When she first found him she was terrified.
She remembered how many people died
by his hand during the Armageddon;
but he was old now and was forgetting
all his old tricks. He was in the lotus
position, seated atop an adobe cactus
when she captured him. He was terrified;
there'd been no-one but him on this harbor side
since he first arrived. He cried like mad
when she tied him up, then raved on, badly
mocking the two alien tongues
of a song he had heard being sung
by some siren on the Other Side.
C'est la vie, c'est la guerre,
mais, ma vie c'est une guerre,
la nuit noire c'est mon generale
et c'est la victoire, victoire, victoire
du jour et du soir, la victoire,
aujourd'hui et demain!
Such life, such war,
for me they are the same.
With black night my general's name
it is victory, victory, victory
in evening and in day, victory
tomorrow and today!
Lyla despised it. It made no sense
in a zone where the sun never sets.
She still hates it. At least he is silent
now as he broods, marching at ray-point.
(No slaps would she take, no submission.)
His complaints of process due and lacking,
just like at the trial, go unvoiced, but
they percolate. "Smile, Zod," he thinks,
"Wait until we reach the gate. 'Traitor,'
they branded me, their stern protector.
When I return they will reject her,
whate'er the substance of her commission,
for I will make their cold hearts burn again!"
She does not tell him all that's happened
where they came from, nor her intention
to travel elsewhere and leave him behind
to continue his meditations.
Neither will see his, nor her,
great expectations fulfilled.