Noël à Paris (Christmas in Paris)
The snow fell softly that Christmas Eve night when Hugo Cabret died. The blood on the street was accompanied by a beautiful choir of angels. Beside him, scattered about the street near the Place de la Concorde Fountain, were Christmas groceries. A bag of apples for homemade apple pie, sugar, a box of baking chocolate for cookies, a honey ham for dinner, a wheel of Camembert cheese, and a loaf of bread.
Hugo's face was calm, sincere, almost as if he was expecting death and willingly embraced it. His eyes sparkled with the streetlights that were decorated with beautiful garland and red and green Christmas lights.
Georges was at home tending to last minute decorations. The tree was up, the stockings hung, the fire prepared, stoked, and fueled, and there was plenty of firewood. Holly adorned the walls, mistletoe over the front door. The tablecloth over the dining room table was pure white, just like the snow outside. The flame of the creme colored candles let the beauty of the molding of the candelabra shine as well as reflect off the silverware. Georges dimmed the lights to create a romantic, holiday family mood as he placed the last decoration on the table, a sole flower, a poinsettia, imported from Mexico that was given to him by his wife on their last vacation.
"Isabelle!" Georges called, as he took his seat.
Isabelle, who was in the living room entered the dining room with a Christmas smile on her face, "Papa Georges!" She said, hugging him.
"The food is almost ready." Georges said.
Isabelle took a long whiff of the air. "It's smells delicious."
"Well," Jeanne, Georges wife, peered her head from the kitchen, "I'm glad you think so. We're still waiting on Hugo to return with the groceries. I need to cook the ham."
"I'll wait then," Isabelle said. "A Christmas Eve dinner is a family occasion."
"Quite right my dear." Georges said with a smile and a kiss, "I sure do hope Hugo's alright though, it's supposed to get near freezing tonight."
"You should've gone with him." Jeanne said.
"It's just two blocks down the road, besides, The Inspector went with him, he's in good hands." Georges replied, as a knock came at the door.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Isabelle ran to the door, skipping all the way, opening it, expecting to see her friend she instead saw The Inspector with a sad, regretful look on his face.
"Bonjour Isabelle," The Inspector said in French, "puis-je en venir?"
Isabelle nodded and stepped to the side, letting The Inspector inside. The Inspector's real name was Jean Baptiste.
Jean walked with urgency towards the table. Georges noticed him and stood.
"Pourquoi Inspecteur, " Georges said, knowing that Jean only spoke French, "ce qui jamais est la question?" Georges said, asking what the matter was.
"Je suis désolé Méliès," Jean said, tears beginning to form, "je suis vraiment désolé, j'ai essayé de le sauver, mais je ne pouvais rien faire!" He paused, trying to compose himself, "Je n'ai rien pu faire, il vient-" He choked up, turned away and held back his tears. He failed.
"Je suis désolé, je ne veux pas à pleurer." He apologized for his dramatics.
"Puis-je m'asseoir? J'ai besoin de rassembler mes idées." Jean asked for a seat. Georges nodded and watched as The Inspector sat down, noticing that he was shaken up, experiencing trauma, going through the worst heartache in the world.
"Qu'est-il arrivé Jean?" Georges asked the same question as before.
"Hugo, lui, il a été heurté par une voiture qui roulait." Jean answered. Hugo, he, he got hit by a speeding car.
Isabelle walked over, keeping her eyes on the table. Hugo got hit by a car. She thought. I sure hope he's okay, it just wouldn't be- no, don't think of that, he's going to be okay, he's going to be okay.
"Isabelle," Georges said standing up, "we're going out."
"Why Papa Georges?" Isabelle asked.
"To get a Christmas ham."
"A Christmas ham?" Isabelle said, a bit confused, "but I that Hugo was getting that."
"He was," Georges replied, "but he didn't get a good one. We're going to meet him and you're going to walk him home." He escorted Isabelle to the door, she put on his coat, he put on his, they walked out.
Jeanne came into the room as the door closed. She was carrying a bowl of soup, she placed it in front of Jean. "Merci." He said, as he reluctantly ate the warm soup, homemade chicken noodle. Hugo's favorite.
"Où est-il?" Jeanne asked Jean, wanting to know where Hugo was.
"Le garçon est déjà au salon funéraire." Jean said. The boy is at the funeral home.
Jeanne nodded, she turned her head away, she didn't want Jean to see her tears. "Mme Méliès, c'est ok à pleurer." Jean said. Madame Melies, it's going to be alright, you'll see.
Jean reached across the table and putting his hand on her arm. She looked into his eyes, and saw Hugo's spark. "Pour nous manqueront à tous notre petite horloge travailleur, notre petit Quasimodo, Victor Hugo." Jean continued, "Je sais que je n'étais pas la personne la mieux vers lui, mais je vais vous dire ceci ma'am, je l'aimais trop, et il me manquera."
For we all miss our small clock worker, our small Quasimodo, Victor Hugo. I know that I was not the best person to him, but I will tell you this ma'am, I loved him too, and I will miss him.
Jeanne nodded. "Merci, Jean," she said with a sniffle. "que signifie vraiment beaucoup." Thank you Jean, that means a lot.
Jean nodded, "Si vous avez besoin de quoi que ce soit," If you need anything. "faites-le moi savoir ne voulez-vous pas?" Let me know, won't you?
Jeanne moved towards the kitchen, crying her heart out. Jean stood, not bothering to finish his soup. He removed his hat, inside it, he kept a small notepad and pen. He quickly scribbled on it, ripped the paper off the notepad and placed it on the table in plain view. With that he put his hat back on and walked towards the door.
Jean reached the doorknob just as Georges and Isabelle returned with a fresh honey ham. Small rivers fell down Isabelle's face as she bolted towards the living room. Jean and Georges watched as she held Hugo's stocking in her arms like a teddy bear, collapsed on the floor and buried her face in it. Jean walked in the room, the fire in the fireplace it seemed, felt the sadness of the room and he tried to warm up the place and remind everyone of the holiday.
"Isabelle," Jean said as he sat on the floor next to her, "Il va être très bien, vous allez voir." He said, moving to place a comforting arm around her. She hit it away.
"Just leave me alone please!" She cried. The Inspector sighed, nodded, and stood up.
"Joyeux Noël chère, J'espère que vous obtiendrez tout ce que vous avez demandé." Merry Christmas dear one, I hope you get everything you asked for.
Isabelle nodded, still crying. "Merci, Monsieur."
Jean tipped his hat and walked back towards the hallway. Georges sat at the table. Jeanne came back into the room, carrying the rest of the dinner. "Isabelle," Jeanne called. "it's time to eat." The girl slowly came in and sat down in her place. Jeanne looked over to Jean who once again made his way to the door. "Ne pouvez-vous pas veuillez avoir dîner avec nous?" She asked if he would have dinner with them.
"Autant que je le voudrais, J'ai un travail à faire Madame Méliès et j'ai mieux revenir à cela." As much as I would like to Madame Méliès, I have a job to do, and I best get back to it. "Joyeux Noël à vous tous. Je serai toujours là pour bien vous?" Merry Christmas to you all. I will always be here for you, alright?
The Méliès' looked at The Inspector, with begging eyes, wanting him to speak words of comfort to them. Jean smiled a bit as he opened the door. "Espère que mes amis," he said as walked out into the cold world.
A streetlight accompanied with snow, illuminated the ground with reflective white. The Inspector closed the door behind him and walked down the street towards the train station. The snow crunched beneath each footstep, the wind blew snow in his face. He didn't mind it though, "il y a toujours de l'espoir. Je prie pour vous ne perdez jamais."
Hope, my friends, there is always hope. I pray you never lose it.
He passed the church and saw a priest carrying a small body inside. Jean stopped, made the symbol of the cross.
"Joyeux Noël Monsieur Hugo Cabret," he tipped his hat with a smile and walked into the train station across the street. "je vous vois dans la matinée."
Merry Christmas Hugo Cabret, I'll see you in the morning.