a moment, not knowing what to make of it, but shortly add to the harmony as well.  This feeling, an appreciation of living awe that permeates the world, is contagious; by its nature it overflows and seeks to be shared, and they find that they too know this song.


As their vision pans upward the full majesty of Ode to Joy joins the small quartet, merging and amplifying into a single exultant paean.  They are more than observers; they are part of the choir itself, inseparable from the mysterious grandeur they bear witness to.

This is where the seeker's path leads
Beauty and compassion and divinity
Yet none of these
For they are words
And are given rest
Before the holy

Stella Cadente

In the hospital, the song continues to play from the stereo as Angelica watches the night:

Joy, beautiful spark of divinity,
Daughter from Elysium,
We enter, burning with fervor,
heavenly being, your sanctuary!

The meteors blur together, their trails of light seeming to fill the sky.  Despite Rome she sees them all, her vision undimmed.  The barriers are falling now and she is able to glimpse what is through that window:

"It's so beautiful..."
(Pause)
"Marco?  (Yes?)  The pasta story... (Huh?!) Please tell me the pasta story..."

It's all coming back to her in these moments.  Angelica is remembering what she is and is no longer lost.  It isn't possible to be lost.

He begins to read to her as he did before and her eyes narrow as she absorbs his kindness and caring once again.  Something of the old bond yet remains, but this is new.  This is what she always wanted, the most transcendent and yet intimate fulfillment.


Watching the heavens and hearing only the music, she closes her eyes slowly.  This is fine now.  It is Good.  She is together at last.  Marco, still reading, notices she has gone still:

“Angelica?  Are you asleep, Angelica?”  

She does not answer.

"Stella Cadente" (Shooting Star) is singular, not plural.  The title never concerned the meteor shower.

And the End of All Our Exploring

The music calms to a hymn of reverence as the credits process across the screen.  The various locales of the series show, all the places that have witnessed these events, tragic and beautiful.  In each one the glory of the night sky is present.  It was always there, even in this place, above it and waiting to be known.

The credits end and the final scene emerges: it is Jose and Henrietta again, just as they were at the beginning.  Yet different, the magnitude of what has passed infusing the innocuous moment.  It is not the vision that has changed but the viewer.  And as the image fades to the tolling of church bells, Italy resounding with light, Henrietta's fathomless eyes stare back at us and we have glimpsed the mystery that lies behind them.

←Episode 12, Interlude 5: Firmament

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