L'espion Rouge
A/N: Well, Damn, this chapter took far too long to finish. I do so apologize, but college has caught up to me, shall we say. I'm already moving on to chapter four, and I'm hoping it won't take as long as this one had. Now without further ado, start reading.
A/N2: Also, let me know if some parts in this chapter are choppy or rushed. Thanks.
Chapter Three
Turning Point
The flickering sunlight and the sound of footsteps and a cane woke Jean a few days later, and he looked into his grandmother's eyes as she entered his room. He knew what was coming, but he refused to show any kind of weakness to her. She held a glass of water in her left hand and a white pill in her right hand, and he sat up when she stood by his bed and huffed.
"Open your mouth," Èvelyne said, and Jean did as told, feeling the antibiotic pill stick to his tongue, a bitter taste radiating through his mouth. "Now drink." She handed him the water glass, which he downed without hesitation, not stopping to take a breath until the lingering aftertaste disappeared. He shuddered and coughed after handing the glass back to his grandmother, his appetite leaving him.
When Èvelyne left, Jean lay down and thought about what had happened since the doctor's visit. The next day, Èvelyne, Liliane, and Jean went to the doctor's office and waited for the assistant to call them into the examination room. Jean remembered seeing white plaster walls, the somewhat dirty tile floors, and five old wooden chairs inside the waiting room, and, strangely, it reminded him of home, which eased his nerves a little. He glanced about at every sound, no matter if it was the sound of birds singing outside or the sound of the nearby window creaking. He sat between his mother and Èvelyne, twiddling his thumbs, not knowing what to do.
After a while the assistant called them into the examination room, and everything happened in a whirl to Jean. The doctor and his assistant checked him first, giving him a throat culture, listening to his lungs as he breathed, and asking him questions. He tried to answer them as best as he could, and soon his diagnosis was done. He watched his mother and grandmother undergo the same procedure, the doctor prescribing antibiotics to them afterward. The doctor provided them with strict instructions about the medication and how long to take it, and the information made Jean's head hurt; he was glad when he, his mother, and his grandmother returned home.
Every morning, Jean and his family had to take a small white pill with water. Even though the pill tasted awful, Jean knew he had to take it; he didn't want to develop pneumonia just like his mother had. The illness still frightened him, and he would have nightmares of coughing and feeling pain in his chest. A pain that never stopped. When he woke, crying in the darkness of his room, his mother never dashed in to comfort him. The pneumonia antibiotic made her fall into a dense sleep, never waking to any sound. He knew Èvelyne wouldn't dash in to soothe him, so he attempted to calm himself down, breathing heavily, trying to quell his sobs.
Now, as Jean lay in bed, swallowing to rid himself of the pill's aftertaste, he wondered if it would help him and his mother. He didn't feel any different; all he endured were the side effects of the antibiotic: drowsiness, decreased appetite, and the horrible aftertaste. However, he kept his guard up, anticipating when something drastic would befall him.
The doorbell rang suddenly, making Jean flinch. The thumping sounds of Èvelyne's cane reverberated through the hallway, and he listened as his grandmother opened the door and greeted someone. A new voice that he had never heard before entered his ears, and his curiosity piqued. He ventured from his room and saw his grandmother and a graying-blonde haired woman with brown eyes and a face full of wrinkles. They appeared to be friends to him, for they acted as through they knew each other.
"Oh, Èvey darling, it's been too long since we last spoke. What's been happening with you and the family?" the woman asked after embracing Èvelyne, her voice hoarse and giddy sounding.
"Same old, same old, except we all have pneumonia," Èvelyne said, her voice snide.
"What?" The woman took a step back from Èvelyne, looking concerned. "How?"
"Oh don't be ridiculous, Mariette." Èvelyne huffed. "We're on medication, so you don't have to keep your distance. My foolish daughter just doesn't know how to take care of herself."
"Really? What did she do?"
Jean entered the kitchen at this point, interrupting their conversation.
"Oh, is this Liliane's son?" Mariette turned to look at Jean, her wrinkles making her face look twisted as she smiled. "How precious!"
"Don't even pay him any mind. He's a spoiled brat, just like his mother." Èvelyne waved a hand, her expression contemptuous. "What do you want, Jean?"
"I bet he wanted to come meet me, isn't that right?" Mariette's coo made Jean's stomach clench. Her voice didn't sound at all friendly or soft, and it made him uneasy. However, he nodded, making her giggle, which sounded even more horrible. Faintly, Jean could smell smoke from her clothes, and his nose flared. What is that smell? he thought, looking at Mariette.
"Anyway, I brought the cards. You up for a quick game?" Mariette said, turning to Èvelyne again.
"Always ready." Èvelyne sat at the table, her gnarled fingers clasping together.
Mariette reached into her purse and took out a deck of cards, placing them on the table before she too sat. "I'll just let you know that I've learned a few tricks here and there. You might not win this time, Èvey."
Jean knew that he was invisible to them now, and he took this opportunity to leave and head back to his room. However, later on, he decided to head back into the kitchen and saw Èvelyne and Mariette still playing cards, looking quite engrossed in their game. The disgusting smell was back, and he could see smoke curling from his grandmother and her friend, a cigarette in their hands. They laughed together, as they doled cards, oblivious to Jean.
"I heard Cécile had gone quite mad lately. She's been screaming about the Nazis and how they're plotting to destroy France. Personally I think she's just taking that from her lover," Mariette said, her lips curling into a smirk. "He's a German Jew."
"And why aren't we surprised?" Èvelyne shook her head. "Cécile moves from one obsession to another. First she obsessed over how this Depression will make us become like the Bolsheviks, then she went on and on about how America secretly wants to backstab us and Europe and take our lands, and now she's doting on Nazis."
"She's absolutely ridiculous. Three of a kind, Évelyne. Looks like you might be in trouble." Mariette placed her three cards down and took a small stack of poker chips, making Èvelyne growl and take a drag of her cigarette.
"Baise. Don't forget who's still winning this game though, Mariette." She laughed, gesturing to her stack of poker chips.
Mariette joined her in laughter as they shuffled their cards and drew new ones, placing bets. Then she sobered and said, "Speaking of those Nazis, I heard Germany's planning something big. Hitler has some crazy plans, and his violation of the Treaty of Versailles was one of them."
"Tell me something I don't know." Èvelyne huffed. "Everyone's going crazy about that violation. So what? He didn't declare outright war on us. What's the big problem?"
"That's true. But Hitler signed the treaty and promised to remain within his nation's borders. We all knew Hilter was mobilizing Germany in secret, but we didn't expect him to pull this trick. Who knows what he'll do next."
"Oh please. Don't give me that nonsense." Èvelyne took a deep inhale of her cigarette before smashing it into the nearby ash tray. "If we crushed Germany in the Great War, the we can crush them again if they declare war."
"We only won because the Yankees aided us. Without them, we would have been crushed instead."
"Oh, those Yankees. Everyone talks about them and their heroics. Tch! I find they're selfish hypocrites, always harping about freedom and democracy." Èvelyne's lip curled.
"But they're our closest allies. We can't underestimate what they've done for us before and after the Great War."
Great War? Jean cocked his head as he glanced from Èvelyne to Mariette. He couldn't understand what they were talking about, and he had a feeling this was something he shouldn't have eavesdropped upon, but his curiosity overrode his thoughts. He stuck around as his grandmother and her friend spoke, trying to comprehend them.
Just then, a boom of thunder sounded, and Jean cowered, a small whimper escaping him.
Èvelyne and Mariette appeared not to hear the thunder, but they certainly heard his whimper, and they turned to face him.
"The little brat has returned." Èveylne's sneer grew. "What, you grew bored playing hide and seek by yourself?"
"Perhaps he wants to watch us. Is that right, Jean?" Mariette giggled.
Despite both women making him uneasy, Jean knew he would rather face Mariette than his grandmother. He looked at her and nodded instead as a roll of thunder echoed, the soft pitter-patter sounds of rain following. Mariette laughed again and beckoned for him to sit at the table.
Not wanting to refuse, Jean obeyed and sat in the chair, twiddling his thumbs, feeling uncomfortable.
"Now, shall we return to our game?" Mariette asked, looking at Èvelyne, a gleam in her eyes.
"Let's."
The women discarded their hands and drew new cards, Mariette taking a deep inhale of her cigarette, blowing out the smoke and giggling. Jean watched as they forgot his presence, and he sat, shifting in his seat, wondering if he would be able to sneak away without drawing their attention. It made him think of the power that entered him when he hid in the closet, ready to leap out and surprise. How peaceful he felt, knowing he was alone and that no one could see him. He relished that feeling; he longed for invisibility, to be able to disappear for a while and come back to the world as he pleased.
"Hah! Flush! You're finished, Èvelyne!" Mariette placed her cards down and drew all the poker chips on the table to her side, a smirk on her wizened, ugly face.
"Merde!" Evelyne stood, slamming her palms against the table. "You always seem to best me whenever I start getting good hands. I can't believe this."
"Hee hee!" Mariette slapped her knee as she broke down into laughter, her face twisting into itself. "Perhaps you need to brush up on your skills."
"No. I think a certain person here had given me bad luck."
Jean didn't even have to look to know Èvelyne meant him. He sighed under his breath and slunk out of the kitchen, hearing his grandmother spew a few more nasty words at him. He blocked them out and went into the closet, desiring for a chance to disappear. As he crouched in the darkest corner, he felt sudden tears prick his eyes. Èvelyne's constant abuse bit into him day by day, and only now did he realize why. Of course, as a naïve child, he had disregarded all the signs, trying to live in an optimistic, carefree world. However, his grandmother's words always reminded him of the darkness in his life. The darkness he could not escape, no matter where he hid.
Not even his mother provided much comfort; she always seemed to shy away from the world, lost in the blankets and bed of her room. He contemplated going there and snuggling with her, but he knew he had to be strong. He was everything Èvelyne hated and he wanted to change that. He clenched a fist and felt his tears dry, imagining himself as someone he wasn't. Someone his grandmother would respect.
Jean opened his eyes and was startled to find a faint gloomy light outside the closet. Figuring he had fallen asleep, he stood, feeling a numbing pain radiate from his neck to his shoulders, and headed out into the hallway, seeing faint light emanating from the nearby gas lamp on the wall. He walked to his room as his eyes adjusted, knowing Èvelyne wouldn't make him food or even provide him with anything of sustenance.
A cough sounded, and Jean cringed, knowing it came from his mother. For some reason, dread roiled in his stomach and made him pause.
At once, a barrage of coughing followed the first, and Jean went to investigate, feeling more and more unsettled. The thumping of Èvelyne's cane sounded, and he turned to face her, seeing her face look tight.
"What now?" The crone headed into Liliane's room, slamming open the door and stalking over to Liliane's bed. She watched her daughter writhe on the bed, locked in the spasms of her coughs. However, no sympathy came from Èvelyne; only a cold apathy reigned.
Jean rushed into the bedroom as well, feeling his heart begin to race as Liliane's coughs grew bronchial and hoarse.
"Maman!" he said, going over to her. "Maman!"
"Hush, Jean. There's enough noise in this room. I don't need your contribution as well," Èvelyne said, a reproach in her voice. She huffed and lifted Liliane to a seated position, holding on tight despite her daughter's wild flailing. Without hesitation, she slapped Liliane's back, making Jean's eyes widen. "I thought these pills worked. You're even worse off now than you were, Liliane. Now stop coughing and breathe." Her slaps became even more pronounced, and Liliane's body began to quiver in her grip.
Jean watched as his mother grew less and less responsive, her coughs worsening, becoming long and drawn out despite Èvelyne's attempt to help. Fright laced through him, and he remained rooted to the spot, looking at nothing but his mother. He knew he couldn't provide any help; he was just a young boy. However, as seconds flew by, he felt he should do something. The look of agony on his mother's face struck him.
Now Èvelyne began to look somewhat disturbed. "Come on, breathe! This has been going on for long enough. Can't you see I'm trying to help?" She whacked Liliane's back now. "You never seem to appreciate what I do for you, do you, Fille. You've always resisted me, pushing me away and putting your woes on me. When will you learn the err of your ways?"
As if Èvelyne's words were magic, Liliane's coughs subsided and she took a huge breath, tears coursing down her face. Jean's body quaked, but he held himself back from launching at his mother and reassuring himself that such a horrible ordeal would never happen again.
Liliane deflated in Èveylne's arms, her thin bosom rising and fluttering weakly, and only then did Jean inch closer to her, feeling tentative.
"Now get some rest." Èvelyne lay Lililane down and stood, giving her a scrutinizing look. "Do you need water?"
"No." Liliane's voice was paper-thin.
"All right." Èvelyne exited the room, leaving Jean with his mother.
"Jean. Stay with me." Liliane's voice sounded detached, and it made Jean leap into the bed and embrace her, tears running down his face.
"Maman." He took in the comfort of her body, snuggling into her shoulder as she drew the covers around them. He could feel his horror fade as he embraced her, feeling suddenly so young. For the first time in a long while, he felt happy. Nothing else mattered more to him now than this moment. As he composed his emotions, he could felt a heavy weariness come over him.
"Oh, mon doux bébé Jean. I'm sorry..." Liliane's sentence trailed off, but Jean ignored this, feeling himself succumb to rest. Not even when his mother's grip slackened around him did he take any notice. He simply let himself go, taking in his mother's body warmth and allowing himself to be himself and absorb all the comfort he could from her as he fell asleep.
Jean's inner eyes opened to see two paths in front of him. He found he was alone, but, oddly enough, he didn't feel nervous or even skittish. Rather, he felt nothing as he regarded the two paths. The roads, both dirt and full of rocky chunks, led to different destinations. One road led to a dark forest, the trees' branches looking like sharp brambles and barbed wire. The other road led to a distant city, and he could hear faint noises coming from it. Consciously, he knew he had a choice to make, a choice that would give him a preview of his future, consequences and all.
The stagnant sun shone on Jean, a few cirrus clouds drifting through the sky. A few trees outside of the forest dotted the landscape around him, and medium-sized boulders lay even further beyond the trees. He knew hesitating for any longer would get him nowhere; he had to choose now. However, he was unsure of both places, not knowing what to expect or what expected him. However, the city enticed him, the sounds coming from it were melodious and natural. The forest, on the contrary, looked like death; it was cold and rigid and its darkness stretched beyond his vision. The branches appeared to twist and undulate on their own without a catalyst, and it made him shiver.
Jean lingered for a few moments more before he took his first step toward his choice. Just as he did so, his vision faded, only to be replaced with blackness. He opened his eyes to find himself in his mother's bedroom, the soft sunlight streaming into the room from behind the curtains.
He looked to see his mother beside him, her eyes closed, looking peaceful for the first time in weeks. Despite something telling him to leave his mother be, Jean's stomach overruled his instincts, and he shook his mother. "Maman, I'm hungry."
His mother didn't respond, which encouraged him to try again. "Maman, wake up."
That's when he realized his mother wouldn't move despite his efforts, and he cocked his head. Usually she would administer to his needs immediately, regardless of where she was in the in house when he called for her. A strange underlying feeling came to him, but he disregarded it, hearing the familiar shuffle and cane thumping of Èveylne in the hallway.
"Grand-mère!" Jean called, and Èveylne came into the room, her brow raised.
"What are you doing in here?" she asked. "Too scared to sleep alone?"
"Maman won't wake up." Jean ignored the contempt in her voice.
Èvelyne's expression became one of bemusement as she came closer, then her eyes flew open as she saw Liliane's still body. She reached and touched her daughter's skin, and then her clouded eyes seemed to darken. "We're doomed."
"Why?" Jean looked at her.
Without another word said, Èvelyne stalked from the room and headed to the telephone. Jean, meanwhile, curled next to his mother, trying to shake her awake again. However, she didn't move, the same peaceful look on her face. Why won't Maman move? he thought, feeling frantic. He wanted answers, even though he knew he wouldn't receive any. Suddenly, he wanted comfort, an escape from the complexities attempting to unnerve him. He snuggled closer to his mother, hoping his body contact would revive her.
"Jean. You need to get out of here." Èvelyne returned after a few moments, grabbing his arm and pulling him to the door. Her face looked even more twisted than usual. "Go to your room."
"But what about Maman..." Jean tried to resist, but his grandmother's grip was vice-like.
"Don't worry about her. Do as I say and go to your room, now!" Èvelyne threw him out of the room and slammed the door.
Jean stood, looking at the door. He still couldn't understand his grandmother's actions, nor could he understand what had happened since he woke. Everything had progressed too quickly for him, and his mind began to whirl with questions. Questions that would never be answered.
The sound of boots came to his ears, and he looked to see three black-clad men enter the house, apathetic looks on their faces. Two of them carried a hospital stretcher, heading through the hallway. Jean watched as they came closer, noticing that all three of them sported thin, carefully groomed black mustaches.
"Out of the way, Son," one of the men said, pushing Jean back and continuing on his way to Liliane's bedroom. The other two men didn't spare Jean a glance. They entered the bedroom and closed the door behind them, silence reigning in the house until another set of boots sounded. This time, Pierre appeared, a haggard, haunted look on his face. His chest moved rapidly.
"Papa!" Jean wanted to rush over to his father, but Pierre passed him without any acknowledgment. He too entered the bedroom and closed the door, not looking back.
Jean's lips trembled as he gazed at the closed door. Now his father disregarded him too? Hurt filled him, and he hoped he would get attention later. Something in him told him to stay out of the way and wait, and he did, not heading to his room but to the closet. He wanted to disappear, even though it seemed he didn't exist anymore to his father or to anyone else now.
Safe in the arms of the darkness, he sat in his corner, waiting for time to pass, wanting someone to tell him of what happened to his mother. Then a thought occurred to him: What if his mother wouldn't wake from her comatose? What if she remained in her current state forever? His eyes widened, and he heard a loud thump sound from the bedroom. A glimmer of hope came to him; perhaps his mother had just woken. Maybe she was just playing a prank to scare everybody. However, this didn't seem to be logical to him; the way his grandmother and his father had brushed him aside proved that. And what about those three mustachioed men? Who were they? Why were they here?
He let himself contemplate, hoping he could unravel the mysteries. Another thump sounded, then the bedroom door opened. Jean waited, motionless, seeing a flash of white and the three mustachioed men. They seemed to be carrying something, and, with a closer look, Jean saw it was his mother.
Something gripped him, and he rushed out of the closet, startling the men. In another situation he would have giggled profusely and raced back into the closet again, but this time he launched himself at the men.
"Maman!" he said. "No!" He felt someone grasp him, and he struggled, crying out louder, "No! Let me go!"
The men looked at him, then shrugged and left the house, taking Liliane with them. Jean howled and almost broke free from his captor's grip until Èvelyne came over, the look in her eyes stilling his motions. He twisted his head to see that his father was the one who held him, not saying a word, the look in his eyes chilling him.
"Take him to his room, Pierre." Èvelyne shook her head and headed to the guest room. "This will be his first lesson about death, and not his last."
Jean hung in his father's arms like a ragdoll as Pierre took him to his room, closing the door and placing him on the bed.
"Son, a lot has happened today, and I'm sure you're confused. What I'm going to say won't make sense to you, but try to understand, okay?" Pierre took a shuddering breath. "Jean, Maman is dead."
"Dead?" Jean's brow furrowed at the strange word. It had some visceral meaning to it, but he couldn't quite pinpoint what it was or why.
"It means to not live anymore. Maman's not coming back; those men took her away to bury her. She's gone."
Pierre's words sunk in Jean's head, and he began to wail as his father embraced him, his powerful arms enveloping him. "I want Maman!" He began to tremble in his father's arms. "Why won't she come back?"
"I'm sorry, Jean." Pierre kissed Jean's head and ruffled his hair. "Your mother was a wonderful woman, but we have to move on now." The haunted look returned to his expression as he attempted to comfort his son. "She wouldn't want us to grieve for too long, but it's going to be hard for you..."
Jean soaked in his father's comfort, feeling as though this moment was akin to the many nightmares he had. Possibly, if he closed and open his eyes, he would wake and see that his mother had never left with those three mustachioed men and was still alive. However, after several tries, he still found himself in the same reality. He knew his father was right, and this tore at him even more.
"That's good enough, Pierre. Leave Jean alone for now; I have something pressing to share with you." Èvelyne's voice sounded from outside the door, and Pierre stood, giving Jean one more tight embrace.
"I'll come back and talk to you later on, okay?" he asked, and Jean nodded with a sniffle.
When he left, Jean lay in bed, curled in a fetal position, feeling a numbness come over him. Everything sunk into him, and he analyzed his life in a new perspective. Hope trickled from him, his tears soaking his pillow. He sensed that his life had changed, and this made fear twist his heart. What would happen now? Would his father disappear too, leaving him with his grandmother for the rest of his days?
How could Maman be gone? Didn't the bad-tasting pill help her? Jean wondered as he wrapped his blanket around him. Will I disappear with those men next? Will Grand-mère? He didn't know what to do except cry and toss and turn on his bed. He hoped his father would return soon and give him more reassurance.
That's when he heard his grandmother say, "What?!" her voice piercing through the room's walls. He jerked, feeling himself grow tense, focusing on her words as she spoke again, "You have got to be kidding! You think I want to take care of your little brat?"
Pierre's voice followed. "Jean's the only hope for our family to stay together, you wretch. You would deny him of care and sympathy as well?"
"I took care of my own kids a long time back. I wish not to undergo that part of my life again. I've had enough of whining, petulant children, always demanding for this and that. Your son is no different, except he's a coward and a farce."
A crash sounded, followed by a yelp, and Jean rushed out of his room to the hallway, seeing Èvelyne hunched over, holding her face. Near her, the kitchen table lay on its side, some wood chips littering the floor.
"You...dare!" Her voice trembled, her hands dropping from her face, and she flinched as Pierre kicked a chair out of his way and strode over to her, fists clenched at his side.
"I will not have you berate Jean anymore. Either you follow my wish, or you get the hell out of my house. You've had nothing but contempt for my son since he was born." He leered into Èvelyne's face. "He's a mere boy, Èvelyne. You have no right to trash his dreams and make him miserable. You only care for yourself, and that's the real problem here, not Jean. Destroy whatever hatred you have in you and be done with it. Now clean this place up." Pierre turned and left, slamming the door behind him, a nearby picture rattling.
Jean stood by his bedroom door, watching his grandmother regain her composure and glance at the table. Never had he seen such an aggressive display from his father before, and it scared him.
His grandmother fixed the table and positioned it and the chairs in their original spots before heading to the guest bedroom and closing the door. She never said a word.
Jean headed to the guest bedroom after a moment, pausing upon hearing a sound come to his ears. He listened close, curious. To him, it sounded like crying, and his eyes widened. Grand-mère's crying? There was no mistaking it; it was coming from his grandmother.
He couldn't believe it. Of course, he wanted to see if it was true, but, instead, he decided to go to his mother's room. He didn't want to disturb Èvelyne, nor did he want her to shoot words of hatred at him.
He entered the empty room, the blinds still closed and the clothes still strewn about the dresser. Tears ejaculated from his eyes anew, and he rushed to the bed, climbing into it. The bed was cold to him.
Jean's numbness returned as he wrapped himself in the strewn blankets, wanting comfort. Wanting his mother back. However, he knew she was gone, and there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing he could do about the immense pain in his heart. This was far worse than his grandmother's cruelty. This was hell itself to him.
When sleep finally took him later on, he allowed the familiar blackness to take him and transport him to a world much better than his own. A world where death was impossible.
Translations:
Maman- Mommy
Grand-mère- Grandmother
Baise- Fuck
Merde- Shit
Fille- Daughter
Mon doux bébé- My sweet baby
