I do not own Les Miserables.
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Silence After the Storm
"I'm so sorry you had to see that, Courfeyrac."
Eponine laid her hand across the young man's back as he slouched on the sofa beside her. His eyes were dark and distant, and his olive skin looked sallow, his mouth still pursed from having told the unpleasant tale of his excursion to the site of the barricades. Upon arrival, he asked, what had been done with the dead? His "brother" had been fighting, he believed, and he at least wanted to see his body, for he wore a family heirloom watch. This story was, naturally, invented, as all of Courfeyrac's three elder brothers were successfully planted elsewhere, but it was his only excuse to get through and see if he could locate the bodies of his friends left behind.
He was unfortunate enough to find Combeferre amongst those whom the officials had yet to bury in their unmarked mass graves. The tall, blonde boy had taken three bayonet thrusts to the chest, and his eyes were still open. Courfeyrac, shaking and tearful, closed his best friend's eyelids and told the man in charge, I know this boy. His parents will want his body back. Having been granted approval to take Combeferre's body with him, Courfeyrac took him (it?) to the hospital coroner, who had known Combeferre, and requested that the boy's family be contacted. His wish was to be carried out, he was told with a sympathetic smile. It was from there that he had come to Marius's and Eponine's flat. Marius was over at Joly's, but Eponine was in and prepared to provide comfort.
"I wanted to look for Damien, and Marc, and Jehan, but I could not bear to see anymore of them. Of the dead."
"I understand," Eponine said softly, tears coming to her eyes at the mentioning of her friends. "But you did a wonderful thing, sending Combeferre back to his parents."
"They loved him very much," Courfeyrac added. "As did Jehan's. I will always regret that I could not find him."
Eponine's eyes welled up with tears moreso at the mention of Jehan. His murder, inches away from her own face, still haunted her dreams in the form of frightening images.
It was the ninth, and the sunshine was still strong in the clear sky, mocking the grief on the faces of so many Parisians. Eponine was wearing a dress borrowed from Musichetta, as her own clothes had been ruined. The garment was pale blue and incredibly soft, and Eponine felt as though she were in Cosette's room again, back at the Rue Plumet. Thinking this only brought that wretched letter to mind, though. It was all she could do not to pile the worry of Cosette's arrival upon the heavy burdens she already carried, surrounding the barricades and her injured friends and so many other things. In the wake of disaster, Marius and Eponine were going to have to do all they could to make ends meet. Eponine would have to take up a job, she had decided, perhaps at the same bookshop Marius translated at, but if it would earn money, she could do it. Her happy little life was always just around the corner.
Even with the danger of the insurrection behind them, there was still the impending threat of the police, continually out looking for stray revolutionaries; anyone who might cause further trouble. The boys were careful not to let their injuries show in public, a tough job when considering the nasty bruise that had blossomed on Marius's cheek. A bayonet wound in the arm would not have come through ordinary means, they knew.
Staying indoors was not a difficulty for some, namely Enjolras, who had been blessed with a high fever the morning before. Joly was riddled with his consience, knowing that it was the result of his faulty care after the accident at the barricade. Enjolras assured him that he felt fine, and would be over it in no time at all. His friends did not know what to believe; in the time they had known him, Enjolras had never once fallen ill.
Another matter of business came to mind within the next couple of days. Their friends would not get a burial, save Combeferre, who was now in the hands of his parents, but they should still get a funeral. In light of this decision, they all gathered in Joly's flat the night of the twelfth for a makeshift dedication to their friends. Musichetta read from the Bible a little, and while she was among the minority of believers in the room, the other boys listened out of reverence, and paid attention with the whole of their hearts. Not an eye remained dry, and both girls wept openly.
That night, after changing into the soft-fabric chemise lent by Musichetta, Eponine said goodnight to her brother, ruffling his hair as she did so, and then went across the room and fell back onto Marius's bed. When he walked in a few moments later, Marius found Eponine fluffing his pillow and humming to herself, tears in her eyes.
"What are you doing there?" Marius asked softly, a smile on his face. Eponine looked up at him with her damp chocolate eyes.
"I miss them," she muttered. Marius sat down beside her and put on hand on her cheek.
"I do too," he said. Then, "Everyone does."
Eponine yawned, and then frowned. "Everything's wrong," she said. As soon as she had said this, Eponine rethought her words and, almost smiling, added, "Alright, not everything." She looked directly up at Marius.
"Things will get better, 'Ponine," Marius assured her. "Remember, I promised."
"Mmm-hmm," Eponine hummed, closing her eyes. Just when Marius thought her to be asleep, she murmured thoughtfully, "Tell me again what Cosette looks like."
Marius sighed, and was about to speak when he looked down and saw that Eponine had fallen fast asleep. He bent down and kissed her on the forehead before carrying her to her own bed and dousing the lamp.
A brief note, no criticism: I have no idea what people did with dead bodies back in the 19th century, particularly during insurrections. I made up the thing with the coroner. Let's just assume that M. and Mme. Combeferre came and got their son, and that's that.
Please review. Love, Giz.
