Render on to Caesar
Between two towering mountains and through a valley of the tall silvery towers of the Capitol City, the first rays of the sun streamed though Katniss' Training Center's window. The huge towers of the city spoke of wealth and promised to contain a vibrant civilization, and the mountains told of the natural beauty of the world. The city was a great work of art, but its image in my mind was forever tainted by the cruelty of its people.
On the other hand, the mountains beckoned to me. I found the thought disturbing, because I knew it came from a part of me that just wanted to escape, to forget the Games, to forget Katniss. I sat there on her bed and allowed those selfish thoughts to wash over me. I could go back home to be rich and famous, at least by District 12 standards. I could ask for and get almost anything I wanted. I pictured myself with some nameless wife and family, in one of those grand Victor's Village homes. My family would never feel the want of others in the district until they came of age. That thought "until they came of age" stopped the whole daydream. No, there was no simple, happy ending for me, not now, not ever.
I gathered all my mental strength and said, "Well, time for the show," to the empty room. I start plotting what I wanted to say on camera as I took a bath. I wanted a shower, but my leg was too tricky to manage. The doctors and nurses were impressed with what I accomplished in just a couple of days, but they told me to expect months of work to get the leg good enough to pass as real. They gave me some videos and a schedule of exercises that stretched out over eighteen months.
Soon my crew busted in on my bath and started laying out clothes and makeup. They allowed me no privacy, just like they did before the Games. I never got upset over being naked with them before, but with my stump it just didn't feel right having them here. Again my stylist Portia anticipated my mood and brought dark, somber colors. The suit itself was black, but it had a bright red tie, whose shape and color suggested a flame. In her hand she had a cane. The cane's body was a dark wood, and I instantly said with a laugh, "Mahogany!" None of them laughed at the joke; they didn't get it. It was capped with a golden crown-shaped cradle nestling a bright marble ball as a handhold. The ball's smooth, cool surface almost gravitated into my hand. On one side on the golden cradle a beautiful girl's face stared out. I knew the face: it was Katniss'.
The cane made me think of Grandpa—he had an old oak cane the whole time I knew him. I so wished he was with me. He was the wisest person I ever knew, even a little wiser maybe than Grandma. I could picture him again with his white hair and his kind blue eyes. As a little kid, he and I would walk all over the village, and he always seemed to know everyone. He knew their names, their stories, and what made them tick. He explained so much to me about the history of Panem, about District 12, and about people. Through him I learned to understand my mother, and the fears that drove kindness out of her. What would he think of me and Katniss? What would he say to me now? Did he not say to "Hold on to the ones you love—don't even let death separate you from them. Love will make you strong enough to do what you have to do."
I lifted my face and gave a generous smile. "Thanks, Portia, it's a wonderful cane."
"It was sent to me by a fan that made it for you by hand," she said as she pointed to some writing engraved under Katniss' face. I almost dropped the cane in shock as I read "Thanks to the man who showed us all such a great love. She still lives." I forced a sneeze to give myself a second to recover. Surely the person who wrote it meant it to be taken in a metaphorical way, but still it struck too close to home. Where is she? She hasn't talked to me for days now.
In our living room I saw the technicians set up for the interview: a half dozen were busy arranging the furniture and lights. Haymitch was there, though he didn't look well—he'd been drinking too much.
A young woman with neon-red hair and a silver jumpsuit came over. "Hello, Mr. Haymitch, congratulations on your Victor," and said to me, "Hi, I'm Aemilla, Caesar's assistant. I am such a fan of you and Katniss; I really want to help you have a good interview. Is there anything you need?" As she said this she grabbed my free hand and held it. Her concern and concentration was so well polished from years of practice that I had a hard time determining how sincere it was.
Haymitch injected, "Peeta has been through a lot. I'm going to need your people to treat him gently."
"Of course!" Aemilla responded, still holding my hand. "Peeta, you have to know that your story has affected everyone very deeply—it is beyond anything I have seen before. I can tell you that Caesar and I both cried our eyes out at the Game's end. Just tell us what you want to say and we will make room for it."
I concluded that she was truly concerned and laid out for her what I wanted to say. Haymitch listened carefully but said nothing. I knew he was still judging me, still thinking I was just going to go bonkers on him at any minute, but I never broke character. I was playing the part of a sane but very injured Victor, and I was determined that no one would ever know how crazy I was. Where are you, Katniss? Why don't you support me now?
I held my picture of Katniss in its new frame and set it down by the chair that I was to sit in. Caesar soon came by to shake my hand and he sat in the other chair. The director started his countdown; the camera's lights came on.
"Peeta, I think I can truly speak for the whole of Panem when I both congratulate you for winning and send our condolences for your loss," Caesar began.
"Thanks, Caesar. So many people have said the same thing to me in the last couple of days, and I would like to publicly thank them all here, if you don't mind."
Caesar laid his hand on my arm. "I think everyone in Panem wants to know first how you are faring."
"I have been and will always be deeply wounded, and I don't believe these wounds will ever truly heal," I said, intensifying my emotions to add to the somber mood. "What I don't think everyone understands is that wounds can help you, make you stronger, wiser, more determined. I have now inherited Katniss' strength; I suspect many people will be astonished by how she has improved me."
"I was told that you have something you want to show me," Caesar prompted gently.
I pulled out Katniss' picture and gave it to him, who then turned it toward the camera. The effects on Caesar were dramatic: his eyes turned red and watery and seemed to be on the verge of tears. "Wow, this is Katniss as I remember her, as I think we all remember her, as she was on my show just weeks ago. You did this while you were in the hospital, from memory?"
"Yes, it was the first thing I wanted to do. I just . . . had to see her again."
Caesar called for a glass of water, and the makeup people tried to rush in and fix his running eyeliner, but he shooed them away. Someone brought forth a stand for the picture, so Katniss' portrait spent the rest of the interview between us.
Once he regained his composure, Caesar continued, "A lot of people in Panem were confused by the end of the Game—first one Victor, then they announced two Victors, then there were no Victors, then they announced you as the final Victor. Panem has never seen anything like it. And there was that whole thing about you being dead for an hour. Can you help us explain any of that?"
"Not really, but I can tell you there was a great battle of wills going on," I admitted in all honesty. "On one side I was willing Katniss to live, and on the other Katniss was willing me to live. Katniss, I'm afraid, always wins."
The rest of the interview went well. We spent a lot of the time talking about what Katniss did and how special she was, which was just what I wanted.
When we talked about me we talked about how hard I had worked to keep her alive. I came off as a saint and Katniss as a modern Joan of Arc. It was amazing. The only disappointment was my thinking about the people who really knew Katniss and them watching this, feeling her memory being used for cheap entertainment, which it was.
I just hoped the Everdeen family understood why I was going through with it.
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