Les Choristes Réuni
He hunts them down, after the concert.
He should have done this a long time ago, even before he played Mathieu's music to the world. Still, now is better than never, as Pépinot always reminds him. It is Pépinot who helped him find them.
"Le Querrec is in Montfermeil, Corbin and Leclerc are in Paris, Boniface is in Calais."
He says it over to himself, again and again. It is imbued in his head; it thrums even as he raises his baton. It weaves itself into Cerf-Volant, even Voir Sur Ton Chemin is not safe from this chant.
The choir is a good choir, he thinks. He will work with them again. Their soloist has a voice that reminds him of his own, all those years back. After Mathieu.
Mathieu.
Pierre is slightly jealous of his old classmates- they visited Mathieu, regularly, even before he fell ill. That was what Pépinot said.
There had been a stab of reproach in his voice. The unspoken resentment that he, Mathieu's favourite, had never bothered to look for the man who helped him to reach his current status in life.
"He kept all your news articles," Pépinot had said. "They were in a separate album to the one he gave to you. He didn't show that album to anyone, but as he grew older, he left it lying here- lying there. The album never left his side."
"You were always his favourite," says Boniface, his eyes smiling. "We've missed you, Morhange."
Boniface had changed with time. Apart from his curly mop and thick glasses, Pierre does not think that he would have recognised his old classmate. His once youthful skin is now wrinkled, and a gold band rests on his finger.
"My wife, Claudia," Boniface tells him, proudly, and Pierre smiles, inclines his head, and wonders how he would have felt if Mathieu had ever been with his mother. Now, he thinks, with a slight stab in his heart, he would not mind so much.
"Morhange?" says Corbin, and squints slightly. "Morhange… Marie and I read about you in the paper the other day! Cerf-volant!" He opens his mouth and begins to sing. Badly. Pierre remembers how Mathieu would make him the human music stand and chuckles to himself.
Leclerc has difficulty remembering him.
"Pierre?" he says, and shakes his head. "Pierre…"
"Morhange," Pierre says, and suddenly a light flashes over Leclerc's face.
"Morhange! Ahh!"
But Pierre senses that he doesn't truly remember.
"Well," Leclerc admits reluctantly, almost ashamedly, "Mathieu would mention your name over and over again, but I didn't remember, and I don't often read the paper… my wife does the reading for me. Didn't say a word until the article where some composer was playing Clément Mathieu's music, and she only asked if that same chap was the old teacher I used to visit."
Pierre assures him it is all right. He feels too guilty to admit that he had forgotten all of his old school friends until recently.
He visits Le Querrec last.
Le Querrec remembers him almost instantly.
"The other trouble maker; my non-partner in crime," he greets him, and Pierre laughs.
"Lock up never made a difference, did it?" he says, and Le Querrec shakes his head.
"Nothing made a difference until Mathieu came."
Mathieu.
"I wish I could have seen him," Pierre murmurs, "one last time."
Le Querrec shakes his head. "It doesn't matter. Mathieu remembered you."
I wish he knew that I remembered him.
"I should have thanked him," Pierre says, his throat choking up slightly.
"You did," Le Querrec smiles. "Your paper plane. Mathieu always kept it with him- before he- before-" he halts a moment before continuing. "He showed us all the paper planes, and your was last. He held it longest. You were always his favourite."
Guilt stabs Morhange through the heart.
"I was not kind to him," he says. "Not kind enough."
Le Querrec shrugs. "Mathieu didn't mind so much. Would you want to take lunch with us? My son is arriving in twenty minutes."
Later, Pierre wonders if he is the only one of his classmates to not have a wife, or a child, or even a grandchild.
Mathieu never had a wife, or a child.
No, he thinks, another stab of guilt piercing his heart, Mathieu never had a wife, because he was always in love with Violette Morhange.
Mama.
He wants to go to her now, to feel a mother's embrace once more, although he is too old to want such things. He wants to tell her of Clément Mathieu.
"It is life," Pépinot shrugs, when Pierre tells him.
"Life!" Pierre says, bitterly. "Life is cruel."
"No," Pépinot corrects him, "life is beautiful."
"Mathieu-"
Pépinot shakes his head, and smiles sadly.
"Mathieu would not bear anything against you. If he were here now, he would be in debt to you; you brought his music to the world."
Tears prick in the back of Pierre's eyes; he blinks them back.
"I did remember Mathieu," he says, and Pépinot nods.
"We all did. And he knew that."
They sit in silence, and watch as the sun dips below the treetops.
And, Pierre thinks, perhaps- just perhaps- Mathieu had always known that he would return.
Tes ailes triomphantes
N'oublie pas de revenir
Vers moi
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A/N: I know that I said "Failure No More" would conclude my probing into Mathieu and Morhange's estranged relationship, but this little plot bunny would not leave me alone, and neither would Morhange.
And now, disclaimers of sorts- other than "Les Choristes" and its characters, which I think everyone knows I don't own, Pépinot's comment, "Life is beautiful" is a reference to one of my other favourite foreign films. If you haven't already seen it, rent it out!
Finally, the closing lyrics are taken from "Cerf-Volant" and translate roughly to, "Your triumphing wings do not forget to return to me."
Thanks to all who read this far! I hope you enjoyed this! God bless.