Blunt XII

'Whozzat?'

Philippe winced at the diction but smiled in response to the question. 'She is someone who loved your song and wanted to sing it. We recorded it for her to listen to. Thought you might like to hear it too.'

'Wow! She's got a voice. Whatzzername?'

'Hélène'

Philippe waited patiently while his young protégé digested the information. He hoped she would feel flattered by the unusual version of her song Clearly she was a skilled song writer. Finding a format which suited her gifts was a challenge.

'Funny name the way you say it. Whatszit?'

'It's Helen in French-Canadian.'

'Ohhhhh, like Celine Dion. She here?'

Philippe kept his surprise well hidden. He often wondered if Kayleah was able to have any thought beyond trying to be a rap star. That she knew a contemporary singer like Dion was not unusual but that she knew the famed songstress was also French Canadian came as a surprise. He motioned for his assistant to call Hélène and waited.

'Oh hi' Kayleah said rising, to greet the face behind the voice. 'I am surprised. Thought you would be …uh…'

'Younger?'

'Sorry.'

'No need. My voice is a cover up for my real age,' Hélène said with a wink. 'Please to meet you Kayleah. You are very talented.'

Kayleah laughed before digging her hands in the pocket of her jeans and offering thanks for the compliment. She was immediately curious and touched by Hélène's kindness. 'You sing my song in a way I never heard before. It was beautiful. I almost didn't recognize it at first.' Everything about Kayleah's speech and demeanour changed.

'When Philippe showed it to me, I knew I just had to sing it. I couldn't believe how well you put it together. I didn't believe you could be so…'

'Young?'

At the affirming nod, there was more laughter. Philippe felt at ease, seeing Hélène in a new light. Watching her negotiate a conversation with Kayleah, allowed him to assess qualities he knew existed but never experienced. Within a short time, his protégé was deeply engaged and interested in seeing performance art in a different way.

'Ya know, I really like Rap but there's something about the way you sing my song that makes me want to write more.'

'You can incorporate a couple of styles in one song. The change makes people notice your voice and brings out the best qualities of the music and words.'

'Wow!'

'Come on over to the piano. Let me show you something.'

Before long, the teacher had completely drawn the student into another style of music using her own lyrics and score. Everyone in the studio, who had been watching Kayleah try to perform outside of her comfort zone, was astounded by the way in which Hélène was able to reverse a trend which would have derailed the career before it got off the ground.

Philippe observed Hélène and Kayleah at the piano. Her fingers were short but ran over the keys with ease. He remembered when the guys in the band would tease her about not managing the 'octave' but she always did. Her fingers from base to tip were all supple and moved with accuracy and speed. They were as straight as they had been years ago despite the hardship of her life. Apart from the gray hair and more than a few lines of experience marking her features, she was as striking as she had been in her youth. It didn't take long for the student to be fully engaged in learning.

'How does she do it?' Philippe wondered for the umpteenth time since Hélène's arrival.

Very soon, the picture of the two women faded from his sight and a vision appeared of Hélène, much younger, sitting with Madeleine at the piano he had seen in Montreal. Mother and daughter played a song together, singing and laughing. For a long time Philippe was not fully cognizant of the present or future time frame. He surely felt as if he had stepped back in time. His conscious mind remained focused on the 'impromptu' lesson unfolding before his eyes but his subconscious was elsewhere.

Despite the dual phases occurring in his mind, he felt no fear. If this was the way he would sense and know his daughter then his mind was open to the channels through which her energy flowed into him. He wondered how the force of her vibration could have been so fresh even though Madeleine had been dead for over twenty five years.

At the dinner party the previous night, Sandy's memory of the fateful event added legitimate weight to Hélène's story. He couldn't help but remember that she had also said some children survived. A glimmer of hope rose but died almost immediately. He briefly considered that after such an horrific experience, surely the traumatized child would have wanted to return home, if not to her mother then to her grandmother. He could not understand how, if she had been alive, she wasn't found. Philippe knew he should return to the present and give his undivided attention to the progress of his protégé, but before he closed the mind's eye on the past, one last whisper escaped into his mind.

'Je n'avais rien, Papa.'

'Of course you had nothing', his mind replied. 'You were a child, a runaway, scared and vulnerable. There was no one to protect you.'

The grieving father had no understanding of the origin of the messages nor his ability to respond from some far corner of his mind. He was aware that Madeleine had been searching for him when she ran away. The desire to find her natural father was imprinted within her last final conscious thoughts before death. Philippe was certain that the voice he heard was hers, rising from out of the mists of the past. He would not dismiss it as nonsense nor would he discuss it unless he sensed a need beyond the simple reassurances ascending from the depths of his saddened heart.

'Philippe, are you daydreaming?'

'Oui, Mignonne.'

Hélène was startled to hear his response. It wasn't that he spoke French. But there was a look about him which took her back to the night when Madeleine was conceived. Philippe had been a tender but awkward lover, as if he wasn't sure. In a moment of restraint, when she intuitively knew that their coupling would have irrevocable consequences, she had asked if he was ok. His look and the simple answer was the same then as now.

'Why do you look at me like that?'

'Something about your visage just now took me back to 1969. It was as if we were being given a chance to start over, but differently,' she added to quell the denial of romance which rested on the tip of his tongue. 'I don't want to be your lover any longer Philippe, just your friend, nothing more.'

'I know Hélène. Forgive me. Guilt washes over me and I lose myself between the past and the present. It is shock and grief which has changed me. Someday I hope it will be for the better. In the meantime, what do you think of Kayleah?'

They went on to discuss the events of the day and the best way in which Hélène could provide support for the budding artiste. Kayleah had been enchanted by the encounter with Hélène. She seemed uncertain about the choices she should make but Hélène reassured her with a simple honest assessment.

'Listen Cherie, you have a beautiful voice and exceptional gift for writing. If you put them together in a way that will showcase your talents you will make a success of your career. I know as a singer, I would love to record your songs. Go home and think about it. If you would like my help, it would please me to guide you a little.'

She recounted those words to Philippe, who smiled his thanks.

'You have a remarkable way of getting through to people.'

Hélène longed to add 'but not to the ones who mattered'. Instead she held her tongue. It had been a good day and she didn't want to spoil it by being maudlin.


At home Vladimir had waited patiently to pass on a message to Hélène. He was also eager to hear about how the day went. He hoped that a successful interview with Kayleah and a new direction would help to remove some of the restlessness from his life partner. The smiling faces were reassuring.

Alejandro Zamora, Terry's father, had called to inquire about Hélène. He offered to take them all out for dinner but Vladimir knew that he didn't really want the company of two old men. Vladimir pleaded fatigue and promised to pass on the message to the guest. Hélène, in contrast, was flattered by the invitation. There was nothing about the Mexican man which would prevent her from enjoying an evening in his company. He spoke her language fluently and, he was gracious and elegant.

Vladimir studied Philippe's face but saw nothing to worry him. Both of them gave their wholehearted blessing to the evening out.

Hélène excused herself from the men and went to shower and change into a beautiful Cordell frock which was subtly alluring. The colours set off her gray hair and lightly tanned skin. Just as she had appeared on the night of the party, her trim figure looked youthful and suited the black sheath dress with a mixed lace and gathered material sweetheart bodice and straight skirt. She looked like a mature 1940's movie star. A double row of pearls fit loosely around her neck. There was no evidence of the stooping so common to aging women. As a singer, Hélène was required to exercise daily to ensure that her chest and neck muscles could support the voice and breathing requirements. Light makeup took ten years off her age and gave her evening escort a jolt of desire he hadn't felt in years.

Alejandro, who hated driving, hired a car to take them into LA. Mexican style restaurants were a dime a dozen but he knew which one would serve the best of his favourite foods and give him a chance to share a little of his culture with Philippe's charming guest. Their unique circumstance of burying a child, drew them together in a way that most parents would never know or understand.

'This is such a lovely place Alejandro. Is it one of your favourites?

'Yes, I come here often. Theresa cooks to please Jason but the food is not always to my taste. I prefer the dishes of my homeland. Easier to digest,' he added patting his stomach, well aware that many others would disagree.

'I understand. Since I have not done much traveling, I have been stuck in my own way of cooking. It has been a treat to be out of Montreal for awhile.' Her look was wistful. 'Seeing the sunshine every day is such a change from the damp and depressing November weather at home.'

'Do you have to go back?'

'My children and grandchildren are…..' She could not finish and ended on a shrug. Her relationship with them was strained but she had no wish to spoil the evening complaining. She left him with the impression that she missed them.

Hélène tried to smile often. She looked directly at Alejandro when she spoke and when he responded. Like the student Kayleah, he was enchanted by her inclusiveness. She had a good appetite, appreciated each dish with childish delight and drank wine as one should. The dinner passed with little conversation until the mariachi band began its stroll around the restaurant. The group of men stopped at the table. The leader nodded before playing a lovely haunting song known mostly to people of the baby boomer generation. Hélène shook her head and hummed softly.

'I wanted to ask you if you would sing this the other night but as I had only one choice….'

'Can you play it again from the beginning please?' she asked the man who appeared to be the leader.

He obliged with a smile. Hélène sang softly, again bringing tears to the eyes of her dinner companion. Alejandro offered a tip to the group before returning his attention to Hélène.

'Was that your wife's favourite?'

'Yes. Caterina was never physically strong but she loved music. She passed away a little before Mario. I thought I would not survive the loss of both but somehow we carry on. You did not tell me about your husband. You are not together?'

'No. He was a cruel man, who hurt and abused the daughter I had with Philippe. His behaviour caused her to leave home. As far as I know he wasn't directly involved in her death but his actions did precipitate it.'

'My dear lady, what a terrible experience for you! He was punished I hope?'

'No. It is nearly impossible to put men like this behind bars for their crimes against women. Philippe is angry but feels powerless to do anything at this point in his life. Revenge is never sweet he says although its desire for action lingers in my heart.

'I don't like to admit that he may be right. The driver who inadvertently killed my son is not behind bars either but what can I do?'

Hélène reached across the dinner table and took the hand of the man in front of her. 'We hold on to our faith and pray.'

Before long, the tables were cleared and patrons had an opportunity to dance. Alejandro, who was a superb dancer requested the pleasure of a turn on the floor. Hélène was inclined to back away. Her voice was the gift. On the dance floor she was less certain but her dinner partner put her at ease and she followed his footsteps quite well.

From the day of her marriage to the moment she rested her hand on Alejandro's shoulder, Hélène had not felt a moment of delight nor pride in being a woman. In one evening, she became transformed from the serving maid into a Cinderella at the ball. Perhaps Alejandro would be her prince and perhaps not, but the day brought her untold comfort.

'You know Hélène,' he whispered as they circled the floor slowly sometime later, 'there is something so familiar about you. You are not at all like my wife, except perhaps in stature but you remind me so much of someone I have met recently and yet I cannot place the connection.'

'Ne t'inquiète pas. J'aime à comparaître comme moi-même. Toutefois, si tu te souviens qui conteste votre mémoire, faites le moi savoir.'*

'Oui, Hélène.'

Much later, after a delightful evening, Alejandro drove back up into the hills to escort his 'date' home. The European peck on both cheeks was followed by a gentle kiss of thanks for a wonderful evening. Hélène floated to her bed. The men had long since retired. In any case she had no desire to do anything except settle for the night with dreams of what might have been in another time and place.

New York

Catherine stood at the bedside and watched her husband sleep. Nearly a week of worry about the water overflow below had taken a huge toll on his health and sense of wellbeing. Vincent was feverish and restless. The concern for his welfare put all other thoughts out of her head. She was shocked by the filthy unkempt man who staggered through the front door in the early hours of the morning. Catherine had guided him downstairs to the walk-in bathroom and scrubbed him free of the dirt and grime which clung to his body. With all the tenderness in the world, she removed the stained and muddy clothes before using the shower hose to wash away the layers of sand and dirt which clung to his skin.

Catherine soaped and massaged his tender scalp, cutting away some knots from his hair which would not budge. As soon as he was in warm clothes, she put him to bed, before encouraging him to drink a little from a bowl of plain soup. Vincent could hardly get down a few mouthfuls before he was asleep.

The opportunity to care for the man who did so much for her was a blessing. Vincent would never have allowed her to take on any additional strain under normal circumstances, but he had done even more for her in the past. The stress and worry of Vincent's anguished state had taken away all thought of other events in her life, past and present. She knew they would have to be revisited but for the moment she was content to nurse her beloved husband back to health. In the past he had shown remarkable resilience. Catherine prayed that it would be no different.

When his sickness had prevented him saving her life, she realized that he had special needs. In the past, there was no treatment which could alleviate his symptoms. Whatever passed through him had to run its course. She hoped with all her heart that he would not suffer now as he had then.

At that time she had been fearful of getting too close to the man who held her heart. They had not been intimate and yet her love for him had been so strong. She tried to infuse some love into his body but he could not overcome the madness and violence which threatened everything including their relationship.

Vincent had taken himself away from her and his family below. It was Catherine who had gone after him and it was there in the tunnel cave that Jacob was conceived. How bittersweet that time had been. Catherine was fully aware of their coupling but Vincent had no knowledge of it and didn't know of his son's conception or birth until the moment of her death. Catherine now knew that Jacob had the video recording of the event and she longed to see it but kept her promise to wait until the men were home. In this moment of reliving those events nearly twenty five years ago, Catherine was unsure if she wanted to even see the horror of it. Instead she removed her house coat and crept in bed determined to offer every comfort to Vincent..

Unlike the similar event years ago, the weary husband, distressed beyond belief, rolled over into the arms of his wife and sobbed himself to sleep releasing days of pent up worry.


Upstairs, Jacob also returned to his worried wife. Due to the excessive rain, a large boulder had been dislodged from above, blocking and rerouting the usual channels of water, directing it into the space utilized by the tunnel community. Father and son had finally agreed to tackle the problem head on. They climbed up into a passage against the current to try and push the boulder out of the way and release the back up which was overflowing dangerously close to the anxious families below. It was dangerous and dirty work but necessary.

There was no other way to save their home. A full evacuation of everyone would have been nearly impossible. With the guidance of Mouse and some ingenuity and help from above, Vincent and Jacob had scaled the side of the waterfall and pushed back against the water flow in order to dislodge the big boulder. It would have taken eight men of strength to be successful. The prospect felt daunting to everyone except the two men who possessed extraordinary power.

'I don't know how you did it Jacob. The side of that waterfall is so dangerous.'

'I don't' either. Dad was amazing. For his age…he….'

Jacob was overcome by the near miss and fell silent. The welcoming warmth of his wife was enough to dispel any melodrama from the event. Despite his extreme fatigue, Jacob felt a need to talk. He was curious about the world above which he eventually had to abandon while they tackled the situation below.

'Kurt didn't bug me on Friday to see what was happening so I guess they managed at the office. On the home front, I do have to tell you that your mother knows about the tapes and she wants to see them when you and Dad recover.'

'Diana?'

'Yes, Mom was insistent.' Jacob found a chuckle from somewhere inside.

'Cilla got her first A in school for an assignment.'

'Brilliance runs in the family.'

'And I decided to get to know my father better.'

From the list, Jacob decided that he wanted to know more about Cathy's search for information about her father.

'I finally looked in the box that Edgar had given me. You know I put it away thinking it was just pages and pages of family trees, but there was a whole section dedicated to Frederick and Edgar Jr. I didn't know my father was an architect. He saved pictures and documented articles about buildings which he found fascinating. One of them was a place called The Empress Theatre. The style of it fits into the story of your origins Jacob.'

'You mean the Egyptian Cat People?'

'Yes. I don't know whether he loved it because of its external design or because the inside was planned and executed by a famous American designer but it seemed to draw Frederick. During the 70's and 80's it was used to show that famous stage play, The Rocky Horror Show. Both the building and the show were weird, just like my father.'

'You don't sound so angry about him Cathy.'

'You know Jacob, I am not so much. I always wondered if he ever loved anything. To know that he was interested in architecture, had two degrees and was willing to travel so far to pursue his passion, well, I can't hate him as much as I used to. I don't know how but my next step is to see what, if anything he had to do with either the building or the show.'

'Sounds like a plan,' Jacob decreed with a big yawn. 'How far do we have to go?'

'Montreal! You know, in Canada.'

Cathy smiled into the inky night. Jacob's even breathing told her that he had fallen asleep. She thought about the adventure ahead. Perhaps they could go to Montreal in the spring after the winter. It would be fun to just drive north and spend some time alone. Perhaps she was meant to physically pursue her dreams rather than waiting for the story to come to her. Content by the return of her husband and a small plan for the future, she fell asleep.


*'Don't worry. I like to appear just like myself. However, if you remember who challenges your memory, let me know.'