Calling
a Velvet Goldmine story
by tarotgal
Well I whisper in the dark
From the bottom of my heart
And I'm searchin for one star to shine
When the struggle gets insane
And the lessons full of pain
Keep me calling out your name with loveLeave it to Brian to buy a VCR before anyone else in the world. ‘Course they'd been out since '72, but who the hell actually had one? Only people like Brian. He brought it over a couple of weeks back, so they could watch tapes of Brian's performances and news pieces. That's all there was to watch on it. Just a couple of tapes of Maxwell Demon impressing his shrieking fans with his flashy make-up and extravagances. Problem was, Brian tried too hard to have that flash. When it wasn't the flash at all that was important.
Curt rolled over in bed, an arm bent at his waist. Half-curled on his side, he coughed harshly, with deep, rich rasps that revealed how much he smoked. Except that he wasn't coughing from that. His other hand reached down past his bare torso, and past his black leather pants, to grab at the covers. He pulled them up to his shoulder with a shudder as the coughing slowly passed.
"Come on, Brian," he whispered in the darkness of the room. "Get the hell back here." Watching the images dancing and twirling on the television screen wasn't helping in the least. He still felt alone, still felt sick. But the image was of Brian... and it gave a warm blue and gold glow down onto the bed in the otherwise pitch black bedroom.
But the more he waited, trying to feel entertained by videos, the less he expected Brian to actually show up. It was growing late, and the concert had to be over already. Brian would be off with any number of people, shagging himself silly to relieve the tension and revel in the excitement of being on stage. Nowhere in his mind would be Curt, lying in bed, feeling sick, trying to be good.
Brian had told him he was running a fever, and with the way he felt now, Curt didn't doubt it. Brian had told him he was sick. Brian had told him to lay off the cigarettes and the junk and the alcohol. And Brian had told him to stay home and stay in bed because he definitely wouldn't be performing in his present condition. Curt couldn't see how standing in the back of a crowded auditorium would hurt him any, but he'd obeyed. Brian had given him a kiss and offered himself over. And in the excitement of that, overpowered by his urges and his fever, Curt had agreed. Didn't matter that by the time they needed to leave, Curt was already asleep and very glad not to have gone to the concert anyway. He'd expected Brian to come back to his place after the concert. He frequently stayed over. All his really good clothes resided there now. But Curt couldn't remember Brian actually coming out and saying he would. Which most likely meant he wouldn't.
"Fuuuuck," Curt groaned, rubbing the base of his palm against his forehead. It hurt to think. Hurt to breathe. Hurt to move. He couldn't figure out what Brian would do to help him even if the singer were there, but he still wanted him. Brian kept him sane. Brian soothed his nerves. Brian was the whole damn reason he was in London in the first place. It only stood to reason that Brian should be there now, when Curt needed him.
Too tired to react, Curt felt a sneeze building in his nose. Had he the energy, he would have cursed at it, too. But he'd been sneezing so much since he came down with his cold that by now he didn't much care. Let the sneeze come. In fact, he dared it to. He could take it. He'd been sneezing all afternoon, after all. "hahhhh" he breathed out slowly and shakily.... It was taking over his body completely making him curl and turn into the covers more. He felt like coughing, but the oncoming sneeze was too strong to wait. "hahhKshunnn!" There was other sneeze there, but the coughing overpowered him. He turned his face into the pillow, coughing into it until his chest and throat together calmed. Once they did, however, he still felt the need to cough, for the intense pressure and congestion in his nose.
Feeling that he would be better once he blew his nose, he reached up and grabbed the tissue box. He ripped the first one he tried to pull out and cursed at the cheap, flimsy tissues. If he'd known he was going to get sick, he would have bought better ones. But it came upon him so suddenly, and he sure as hell didn't feel like getting dressed and going out for some now. He dug his hand into the box, ripping the cardboard to give himself better access. Then he pulled out a half dozen tissues at once, buried his nose in the mass, and blew hard as many times as it took for the need to cough to back off.
It finally did, and he dropped the box onto the bed and the tissues over the side of the bed. He felt warm again. Hot, actually. He kicked down the covers and unzipped his pants. They were tight and clingy, and nearly as hard to get off as they were to get on. Curt simply didn't have the energy for that. He rolled onto his back with a light cough and a snuffley sort of snort. He rubbed the back of his hand against his nose roughly, then relaxed and tried not to move lest he never cool down.
It felt like he was still under covers, or at least wearing several layers and standing under the floodlights on stage. But, no, he was in bed with the lights off, nearly naked, and still soaking the sheets with sweat. He hated feeling like this. Sweating and aching always made him remember the moments after electroshock therapy. And that always made him feel wired and panicked and worse.
"Brian..." he whispered. A cold shiver passed through him, starting in his hands and feet and culminating in his shoulders. He grabbed the blankets and pulled them back up. He curled back up on his side, pulling the covers around himself for warmth. He wanted a shot of whiskey, or even just a mug of beer. Anything to take the chill out of his bones and relax him again. Visions of the white hallways and hospital beds filled his mind. The sensation of leather restraints. The sound of tortured screams. The smell of people lying in their own sick. He shivered again and gave a moan, pushing past his long tangles of blond hair to clap his hand to his forehead. It was throbbing. He was aching. He was sick. "Brian, get the fuck back here," he pleaded. "I'm going insane."
Not that he could blame Brian in the least for going out. He had a concert to do, after all. He was contractually bound. And Curt... he'd never given his word to Curt about anything. Not even leaving Mandy. Curt was stupid to think Brian would care enough about him to return. On a normal day Curt was a fun time, a wild mate, a good fuck. But sick, Curt was nothing but a mess. Certainly not as appealing as hundreds of adoring fans who wanted to get down his pants and lick the glitter from his body after a concert. Certainly not as beautiful as this image Brian had built up of him in his mind. No, Brian was the star now, and Curt was nothing.
Another sneeze built in his nose, and Curt lifted his head, so as not to sneeze all over his chest. He didn't bother with tissues. Didn't care, really. There was no one there to catch his cold, and no one to watch him sneeze freely in the dark bedroom. "uhhhh..." The breath was deep and hard, pulling at his weak body. He clutched the covers closer, feeling miserable already and ten times worse when he had to sneeze. Forgetting all those thoughts about being strong, he gave a bit of a whimper at the sneeze' approach. Then he closed his eyes, preparing himself for it. "huhYIHShhhh! EhShhhnnn! KShhhnnn! KShuhh! Ughh..." He rubbed the back of his hand against his wet nose, then grabbed for the tissues, getting a couple from the ripped box, and dropping a couple more along the way.
He blew his nose a couple of times, then immediately tensed up again. "Oh fuck me," he muttered. He had to sneeze again. Badly. The tickle was like fire, burning in his nose, demanding satisfaction. On some level, he realized how good it would feel to get the sneeze out, or maybe it was just out of comfort for it was almost always how he slept, but he slipped one hand into his pants. His other hand of course was still with the tissues, clutching them to his nose. Curt didn't give a damn about sneezing unrestrainedly, but since he already had the tissues he was going to use them. "ehhh..." The sneeze started with the same shaky, deep breath. But the sneeze stayed back, filling his nose and filling his body. Every muscle in his body was tense, his chest rose and fell hard as breaths continued to try and build the sneeze up to release. "uhhh... huh... ehh-hehhhhh..." He was desperate to sneeze now, knowing it was going to be strong, knowing that it was going to take everything out of him. Sneezing was like fucking. Or like performing. It didn't mean anything unless it robbed you of strength and humanity and sanity. It was involuntary. It was debilitating. And yet, it was thrilling. Thrilling and beautiful and satisfying. "Come on- ehhh- you little fucker," he muttered, his voice muffled into the tissues and his hand. He was ready and waiting. He just wanted it over with. "heh... ehhh..." And then his breaths and heart began to race. There it was. Finally. Ready to strike. Ready to come. "heh-uh-eh-HEHKTShhhh! ehhhShuhhhhnn!" He coughed and quickly blew his nose again. The sneezes had jerked him about as though in spasms. Weak and tired, he hadn't cared to brace himself so long as they finally got out. He blew his nose and tossed away the tissues, losing them to the deep shag carpet.
It was like a dance. A strange, sick dance. The spasms shaking him against the bed the way he writhed and inched his way across the stage on his back during a show. The repetition of tensing and sneezing and going weak like the chorus of a disturbing song. And the dull moments in between where he coughed and shivered or watched the television were like verses, never knowing quite what would happen and they helped to build towards the chorus. But the song seemed never-ending. No matter how bad he felt or how many times he sneezed, he didn't seem to feel any better afterwards, or at the next time. In fact, he felt worse.
Curt was glad Brian wasn't there to see him, shivering under the covers and shaking unattractively. Wasn't as bad as when he came off the Heroin, but Brian hadn't been there to see that either. Brian just saw him afterwards. Brian had picked him up when he most needed someone. Brian was trying to get him back on his feet. And here he was back again in bed sick and shivery and alone.
He wasn't Curt Wild like this. He was someone else. That someone he had been in those days of his youth when his brother had serviced him in the middle of the night and he lay there, enjoying and hating it all at once. He wasn't a rat, he wasn't a wolf, he wasn't a singer. He was nothing like this. Just a useless body with a clouded, feverish mind that couldn't decide if he'd was in bed because he was sick or because he just didn't want to face trying to get up and score something to land him on his back again. He wasn't really himself like this, not the image of Curt Wild that he wanted everyone to know, at least. Not the image of Curt that Brian wanted him to live up to. He was someone else. He was needy. He was weak. He was tired.
Gazing up at the television screen, he saw the ending of the taped concert. All made up in glitter and feathers, Brian was leaving the stage. The crowd was going nuts, as always, and then the segment ended with a sizzling of static. That wasn't the end of the tape, however. It changed to a short interview with the BBC, in which Brian was fully without the frills and look of Maxwell Demon but spoke and carried himself as though still entirely in the persona. "Image is everything," he was telling the reporter on screen. Curt's mouth twitched into a wry smile. He knew this one too well. He began mouthing along to Brian's words, spilling from his mouth with that lovely accent, sounding so regal and intelligent, as though he'd invented the words himself rather than half-stolen them. "Song and speech is the image of actions. And time is the image of eternity. It is not merely enough to spend time on song, you see." At this, Curt stopped mouthing along and began coughing. He curled up more, one hand on his chest where it pained him, the other still down his pants as though to keep warm. On the television, Brian went on, "One must give it the proper respect, embellish it and dress it up in beauty so gorgeous that the song is transcended and the audience transported."
The interview ended as Curt's fit of coughing did. And as he sought out another tissue and roughly gave his nose a one-handed blow, the shining images on the screen suddenly faded. The light from the screen was gone now, as black static filled it now. From the television there was no more music, and no more sound. Just frightening silence in the room filled only by Curt's coughs and sniffles.
Curt did not have the energy needed to get up and change tapes, or even flip off the television set. He pulled the covers up to his eyes, shutting them tightly. He'd been trying to stay awake, waiting for Brian. But Brian wasn't coming. That was painfully clear now. He sighed and coughed and hoped, with the hot breaths against the blankets that made him feel warm and tired, that he would fall asleep and not wake up again the sickness had passed. If it hadn't, he'd give in and take something strong, regulated methadone treatment or not. He didn't care about getting his act together so much as feeling less pain. And if Brian wasn't going to be there to get rid of his pain, he'd find something that would. But for now, he needed sleep.
There was a path through the crowd for him, on his way back to his dressing room after the show. Brian walked it quickly, but with the calm and surreal mystique of Maxwell Demon. He closed the door to his dressing room behind him, sighing. Another concert over, another set of adoring fans still madly in love with him. This wasn't changing the world... nothing changed without Curt.
Brian took a seat in front of the mirrors, taking off the exquisite headdress-collar combination and setting it down on the stool beside him. He slithered out of his top, pulling on a flashy button-down shirt instead. He was slower to do away with the make-up, but had succeeded in wiping off most of the glitter when the door opened behind him. For a moment, something rushed through Brian. He hoped it was Curt, come to see his show even when sick. It was the sort of thing Curt would do, after all. Put his own health and better judgment aside to be wild and careless and happy. But, no, it was only Mandy and Shannon.
"Fabulous, darling," Mandy cooed, grinning at him. "Even better than the last one, I'd wager." Though he hated to admit it, his wife certainly spoke the truth. The shows had been getting better and better. The energy level had been rising. The costumes and sets and lighting and pure movement becoming more extravagant. The intensity and perfection had been growing as well. It was all building, building to some unknown moment in the future where everything would come together spectacularly to make him the biggest thing ever. Everyone around him could feel it, too. Even Curt, who seemed a bit scared of it.
"I expect you'll want to celebrate," Mandy went on, gesturing with her hand that held the cigarette, the smoke rising in circles and swirls and patterns. "Jerry's gathering the troops as we speak to meet back at the house of course." Brian said nothing to this.
Meanwhile, Shannon collected Brian's costumes, glancing at his reflection in the mirror, studying him. Their eyes met for a moment, then Shannon's head snapped away. "Aren't you going back to the house, Brian?" she asked leadingly, though it seemed she already anticipated his refusal.
He sighed and shook his head. "Not tonight," he replied. Her eyes narrowed at him. He turned, his lips still bright red, his eye shadow still a rich green-blue. "Really, not tonight, Mandy," he insisted.
"All right," she said with a shrug. "Come on, Shannon," she motioned to the younger woman, who stayed for a little longer as she put the clothes away and gave Brian another knowing look through the mirror. Her eyes were outlined in black, and seemed to ask if she knew where he was going. He smiled back and nodded. Mandy knew as well, of course, just didn't care. Or at least, didn't care to vocalize it if she did.
They left him alone, and he pulled on a coat with a sigh. They were happy for him, of course they were. But he didn't care what they thought about him. Not when he was missing it from someone else. And that someone else, who was the one person he wanted to see now more than any other, was the one person who wasn't there. Wasn't there now to share in the after-concert celebration. Wasn't there before to perform with him on stage. Wasn't there, but should have been. With a deep breath, he ducked out of his dressing room, determined to get out without any hassles tonight. "Curt," he called out as he passed Jerry in the hallway and gave a dismissive flick of his hand at the wrist. The word alone silenced Jerry. Then he muttered, "Going to see Curt." He stopped at the door, giving himself one last chance to turn back towards the excitement. Suddenly it all felt so empty. But all that would change. Yes. He was going to see Curt.
Curt woke, coughing, thirsty, and hot, the next morning. He pushed off the blankets and froze at a number of things. First, his pants were off, thankfully, leaving him in nothing. Second, though the covers were off, his back was still warm. And third, both the first and second points could undoubtedly be attributed to the fact that Brian was lying behind him in bed. "Bri?" he said, his voice rough, making him cough some more. He needed water now. And, failing that, needed hard liquor. He slid out from beneath Brian's arm and sat up, and he was wondering which to go after when Brian woke up from the movement.
"Curt? You're awake," he said, rubbing his face to better wake himself up.
"And you're here," Curt observed. "Why?" He was sure he must look dreadful, and was glad the bedroom had no mirror to confirm this. He ran a hand through his hair, finding snags and tangles and giving up three-quarters of the way through. Then he ran his hand against his nose, wincing slightly. It was tender to the touch at his nostrils and the tip. He was sure it must be red. Not to mention that he'd slept all night and still felt horribly tired.
"Why what?" asked Brian, sitting up and wrapping an arm around Curt from behind to draw him into a close hug.
"Why the hell are you here?" he asked with a bit of strength in his voice, which immediately sent him into a fit of coughing. He bent forward, hunched, curling around his chest which pained him terribly with each cough.
Brian pulled back and got up, returning moments later with a glass of water and a spoonful of something yellow. Curt eyed the spoon but accepted the water immediately, drinking it down in sloppy gulps so that there were trails from the corners of his mouth and down his chin and neck. He gripped the glass tightly in his hand as he drank as well as afterwards. There wasn't much left, but he was determined to hold onto it just in case.
"Thirsty were you, Luv?" Brian asked, reaching over and pushing Curt's hair back from his face on one side.
Curt flinched, not expecting it. Brian was always doing things like that when they were alone... he was always so soft and tender and different from when Jerry had them prancing around and kissing on stage. This just took Curt by surprise, and he was already a bit jumpy. "Why're you here?" he asked again, and quickly cleared his throat afterwards.
"I've been spending the night all the time, haven't I?" he asked softly. "Why should last night have been any different?"
Curt shrugged. Why indeed. It was just like any other night. Except that he'd been horribly sick and needed Brian and Brian had actually come. He rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth, then against his nose. Up less than five minutes and already he felt the need to sneeze. "Oh hell... here it comes..." Curt whispered, frustrated. He wasn't the most gorgeous thing in the world when he sneezed, and didn't especially want Brian watching now. He'd let a couple sneezes out here and there yesterday, but things hadn't been quite so bad then. "hehhh..."
He felt Brian's arm wrap around him again from behind, and the man hugged him close. "It's all right," he soothed into Curt's ear. "I've got you."
And he had. When Curt sneezed, shaking weakly and uncontrollably forward from the force, "UhhhKShhhnn! uhhhShuhhhh!" Brian held him tight so it hardly hurt his aching body at all. He sighed and sniffled, and found Brian holding up tissues for him. When he went to blow his nose, the softness of the tissues against it was infinitely better. He looked over to see not the ripped box of rough, flimsy tissues but one of quality, carefully opened.
"Thought you might need them," Brian commented, tightening his hug around Curt. "You look like you've been sneezing a lot." Curt rolled his eyes at the understatement. "A bloody hell of a lot."
Curt nodded with a sniffle. That's really all he had been doing, apart from trying to fall asleep for ages as he went through hot and cold flashes. Though, now that he thought for a moment, he wasn't hot or cold any more. "Do I still have a fever?" he asked, reaching up and pulling his hair back to give Brian a clear shot to his forehead. He turned halfway on the spot.
Brian felt it, then shook his head. "Think it's gone. Last night you were burning up. You feel normal to me now."
This was a relief at least, and Curt leaned back against Brian with a few coughs as he tried to sigh.
"That cough, however, sounds terrible. Here..." he retrieved the spoon he'd carefully set down on the nightstand. "Take this. It'll help."
Again, Curt eyed it. It was a dull yellow, but definitely not a cough syrup he was familiar with. "What the fuck?" he muttered, knowing he couldn't rely on his sense of smell or even taste in the matter as he was far too stuffed up. "Thought you English types were all about pushing tea when a guy's sick."
"That'll come after," Brian smiled as he had, in fact, brought over tea along with the tissues. "But this is an old singer's remedy. Learned it from my uncle. It'll help your throat. Wouldn't want you to do damage. You've got a show to do in a couple of days, haven't you?" Curt nodded, but still looked skeptical. "It's just lemon juice and honey," Brian informed him. "Really. It'll help. Just sip it slowly until you get used to the taste."
Curt sighed and nodded, taking the spoon from Brian. He sipped a little, tasting the tartness of the lemon juice at once and being fairly glad he couldn't taste it straight-out. He took it slowly, as Brian suggested, finding the initial taste to be the worst. The honey mixed in made it taste better in the long run. Afterwards, he had an urge to drink down the last of his water, but knew he should wait a little while to give it a chance to help his throat.
Luckily, the wait was a pleasant one. Brian pulled him close again this time with Curt sitting sideways on the bed so he leaned his side into Brian's chest. Brian petted his hair, pulling it out of his face for him and smoothing it down. "Bri, why'd you come?" he whispered. He closed his eyes to the petting. It was silly, but the man's touch really did feel good. He knew it would. Knew Brian would make him feel better. "You could have gone out partying."
"Wanted to be here," Brian replied quickly, without thinking about it. For he'd already thought much about it. "Wanted to be with you instead of out there having indiscriminate sex with beautiful people or meaningless sex with my wife."
Curt coughed. The treatment on his throat was already wearing off. He downed the last of his water. "You wanted to be here with me when I'm obviously not beautiful and feeling even less so?"
"You're always beautiful, Curt," he said softly.
"Hardly," the other man laughed dryly, coughed harshly, and laughed some more. It sent his head spinning, fever or no, and he closed his eyes tightly, resting against Brian.
Brian petted his head, stroking the long blond hair and pressing the side of Curt's head into his chest. "I wanted to be here because of you," he said softly. "That's why I'm here. That's why I do everything. It's always been you." Thinking back to that festival, watching Curt in all his glory dancing about on stage with oil and glitter and attitude. That's what he wanted. He wanted Curt in every way possible. Everyone else was fake, was cheap. But not Curt. Curt was the real thing. "Sometimes it just gets too intense. I just need to get away," he said softly.
"But you're still here, here with me," Curt pointed out.
"Yeah, well, it's you, isn't it? It's different with you," Brian said. "Want to go away with you, want to escape together. Want to figure it all out together. Want to get away from it all, and I want to take you with me."
That was a lot to want. Curt was silent. There wasn't much he could say to that. It was just Brian being Brian again, all the fame and beauty would seep back into his head soon enough and he'd be prancing in front of the camera again, just like on the videos. He always wanted more, wanted bigger and better. When he went up, he wanted Curt right beside him, surrounding him along with everyone else and raising him up. But when he went back down, he counted on Curt to be there, expected it. And Curt couldn't promise that. Just like Curt hadn't expected Brian to show up. Just like Brian hadn't promised to be back after the concert. And yet he had returned. Just when Curt wanted and needed him to. That had to mean something.
Curt tensed, not in thought, but from the oncoming urge to sneeze. "huhhh..." he breathed in warning to Brian, but Brian held him tightly, insisting on holding him steady while he sneezed. "heh-ehhhhhh... ehhh..." He raised a partly-cupped hand to his face and waited for it. "heh-EH-Shhmmm! ihhhKShhhhh! Shhhmm!" He shuddered and snapped forward with each, but Brian held him generally in place despite this, and soothed him with pets when done.
"Lie back down," Brian suggested softly. He pulled Curt back down against the sheets and tugged the covers back up over them both, just to their waists. They were more than warm enough already with Brian pressing himself up against Curt's back. Brian passed over a few tissues and then propped his head up with an elbow on his pillow so he could look down at Curt, blowing his nose. "Think you might want to get some more sleep?" he asked, running a hand gently against Curt's upper arm and shoulder.
Curt nodded, curling and tensing as he felt another sneeze on the way. He doubted very much he'd be able to get any sleep now, but somehow that didn't matter much any more. Neither did the sneezes, really. His nose was still tender, but didn't hurt as much against the tissues Brian had brought. And the sneezes still took everything out of him, but they didn't hurt when Brian was holding him steady. "hehhh..." He let out the same shaky breath, this time smiling roguishly. Let the sneezes come. He was ready for them now. Again. "hehhh-" Brian's arms both wrapped around him, slipping beneath him on one side and bending around from the other. One hand held more tissues for afterwards, but the other pressed against his chest, bracing him, holding him close against Brian's front. "ehhhh-HUHShhhh! ehhh-KUFShhnnn! UhhShhhhnnn!" He rubbed his nose into the tissues roughly and smiled as he felt Brian's hot breaths against his ear, tickling and soothing. He sniffled and looked back. "Not so bad, this."
"Glad," Brian nodded. He kissed the back of Curt's ear and nuzzled his face into the mass of stringy hair which nonetheless felt soft and smelled of Curt. "Hey," he said with a bit of excitement, his eyes at an angle which made his eyes connect with the television set. "Want to watch one of the videos?"
Chuckling, Curt shook his head. His hand, the one without the tissues which was still rubbing at his tickley nose, grabbed Brian's forearm around him and held him there. "No way." Then, a bit more kindly and hoping Brian stayed oblivious to the urgency in his voice, "I don't want to move right now. Don't want you to, you know?"
"Yeah..." Brian said, nodding, though still eyeing the tapes. "Yeah, all right. Maybe later." He hugged Curt tighter and felt Curt relax heavily back against him. It felt right. More right than anything else had. He petted softly, over and over again, until the repetition of it at the strange angle made his wrist hurt. So he stopped and just watched the man, who had long since stopped blowing his nose, lie there in silence against him.
"Curt?" Brian called out the name timidly, after a while. "You awake?" There was no response at first. But then a deep, stuffy snore escaped Curt. Brian smiled. He wasn't sure if Curt was faking or not, but it didn't matter. He appeared to be asleep. That was all that was important.
The boys are not mine. They're Todd Haynes', the lucky bloke. And *checks video box* Miramax and Goldwyn Films, I guess. Written as Friday Fic #11 and for the sneezefic Weekly Hatching week #6 This is only my second attempt at writing the boys. I still don't really have them down even nearly as well as I would like. Thus, parts of this go into my own interpretation of them which is still fuzzy at best... I apologize for anything drastically OOC.
Song/Quote credits- Song verses/lyrics from ‘Shadow of Doubt' by Bonnie Raitt (yes, I know strange choice of song for a VG story, but they spoke to me when I heard them on folk radio)
Brian's quotes about image- "Time is the image of eternity" is a quotation attributed to Plato and Solon used to say that speech was the image of actions