Jean-Paul had not been born a dish.
Thankfully, he had been born an orphan, so he was guaranteed to have many great adventures in his lifetime. For example, he spent a great deal of his boyhood in a magnificent castle. He also spent a great deal of his boyhood washing magnificent dishes, though he had spent a great deal of effort to arrive at this position. On his first day as a dishwasher, Jean-Paul did not wash dishes, but pots. Jean-Paul was a natural at scrubbing, washing, soaping, and especially rinsing.
"He had a special certain genius for the rinsing," Old Jaques would say. "In sixty years, I've seen none better."
He was so good, in fact, that after only two months scrubbing pots he was promoted to saucers. The kitchen staff were amazed by his finesse and skill, by the ease with which he made each dish clean again, absolutely perfectly perfect every time. After two more months on the saucers, he was promoted again, and allowed to polish the silver. Despite themselves, they could not help but look up from the potatoes that needed peeling or the meat that needed mincing or the work that needed pretending to be done and steal a glance over to the washbasin, just to see Jean-Paul make even the plainest bone china sparkle like something touched by fairies.
"You know, I'd bet my last good tooth that he's the best there ever was," Old Jaques would say.
"Of course he is," Louise would say. "He's in my kitchen, isn't he?" Claudette would not be quite sure what Louise meant by this, but all the same, she would bob her head up and down so that she looked even more like a broken carousel horse than usual.
Young Jaques would voice his agreement through clenched jaws. Then, he'd go back to chopping the carrots rather more vigorously than was strictly necessary, all the while glaring at Jean-Paul in what was only the best way he could manage, the poor thing.
Yes, the whole kitchen staff all watched him working soapy magic at the washbasin, except for the scullery maid, who unfortunately, was a woefully mediocre floor scrubber. Her name was Frederique, and Jean-Paul liked her, because she was easy to ignore, and because she never looked at him. He didn't know it yet, but she sang herself to sleep on all the loneliest nights, which is to say, every night.
But then, after years of dedicated hard work and not a single broken dish, Jean-Paul was finally to be granted the highest honor it is possible to bestow upon any dishwasher. He was to be entrusted with washing the finest fine china in the castle.
It was quite a momentous occasion. There were many handshakes and speeches and words of congratulations, although for some reason, many of these were directed at Louise instead of Jean-Paul. She accepted her accolades with perfect aplomb. Jean-Paul did not mind, though, because he had the serene and detached sort of bearing a man develops when he sure that is making history.
And indeed, history was about to be made. There had not been a dishwasher of high enough rank to handle the finest fine china for ten long years, when Mad Martine had gone down to the wine cellar and was never seen or heard from again. Without a properly trained dishwasher, of course, it was impossible to use the finest fine china, and for years, the castle had suffered, unable to impress house guests and forced to turn them away out of shame.
But on that night, they felt no shame, because the dark times would be over at last. The kitchen staff waited in mostly dignified silence as he carried the dishes over to the washbasin. They were of the finest porcelain, almost glowing from within in the soft lamplight, and they were rimmed with real gold. "The Master is sure to see that we're rewarded for this," whispered Louise. The others agreed. Frederique scrubbed silently in the corner.
Jean-Paul held the first dish up to the light like a preist saying the blessing over the host, and there were oohs and ahs aplenty. "My friends," said Old Jaques, "we have much to be proud of on this night." His rheumatic chest swelled, and he almost stood up straight. "We've made the youngest Master Dishwasher the world has ever known."
But Jean-Paul did not care about what the others were saying. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered the dish into the washbasin. Then, suddenly, he was in the washbasin. He sank slowly to the very bottom and landed with a delicate thud. Jean-Paul was a dish. "Oh, dear," thought Jean-Paul. "It appears that I shall have to have an adventure."