Unfortunately, I do not own Les Choristes (The Chorus). But as soon as I watched it I fell in love with it and Moharge.
Chapter One : Pepinot.
R.I.P
Madame Morhange.
1917-1999
Beloved Mother.
That what was the stone read. We all watched in silence as the coffin drifted slowly into the ugly hole in the ground. A white rose placed on top of the coffin looked saddened, wilted. To lighten the mood as well as the rain, flowers were placed decorating the dismal setting of the grave. It was an unexpected invite, one from someone I hadn't heard from in 50 years. We watched him step forward with no cover of the rain. He didn't need it. No one spoke. We watched.
Several months later, I had recovered from the unpredicted funeral. His mother, one we had all loved was gone. I remembered her curly wisps of hair. She was prettier than most mothers. Monsieur Mathieu seemed to think so as well. I lived in Lyon with my son, Pepinot, named after a dear friend of mine. My husband had died several years ago but we were fine, just fine. Anyway, one day after seeing my son off to school, I passed a nearby café and eventually decided to go in due to the unfortunate cold. It had a warm, dazzling feel to it despite the frost starting to spread on to the windows. I ordered a hot chocolate and sat on a table nearby a small man stirring his tea mindlessly. I simply smiled at him before taking a small sip of the cocoa quickly served to me. After a few absent moments he looked up and offered a seat opposite him which I took. I knew he was a stranger, but I thought he was just a lonely man that needed someone to talk to.
"Hello." I smiled when I was finally comfortable.
"Hello." He echoed.
"Monique." I stated stretching my arm to shake his hand.
"Pepinot." He replied before kissing it swiftly. I smiled amused.
"I have a son named Pepinot, named after a friend." He looked slightly surprised, I guess it wasn't a common name but having the same name as someone is somehow exciting.
"A friend?" He asked obviously curious.
"Yes, well I looked after him at school but I think it's safe to say we were friends." I concluded finishing my hot chocolate.
"Fond de l'Etang?" He said eyebrows narrowed.
"Yes, Fond de l'Etang! Peppi?" I cried remembering the nickname I had given my little friend.
"Monny?" He asked. I stared in disbelief, what a miracle? Finding my own friend here. Now. "This is good timing actually," He said as though reading my mind. "I was going to visit somebody tonight, one I think you may want to see."
After leaving the café, I made my way home. I thought on our conversation, hypnotised within the past of what an adventure had been. The ups and downs. It all seemed too good to be true.
After briefly explaining to my son that I was going out, I left and started to walk down the road to a telephone box that Pepinot had pointed out. I was supposed to meet him here and then we would walk to this mysterious place. Although curious, I couldn't help feeling excited. Pepinot, himself, seemed over the moon about it so I assumed it wasn't anything depressing. After an idle walk and chit chat, we had arrived at the house that I presumed this person lived. Though as soon as we arrived, the heavens had opened and we were to sprint if we didn't want to be soaked. As Pepinot rang the bell, I read a faded sign stuck on to the grand gates. It read 'Pierre Moharge.'
"Moharge?" I whispered to Pepinot while we walked through the gates, shielded by his umbrella. I was given no reply but the opening of the front door to the house. Stood before me was the man I had seen at the funeral. Looking as damp and depressed as ever. Curiosity was swept across his face, we had obviously not been remembered.
"Remember me?" Pepinot said, in my opinion, too quickly. 'Moharge' raised an eyebrow at him.
"And me?" I spoke quietly as the two men looked at me. The man just stood rooted to the spot.
"Fond de l'Etang?" Pepinot said. I could hear the desperation in his voice. "My Dad's picking me up on Saturday." He carried on sadly. I looked at him, remembering him moan at me for not waiting at the gate with him. It took me a while to realise his Dad was never going to come. Monsieur Mathieu had told me.
"Monique?" I asked. He again, looked slightly blank. Had he really forgotten us? "Pepinot?" His frown slowly stretched as realisation crept onto his wrinkled face. I smiled briefly before grabbing on to Pepinot's arm for comfort. He had remembered us after all. He let us in before serving us some tea. I noticed a small leather case gripped in Pepinot's arms but I decided to wait until he spoke for himself.
Moharge sat next to me on his grand sofa while he poured tea. He seemed happier than the man that had opened the door no more than 5 minutes ago. While the three of us embraced each other in comfort and memories, I finally realised how much they each had meant to me.
"Fond de l'Etang." Pepinot repeated before placing a sepia toned photograph on to the coffee table. I studied the fellow faces of my 'classmates.' I then found myself, the only girl, standing happily next to my father, the headmaster. I could see my long hair waving in the breeze. A beret tilting on the back of my head. The other two pointed themselves out, laughing as they too, recognised the others in the class. Surprisingly, Moharge pointed out the supervisor who was the best teacher whom we'd all had. Moharge was definitely his favourite, according to the amount of solo's he was given. Afterwards, Pepinot reached into his case and pulled out a small book. Carefully passing it over to Moharge, I smiled as he opened the cover recognising this as Mr Mathieu's diary. The diary he had kept whilst teaching at Fond de l'Etang. As Moharge read through the many pages, I, myself recalled the first visiting of Monsieur Mathieu.