Grief That Can't Be Spoken, a les misérables fanfic

This is my 25th story for Les Miserables, and I would say my first one that's centric to Marius.

There was no simpler, happier family in Paris than Marius and Cosette. Ten years after their wedding, they had two rambunctious little boys, Jean-Paul and Georges, and a new baby girl, Josephine, the daughter that Cosette had longed for. They'd kept Toussaint on as their maid, and Marius's grandfather now lived with them as well.

Grandfather Gillenormand adored their children, and sometimes Cosette saw longing in Marius's eyes when he watched him with the boys. She knew that he'd been quite different with Marius when he was a child, distant and very strict; her own papa had always been so sweet to her that it was hard for her to imagine. But now, Gillenormand liked to say that he'd mellowed, like a fine wine.

But his personality, they discovered, wasn't the only thing about him that had mellowed. They first noticed it one evening as they were all eating dinner. Jean-Paul was shoveling in his egg pudding when Gillenormand turned to him and said, "Marius, don't eat so quickly."

Marius and Cosette exchanged worried glances at this, but Jean-Paul and Georges just laughed, thinking that their grandfather was making a joke. "Grandfather, Papa is Marius," the boy said, smiling. "I'm Jean-Paul."

Gillenormand looked bewildered for a moment, then scowled. "What are you talking about?" he asked brusquely, in a tone that Marius remembered all too well. "Of course you're Jean-Paul. I know that."

That was the first time that he called Jean-Paul by his father's name, but it wasn't the last. Marius and Cosette didn't know it then, but from that evening on, Gillenormand began to live less and less in reality and more and more in a world of his own illusions.

Nobody realized how serious it would become until a few weeks later. One afternoon, Cosette was sitting in the parlor, crocheting, while Georges did his homework. He and Jean-Paul had just returned home from school, and he liked to finish his homework right away. Jean-Paul, who preferred to run and play first, was in the back garden. Suddenly, his excited voice came in through the open window. "Mama, Georges, come and see!" he called loudly. "Come and see what I've got!"

Georges slapped his schoolbook closed and sprinted outside to his brother, and Cosette laid down her crocheting and went too, smiling as she wondered what Jean-Paul could've found to delight him so - a frog or a grasshopper, perhaps.

But when she stepped into the garden and saw what her son was so proudly holding in his hands, she gasped. "Jean-Paul Gillenormand Pontmercy!" Jean-Paul's smile slid off his face, and he glanced worriedly at Georges. He must be in trouble if his mother was using his full name; it was so long that she almost never said it. "Where did you get such a thing?"

He was holding a toy rifle. It was a handsome toy, with a cork bullet dangling from the wooden barrel on a string. But Marius and Cosette had a rule that their sons were never to play with toy guns. Marius still had nightmares sometimes - nightmares of guns firing and bullets whizzing by him, as his friends all fell down around him, their shirts soaked in blood - and he never wanted to see his sons holding a gun in their hands, not even a toy one.

"Jean-Paul," Cosette scolded, "you know you aren't allowed to play with toy guns. Where did you get that?"

Jean-Paul's grip on the rifle loosened until he almost dropped it. "But... Grandfather gave it to me," he said uncertainly. "I thought... that meant it was all right."

Cosette felt caught off-guard by this. Gillenormand knew that the boys weren't allowed toy guns, and he had never gone against their wishes in raising the children before. Why would he have given Jean-Paul this rifle? But just then, Gillenormand rounded the corner of the house from the front garden.

"I looked in the garbage for a tin can for you to shoot at, but - " He stopped talking when he saw that Jean-Paul had lowered the rifle almost the ground. "What's the matter, boy? Come on, let's see you shoot that thing!"

Cosette had never been angry at the old man before, but she was now. "Grandfather," she said firmly, "you know Jean-Paul isn't allowed toy guns."

Gillenormand had always been so fond of Cosette. He loved her like his own daughter, but now, he suddenly whirled on her, furious. "His name is Marius!" he insisted, almost yelling. "I'm his grandfather, and I'll decide what he's allowed to play with. Just who the devil are you, anyway?" He paused and peered at her suspiciously. "Oh yes, I remember now. You're the new governess I hired for him. Well, you're discharged, missy."

He dismissed her with a wave of his hand and went back into the house, shaking his head and muttering under his breath.

For a moment, Cosette could only stare after him, speechless. Behind her, Jean-Paul and Georges looked at each other, their young eyes wide and fearful. They understood now that their grandfather wasn't calling Jean-Paul by the wrong name as a joke. Certainly there was nothing funny about how he'd just yelled at their mama. They watched her, waiting to see what she would do, but Cosette was so shocked by Gillenormand's outburst that she could only stand there, not moving until, from inside the house, Josephine awoke from her nap and began to cry.

"It's called dementia," Dr. Rendel said. He'd been their family doctor for years and delivered all three of their children. When he made a house call to check up on Josephine, Cosette asked him about Grandfather Gillenormand. The old man was having more episodes when he didn't understand where he was - or even worse, didn't recognize his own family - and they knew that it went beyond ordinary old-age forgetfulness.

Dr. Rendel said that dementia was common among the elderly, especially those as old as Gillenormand. But when Cosette asked if he knew anything more about it, each of his answers was worse news: that dementia could last for years, even for the rest of his life, that it could affect his judgement and social skills, that there was no known cure for it.

Cosette fell silent for a long moment, taking this in and wondering how much worse Gillenormand might get. Dr. Rendel sighed at her crestfallen face and then looked down at the baby. Josephine was lying on her back between them, cooing and kicking her legs. She could roll over now, and Cosette had just started feeding her solid foods and was still nursing her, too. All the neighbors said that they'd never seen such a darling baby.

"Well, here's some good news, at least," Dr. Rendel added. "This little one is the very picture of health."

As much as Marius worried about Gillenormand, he worried almost as much about Cosette. All day while he was at work and the boys were at school, she was left home alone with Toussaint, the baby, and an increasingly confused old man. But Cosette handled it splendidly. She learned the signs - frowning, tensing, looking about him - for when she needed to remind Gillenormand of where he was. She learned how to redirect him when he grew irritated. She learned to never ask him, "Do you know who I am?" which only set him up for failure and embarrassment. Instead, she said, "Grandfather, I'm Cosette, Marius's wife. Marius is grown-up now, and you live here with us and our children."

As she tried to help Gillenormand, Cosette remembered her own father. Her papa's death had been so heartbreaking, so sudden - on her and Marius's wedding night, no less - but she was grateful that at least he had never suffered like this. Her papa had died while he was still strong and clear-headed. When he saw her for the last time, he'd said, "Cosette, my child." How it would've crushed Cosette if her papa had ever looked at her and not known who she was.

One afternoon, Gillenormand was playing with Josephine, encouraging her to grasp her rattle and shake it. He called her by name, and Cosette felt relieved that he was having a moment in his right mind again. But then he cooed to her, "That's my girl, Josephine. You love your papa, don't you?" and Cosette's heart sank, realizing that instead of moving forward to the present, Gillenormand's mind had slipped even further into the past. He thought the baby was his own daughter Josephine, Marius's mother, who'd died years ago.

But as much as Cosette reminded and redirected him, Gillenormand grew worse. Within a few months, he was spending most days under the belief that Jean-Paul was Marius, Cosette was his governess, and Georges was a friend of his who'd come over to play. It was usually a harmless illusion, but one evening, he said to Jean-Paul, "Marius, it's getting late. It's time your little friend went home." Then, he actually tried to shoo Georges towards the door, saying, "Go on, lad, run along home now," while Georges protested, "But I live here!"

Gillenormand's mind couldn't cast roles for Marius and the baby in this illusion, so most of the time, he simply ignored them. Marius made no complaint about this, but Cosette could tell how much this bothered him. His grandfather had been so hard on him when he was a boy, but to be ignored completely hurt in a new way. And now that Gillenormand believed Jean-Paul was Marius, he wasn't hard on him at all.

"Let Marius and his friend stay out and play a little longer," he told Cosette when she called the boys in from the garden. "Marius, do you want some more pie? Give him another slice," he told Toussaint when she served dessert after dinner. "Oh, and his friend too, I suppose."

"I just don't understand it," Marius told Cosette as they went to bed that night. He ran one hand through his hair, frustrated. "He never allowed me any time to play. He never let me have dessert after dinner at all. If he really thinks Jean-Paul is me, why isn't he treating him the same way?"

"Perhaps somewhere in there, he does still remember how he treated you," Cosette suggested, "and now he feels sorry and wants to make up for it."

Marius said nothing to this, but he sighed, and with a tiny twinge of jealousy, remembered how much Cosette's father had doted on her.

Sometimes, there were moments when Gillenormand believed that he was still a little boy himself. One afternoon, Marius came home from work to find him playing with Jean-Paul and Georges, leading them in a parade about the garden. The old man was beating a spoon against the lid of the garbage can and singing, "Flim flam, I'm the leader of the garbage lid band!" Marius stood at the front gate for a long moment, his mouth hanging open a bit, wondering how this could possibly be the same old man who used to be so stern.

Then he spotted Cosette, who was watching from the shade with Josephine. The baby was sitting up by herself now, laughing and clapping her hands, all rosy cheeks and chubby fingers. Cosette gave him a little wave, and Marius had to laugh.

Another day, he came home to find Gillenormand and the boys playing outside again, this time making mud pies, and it was hard not to feel bitter. Marius told himself he should be grateful that his sons were getting to see a different side of Gillenormand, but he could not help remembering when he was a boy and Gillenormand used to cane him for getting his clothes muddy.

When winter came, Gillenormand's body suddenly began to weaken along with his mind. He grew cold easily and retired just after dark. Cosette set him up in a room downstairs when climbing the stairs become too hard for him. But again, she and Marius didn't know how quickly he would grow worse. By January, he was largely confined to his bed, but he was still well enough to sit up, and he liked to look out the window and watch Jean-Paul and Georges playing in the snow. Cosette brought the boys into Gillenormand's room every day to visit him. He still believed that Jean-Paul was Marius, and their chatter always cheered him, but soon, he was so weak that even their visits exhausted him.

One evening, as Cosette was leaving his room with the boys, Marius said that he would stay and sit with Gillenormand for a while. Gillenormand waited until the door closed behind them, then turned to Marius and said, "Fetch me a mirror."

Marius blinked. What could he possibly want with a mirror? "Pardon?" he asked, wondering if he'd misheard him.

"A mirror!" Gillenormand shouted, with a flash of his old temper. "I said fetch me one, boy!"

Marius couldn't bear the self-loathing that washed over him as he rushed to the nightstand and fumbled about in the drawers for a mirror. Suddenly, he didn't feel like a father, or a husband, or a man at all anymore. No, suddenly, he was that same pathetic little boy again, scurrying about while his grandfather shouted. Marius had hated that boy almost as much as the boy had hated his grandfather.

But his hatred melted away when he handed Gillenormand the mirror. The blue veins on his hands stood out as he gripped the handle, and his arm was bonier and shakier than ever as he held it up in front of him. He stared at his reflection for a moment, then let the mirror drop back onto the bed. He turned to Marius and spoke in that stern, familiar voice.

"Don't you let those boys see me again."

Marius gulped and nodded. He settled into the armchair beside Gillenormand's bed, ready to send for a doctor, or a priest, if he grew worse. The old man looked so small as he slept; his body was tense, and he frowned in his sleep, as if troubled by some unpleasant dream.

Marius didn't remember falling asleep there, but suddenly, he was waking up to Josephine crying upstairs. He could tell that it was much later, and Cosette must've been in to check on him, for a blanket had been laid over him, and there was a plate of bread and cheese on the nightstand. Gillenormand stirred in his bed, also awakened by Josephine's cries. He turned to look at Marius, and his old eyes blinked and focused on his grandson's face.

"Marius," he said. It wasn't a question.

Marius started. He could not remember the last time that Gillenormand had looked at him and known who he was. He swallowed down the lump in his throat and forced his voice to be steady. "Yes, Grandfather, it's me," he said, laying his hand over the old man's. His skin felt as thin as tissue paper.

Overhead, the floorboards creaked as Cosette got up and went into the nursery. Gillenormand's voice was soft but clear. "Marius... I can't remember. What did you name that baby?"

"The baby? We named her Josephine."

This time, it was Gillenormand who started. "Josephine?" he repeated. "That - that was your mother's name."

Marius smiled sadly. "I know it was," he said. Marius had only learned his mother's name by asking his aunt. Gillenormand had never once spoken of her.

But now, he sighed wearily and muttered, "Josephine... broke my heart when she ran off with that brigand."

That brigand. Marius couldn't help wincing at the words, for they had so often heralded pain for him. I'll not let you grow up to be like that brigand, boy, Gillenormand used to say before he caned him or sent him to bed without supper. He wondered if Gillenormand could even remember now that that brigand's name had been Georges.

"And I took it all out on you," Gillenormand added. He squeezed Marius's hand feebly. "I'm sorry for that, Marius. I'm so sorry."

It was as if he'd been clinging to life, just waiting for a moment when he was lucid enough to say those words. For as he spoke them, the relief was almost palpable. His tense limbs relaxed, and the troubled look on his face vanished, replaced by a peaceful one. "I'm sorry," he said one last time, and when he passed away a little while later, it was with no fear or pain or noise. Marius had seen death before, of course, but his friends' deaths at the barricade had been full of gunshots and screams and blood-soaked pavement. Gillenormand's eyes simply slipped closed, and his breathing slowed until it stopped.

The next morning, Marius told his family that Grandfather Gillenormand had died in his sleep in the night. He was brave and dry-eyed when he broke the news, but that night, awake alone in the slumbering house, Marius buried his face in his hands and wept for the first time since the barricade.

FIN