Fall was tulip planting season. It was warm for October, the ground was not yet frozen, but in a few weeks the air would grow chill and the frost would kill all things green and growing. The bulbs, which Fauchelevent convinced the Mother Superior to import every year, lay in a small wicker basket beside them. He loved the flowers, and though his eyes were beginning to fail, the brilliant reds and yellows still delighted him. And this spring, he would finally have somebody to share them with.
He and Monsieur Madeleine knelt side by side in the convent garden, close enough that their knees touched. Fauchelevent thought Madeleine was odd. The man had dropped from into his life from nowhere, and barely talked about his past life. In fact, he barely spoke at all. Fauchelevent didn't mind, though. His silent presence was reassuring, somehow. After so long being the lone gardener, it was a relief just to have someone there.
He picked up the trowel. His hands shook all the time now, a symptom of old age.
"Tulips grow in a row: like soldiers," he said, drawing a line in the air to demonstrate, "They like company. But I think they like to try and outdo each other. You'll see when they grow up. Each one tries to be prettier than his neighbors."
He stuck the trowel into the earth, trying to steady his shaky hand.
"They go down deep, Monsieur Madeleine."
He tossed dirt to the side and stuck the trowel in again.
"Alas, my hands are not as steady as they once were. We do not get younger, Monsieur Madeleine."
Madeleine did not speak, but folded his warm, strong hand around Fauchelevent's, steadying it. The men shared a smile.
"They have got to be buried rather deep. It's important, or they won't grow at all. And that would be a tragedy of sorts."
When at last they had a row of holes twenty centimeters deep, Fauchelevent placed a tulip bulb in Madeleine's hand.
"Would you like to plant the first one, Monsieur Madeleine? The pointed end goes up," he said, "So it points toward the sky. And then I'm afraid all we can do is wait and hope we don't get too much rain. Last year the garden flooded. Only one sprouted. Of course, I still tended to him, but he didn't last long…"
He trailed off when he noticed that Madeleine was staring at him. The man raised a hand to his cheek.
"Monsieur Madeleine?"
He felt unable to move, transfixed by the man's gaze, his slight smile, and his sad eyes. And at once, they both leaned forward, and their lips met. One small kiss: and that was all. Fauchelevent smiled and for perhaps the only time in his life was lost for words.