CHAPTER 2: Ever a Surprise
Belle awoke to find that Gaston had shifted during the night. He wasn't exactly on top of her; it was more like he'd seeped out and become a great big mess all over the bed. She was trapped under one of his arms and one of his legs, the heft of which she found stunning.
This guy was solid meat.
He was snoring. Anyone who looked at him could tell that his nose had been broken at least once in his life; a consequence of this misfortune was he didn't breathe as easily as he might have wished.
Belle began to helplessly tap and poke at him, hoping to wake him. "Gaston? Gaston, get up!"
Gaston grumbled sleepily. His pale blue eyes blinked open, and for a moment there was a peculiar look upon his face, like he was shocked or confused. He blinked again — and the look was gone. It was back to that smug sneer that so typically gripped his facial muscles.
"'Morning, Belle!" He moved his arms so that he could sit up in the bed. "Remember anything new?"
Now Belle was the puzzled one. She thought about it for a moment. Her mind did seem clearer today, though there remained a bit of a jellied feeling, like the thoughts were still impeded. She tried to reason it out. What should she be remembering?
"Can you give me a prompt?"
"A prompt, huh?" Gaston thought for a moment. "Can you remember… our first date?"
"A first date…" echoed Belle. She closed her eyes, trying to sort through her recollections of Gaston for anything that seemed like a first date. "Was it… a snowball fight?"
Gaston raised an eyebrow. "A snowball fight? Interesting."
Belle continued to follow her vision, but after a moment realized it was another part of that dream about the beast and the prince. "Maybe that wasn't you…" she said sadly. "I don't seem to recall anything."
Gaston shrugged, then turned to face the foot of the bed, resting his chin on his hand.
Belle was getting her first good look at him in the morning light. He was about as muscular as a man could be without it being comical. His chest was solidly coated in curly black hairs. His hips were usually covered by the tunics he favored wearing, but right now she could see the upper part of his breeches and how the fall was fastened with a sequence of large brass buttons that kind of… drew the eye.
Belle looked away suddenly, embarrassed with herself.
Evidently Gaston had noticed. "If there's anything else you want to look at…" he said with just the smallest hint of lechery. He loved being looked at, for its own sake; but if she wanted anything else, that was a bonus. He stretched himself out so she could see him better.
Belle blushed. Still, she reminded herself that they were a married couple — obviously they must have done all these things before. She just couldn't remember it, right now.
Seeing Belle had nothing else to say for the moment, Gaston rose from the bed. "I've got to go to town and buy some things, and I have to feed Tencendur," he said.
"Tencendur?" asked Belle.
"The horse," Gaston replied.
"That horrible black thing with the red eyes?" Belle replied without thinking.
"Ah! So you do remember something!"
Belle was startled. She tried to think of why she knew Gaston's horse, of what memory it was attached to.
Like he could read her thoughts, Gaston replied: "Well, we rode all the way up here on him. No surprise that you might recall him."
He checked his reflection in the window glass, absent any mirrors in the house, and began straightening out his well-pomaded hair with his fingers.
"I want to go into town with you," said Belle.
Gaston seemed surprised. "You want to go into town…? You still have a bandage on your head and almost no memory."
"The doctor said the bandage was unnecessary," said Belle. "And maybe seeing the town will help me remember something. I mean, I have been into the town before, right?"
Gaston shrugged. "I guess you'll be safer with me, than alone up here. We should get some clothes and hairbrushes and all that stuff for you, anyway."
Belle began feeling out the bandage to remove it from her head.
"Did I really not bring anything with me?" she asked, shaking her hair loose and folding up the used linen cloth.
"We expected it to arrive ahead of us," answered Gaston, deep voiced. "And… well, Tencendur is a strong horse, but carrying the both of us is all I'd dare ask of him for a long journey."
Gaston disappeared into the next room. Belle rose to follow him. Her legs felt stiff from sitting in the same position for a whole day and night, and her taffeta gown was wrinkled.
The front room of the house was white-plastered, with old half-timbered walls, and a very dry, uneven wood floor. A threadbare rug was in the room's center, with Gaston's shirt, belt and boots tossed nearby. Clearly it was where he had intended to sleep before she'd invited him back to the bedroom.
"Where's the beam that fell?" asked Belle, looking around.
"Right there," said Gaston, pointing to a ceiling beam that had a hunting knife wedged in the wall to prop it up. "I was able to push it back up, but that was about all I could do to secure it, with what we had around. That's one of the things I need to shop for — hardware — before the whole roof caves in."
Gaston began to dress himself. In another corner of the room, Belle could see his blunderbuss, bow, quiver, some kind of holster with several more knives and supplies, and a shield.
"Couldn't bring a change of clothes, but you brought all that?" asked Belle.
"Would you rather we were attacked by highwaymen?" Gaston replied with an irritated tinge as he fastened his belt. "I brought three months' income in the purse. The riffraff could practically smell that much metal." He pulled his boots on and rose to his feet once again.
His expression softened when he looked at Belle, her hair loose, her wide eyes still dazed but the intelligence beginning to return to them.
He stepped towards her, a confident smile on his face. Standing over her, he could perceive the scab on her scalp. Quickly, he combed his fingers across her head, arranging her hair to hide it.
"There we are," he said, approvingly. "Can't even see the injury."
Belle watched him standing before her, not quite face to face as he was a head taller. His hand remained entangled in her hair for a moment, then slid to caress her cheek. He looked like he might try to kiss her.
Just as he bowed his head, lips puckered, she slipped away. With a smile, she raced for the door.
"Come on!" she said. "Let's get the horse fed and then see this new town!"
…
Belle sat behind Gaston as he rode the horse to the village. This arrangement wasn't atypical for a couple without a buggy, but it was somewhat complicated by someone's insistence upon wearing a quiver full of arrows across his back. Every time the horse took a step, the thing whacked Belle in the face again.
"Why do you need to bring arrows with you?" asked Belle, trying to push the packet away. "You didn't even bring the bow."
"It's an accessory," answered Gaston. "It creates a line. Adds to the visual."
"Can't you at least hang it from your waist till we get to town?"
"Well, that would defeat the purpose of it!"
"Gaston, take this thing off or else I'm getting down and walking back home!" Belle insisted sharply.
"Jeez! Alright, alright…" He grudgingly removed the quiver from his shoulder and let it hang for the rest of the way.
The mighty Gaston was repaid for his compromise once he got into town. As he walked down the street with his arm around Belle, every head turned to stare at the impossibly handsome strongman and his ridiculously gorgeous wife. They were instant stars.
Belle was busy taking in her new surroundings. Situated amongst verdant Alpine hills, the town had the typical stone buildings and narrow streets of a medieval village. There were water fountains for the villagers, and some beautiful trompe l'oeil frontages on otherwise simple old buildings. It was actually a very beautiful town — she could understand why she and Gaston would have chosen it.
The couple visited a few shops in which they fulfilled their errands. Gaston felt strange not having LeFou to carry everything for him; he almost made Belle do it, but he stopped himself and carried stuff like a good machiste in the company of a beauty. Afterall, he couldn't allow anything that might imply he wasn't able to carry it.
"You know," he suddenly realized, "we'll also need to get some pots and pans, if you're going to cook anything."
Belle smiled a knowing smile. "Sure thing, Gaston. And we'll also need to stop at the bookshop so I can find some cookbooks."
Made sense to him. He stopped a stranger to ask where they could find a bookshop. Unfortunately, they were told there was not one in this town. The closest sort of thing was a grocer's that received newspapers from the cities.
Belle was disappointed, but she declared, "Well, we should get some newspapers then. Afterall, I need to have something to line all the baking sheets!" She almost cracked up saying that last part.
She picked out which newspapers she required for her "baking" purposes. Paris, Toulouse, Marseilles and Lyon. And they bought some additional groceries, so she really could cook.
It was like with papa: she'd cook and clean for him, no problem. But she expected to use her leisure time on whatever she saw fit, and that meant reading.
When they were loaded up with as much as even Gaston's manly arms could carry, it was afternoon. Belle suggested they should get lunch in the town, since it would take her a few hours to prepare anything at home.
Gaston was in an all-around good mood, though he found the request annoying. "Spoiled!" he said in a mocking sort of tone. "What did I marry you for?"
"You tell me, Gaston!" said Belle, smiling and throwing up her hands whilst imitating his tone.
Gaston wasn't sure what to make of her remark. Was she making fun of him? Or was that a sincere request? He let it go, and together they located a sort of primitive inn — what would have been termed a cabaret. The couple took a seat at a bench and (since no beer was offered) they ordered wine, which Gaston slugged down in a manner more manly than ever did d'Artagnan or de Bergerac.
The owner's wife, who acted as a waitress, was a chatty older woman.
"You two are a lovely couple!" said the lady, Mme. Gex.
Belle murmured a thank you while a proud Gaston replied, "Aren't we, though?"
"Are you visiting here?" asked Mme. Gex.
"We've just moved into a cottage up the hill," said Belle.
"Oh, newcomers! Welcome! And may I say what a lovely dress that is!"
Belle blushed. "I feel a little overdressed in it, to be honest, but our luggage hasn't arrived yet."
"Well, it's a gorgeous dress, all the same," said Mme. Gex, before excusing herself to attend to another customer. Belle watched the woman scurry away.
"You should just take the compliment, Belle," said Gaston.
"What do you mean?" she asked, brow furrowed.
"Whenever someone tells you that you look good. You always go, 'oh, no I don't' or you thank them, or something like that. Like it wasn't true."
"Well, Gaston, it's not really considered good manners to respond with something like 'yeah, I know, so what?' Beauty is something bestowed by the opinion others, not something you have and keep."
Gaston snorted. "Tell that to the freaks in that last village," he muttered, looking away.
Mme. Gex returned and told them what food was available. Gaston ordered two roast chickens, a length of sausage, and a quiche — then asked if Belle wanted anything.
Belle tried to make a mental note that this man needed a lot of food, and that for future reference she should always cook large portions. She ordered the quiche. Mme. Gex hurried off to the kitchen.
"So," said Gaston, making conversation with his spouse. "Anything in town bring back memories?"
"Nothing about the town seems familiar," said Belle with some disappointment. "But I am starting to remember a few things, like your horse, and… maybe our wedding. I'm not sure."
Gaston was interested. "What do you remember about the wedding?"
Belle's eyes narrowed as she watched a scene play in her mind. "Did you… propose immediately before the wedding? As in, having the wedding already prepared outside my front door before your proposal?"
"That's right!" said Gaston like he was only remembering it now himself. "Yes. We knew we had to get married anyway, because of your father catching us. So, I fixed it up as kind of a surprise."
"I can see why I might have agreed, then — if we were already intending to be married," she said dully.
"The proposal didn't impress you?" asked Gaston, like he already knew the answer. He slugged back another glass of wine.
"It could have been a little more romantic," said Belle. She gave her husband a quick glance over. Yes, she could believe that she married him, and even comprehend the reasons why. But she still could not comprehend what it was about him that she ever loved. Did she really not have any other options than a loveless marriage? Or had there been love, that she just couldn't remember now?
Mme. Gex returned. Food was served, and hastily eaten.
"The chicken reminds me," said Gaston, his mouth still full of meat, "I should go to the market and let them know to start stocking more eggs. Big problem in the last town. I eat sixty of them each morning; they'll run out every day, if they aren't ready for the surge."
He initially wanted Belle to come with him, but she didn't see the point. "Just run over and tell them. I can wait here. I'll keep an eye on the groceries."
Gaston seemed hesitant. He looked around the tavern like he was sizing the place up.
"Alright," he said. "I suppose you'll be safe enough. Don't move! I'll be right back." He hurried out to run this errand.
Without anything else to do, Belle fished out one of the newspapers and began to read. She had the Toulouse paper — four days old by the time it reached Isola, but for what did one need to know the news faster? It wasn't the most exciting literature, but it was something.
Mme. Gex approached to clear plates. Seeing Belle was alone, she started chattering again, despite that this interrupted the newspaper reading. "The people who just left were remarking what a handsome couple you and your husband make. Called you 'Mars and Venus.'"
Belle automatically would have replied with something sweet and polite and submissive, but spontaneously she decided to try something else. "Yes, it's true. I know, we make quite a gorgeous pair!" she said, trying to think of how Gaston might answer.
And suddenly it was Mme. Gex who blushed and backed off.
Alone again, Belle was going to return to her paper; but her thoughts went to that exchange and the sudden recognition of just what Gaston did — be it consciously or not — when he made those kinds of arrogant replies.
He was trying to get people to leave his handsome little hide alone.
And that really was a more polite way to achieve it than certain alternatives.
Soon Gaston was back, his errand complete. Belle hurried to put away the newspaper before he could see it. He settled the bill, picked up the shopping bags, and began leading his pretty young wife out.
Belle, excited by her discovery, hooked her arm through Gaston's with an elevated enthusiasm. The machiste seemed startled but pleased with this action.
…
Gaston banged around with the ceiling beam while Belle prepared dinner. The house didn't have a stove or real kitchen area set up — the little wife cooked old school, in a kettle on the fireplace. A new-bought apron was around her waist.
Finally the husband seemed satisfied with his own handiwork, and took a seat on the floor beside Belle.
"It's like camping, isn't it?" he said brightly — trying to conceal his embarrassment with the shabby conditions of the house. Then after a pause: "If the furniture doesn't arrive in a couple more days, we can start looking for new stuff."
"In a town with a bookshop?" asked Belle.
"Are you still on this reading thing? You're acting strange, Belle." Then he paused. "But fine, whatever."
Belle was surprised. "You mean you'll buy me some books?"
"It's not like I have to compete with them, right?"
Belle could feel her heart grow so much lighter in that moment. "Well, that's very considerate of you, Gaston! Thank you."
She was beginning to think perhaps this marriage of theirs had been working out, afterall.
"Just try not to get ones with too many words in them," added Gaston vapidly. "They turn your brain to consommé."
Belle started to laugh. "I'll get the scissors and clip out a few," she said breathlessly between giggles.
Gaston's brow furrowed. "Are you laughing at me?" he asked, his voice coming from the diaphragm again.
"No, not at you. Just at the books," said Belle with a peacekeeping smile. "Dinner's almost ready," she added, changing the subject.
Belle had prepared a sort of macaroni dish, suitable for cooking in one pot over the fire. Isola was very near the Italian border: dried noodles were available at their little market. She spooned portions of the dish into two newly purchased bowls, and handed one to Gaston along with a fork so he could eat it.
Gaston stared at the fork as if he'd never seen such a silly-looking thing in his life. "What is this, a lockpick?" He tossed it away, and used a piece of bread to shovel the food into his mouth.
Bread and cheese, roast chicken and such — those were all normal to eat with the hands, and so she had not realized that he was one who ate rustic style, without utensils.
A vision crossed her mind of that blue-eyed beast from her dream, who didn't eat with utensils either.
Though in fairness, it was a bit more embarrassing to see that when you were in a luxurious dining hall in a palace, instead of sitting on bare floor in a crumbling rural cottage. Gaston's table manners were actually not atypical for men of his social class.
Not to mention it left Belle with fewer dishes to wash.
She could roll with this.
After dinner, Belle went outside and filled up a bucket that served as their washbasin, to which she put the dirty dishes to soak overnight. While she was about this business, she was startled by a roaring bang! from the house. She hurried in to investigate, and found Gaston at the open bedroom window, practicing night-shooting.
"Got to use the ability or lose it," he said. "You never know when some ferocious beast will come tromping out of the woods." Suddenly he smiled like he saw something desirable. He aimed and let the gun blast off again. "Ha! Got it!"
He dropped the gun and hurried out of the house. A moment later he returned with what was left of a small bunny-rabbit, it's head completely blown off and blood dripping everywhere.
"I got us breakfast!" said Gaston proudly, presenting the murdered animal. The creature's new-dead nerves were still twitching.
Belle forced a smile through her horror, and told him to leave it by the washbasin. He did. When he returned, hands washed, he laid down on the floor near the fire, whereat he began an endless stream of situps.
Belle watched him, bewildered for what to do with herself amidst the clouds of testosterone in the air. "If we had some books, I could read to you," she offered. "Stories are a nice way to pass the evenings."
"You don't need books for that," answered Gaston, continuing his exercise. "You can learn by heart. Just because you don't read doesn't mean you sit around staring at the walls all night. Even the illiterate pig farmers, scullion boys and winos have their songs and stories."
Fair point, Belle realized. "Do you know any?"
Gaston stopped what he was doing. He smirked. "Appropriate for ladies?"
"Well," said Belle with a challenging smile of her own, folding her arms as she seated herself by the fire, "I am a married woman."
Gaston accepted the challenge. He knew how to entertain.
In a rather beautiful baritone, he sang an old song, equivalent to that which the English know as Gil Brenton, beginning with the line Ma pauvre fille, j'avons bien du malheur.
It was a story of a woman, already pregnant, who was newly married to a prince. To evade detection, she first tried to send her sister to the bedroom in her stead; but the prince recognized the deception and demanded his true wife be brought. The wife then tried to bind herself to conceal her pregnancy. When she came before the prince, he deduced her situation and asked who was the father of her child. She replied that a strange man had tied her up, using the same cloth in which she was now bound. The prince at last revealed that he had been that man, and that this was his cloth.
At the final De mon mouchoir les bras je vous liis Gaston drew out the note to end his ancient tune.
Whether or not Belle enjoyed its plotline, the performance was certainly impeccable. She suspected he had chosen this song, thrilling and disturbing like so many old folksongs, because the woman in the story was often addressed as belle.
"You're an amazing singer!" she declared.
You could almost see the glow coming off of Gaston. This was what he thrived on. "Yes, I used to be quite the songbird," he proudly smiled.
He had been laying flat on the floor, in a relaxed way. He suddenly moved to his side, propping himself up on one arm, so that he was facing her.
"So you really don't remember anything about me?" he asked. He seemed intrigued. "What's my last name? — Your last name, I'll add?"
"I don't know."
"LeGume," Gaston volunteered.
Belle blinked, taking it in. "Belle LeGume?" she asked, her tone betraying she didn't like the sound of it.
"Yeah, I didn't pick it," said Gaston, agreeing it wasn't the most melodious.
"What is a gume?" asked Belle, seizing upon the word which was not any known French term.
"No one knows," said Gaston. "Might be some version of gomme, gum; or it could be from an old word guime, which means roof-beam."
"Well, that would be appropriate, since I got hit by one," said Belle, smiling.
"And I suppose, thanks to that beam, you don't remember how we usually pass the evenings."
It suddenly dawned on Belle that if she and Gaston had been married for a while, they surely would have routines in place. Little activities they did (together?) every night.
She shook her head. "I really can't seem to remember anything about the last two years or so," she said. Her good spirits were falling, frustration replacing them.
It was a very disturbing situation, not knowing information that, logically, had to have taken place. There was no sense of the time passing. No sense of what she had been feeling or thinking. Just a black patch of thought.
"Well, you have what — the wedding, the horse, and… some kind of dream about a castle with talking furniture?" asked Gaston.
Belle shook her head, irritated at herself. "The dream is more vivid than anything! In the dream, you showed up at my father's house, asking me to marry you, but with the wedding already prepared outside. I said no, and I did everything I could to get you out of there. Then, when you were gone, Philippe came — "
"Philippe?" asked Gaston.
"Our horse — papa's."
"Oh! The big Clydesdale."
"Yes…" She wondered about Philippe, and what had become of him, but she could ask about that later. "Papa had ridden him out to a fair, but he returned alone, without papa. I knew something had to be wrong, so I rode him out in the same direction he'd come from. I found a castle. Papa's hat was in front of it, so I knew it was the right place to look. Inside, the castle almost appeared abandoned; but in a tower there were cages — prison cells — and I found papa inside of one. Then the beast appeared — he was massive, everything he said was bellowed at the top of his lungs. He said he had taken papa as his prisoner, and would never let him go. I volunteered to take his place, and to become the prisoner instead. The beast agreed."
Gaston laughed. "Ha! Sounds like a great start to a marriage!"
Belle smiled, recognizing the silliness of it. "It was just a dream," she said. She began to reflect on what Gaston had told her about their real wedding. "I suppose, the dream combined the memory of how we really got married, with this new story."
"Likely from some storybook you read," said Gaston. "Since, apparently, you read now."
"You really never saw me read before?"
"Never," said Gaston, shaking his head.
"So what did I do instead?"
"Guess."
Belle put out her hands in a gesture of beats me. "Mercenary work? Can-can dancing? Miming?"
Gaston laughed at her joke. "Ah! I love you, Belle."
Belle's eyes widened. She felt stung at those words — and frankly, embarrassed. He just said them so casually, like this was something they said to each other all the time, like a fact of life.
The room went quiet. The light of the fireplace was growing dim.
"It's late," said Gaston. "We should probably get to bed."
Bed. Belle's heart dropped at the idea.
In hindsight she couldn't believe she had slept in the bed with him on the previous night — moreover, that she'd asked him to sleep with her — but at that time, her head injury had been impairing her thoughts and judgment. Apart from the persistent memory loss, she now wasn't feeling any negative effects from the wound. And she consequently didn't think she'd feel comfortable in a bed with Gaston.
She still didn't trust him.
"Go to bed, if you're tired," said Belle, "But I want to sit by the fire a while longer."
"What for? The intellectual stimulation of it?"
Belle gave a docile smile as she lowered her eyelids. "Are you making fun of me?"
"Yeah!" He moved himself to her side.
"Well, that's not very congenial, is it?"
"I'd say not, but I've been very patient with you today, Belle." He was beginning to loom over her in a manner she found alarming.
As far as what he said, it occurred to her that such liberties might be par for the course in their conversation. He wasn't courting her anymore — he was married to her. They had probably seen one another at their worst, maybe even had fights, probably understood one another's flaws.
And maybe he was smart enough — or at least knew her well enough — to catch all of her sarcastic little insults and trickeries that she'd imagined had gone over his head.
"I'm sorry, Gaston," she said, with a genuine sigh of remorse. "It's actually been a difficult day for me. I just really don't remember anything about you at all. I have to get to know you all over again."
Gaston backed off at that. He seemed miffed. "Well? What do you want to know?" he asked, like this was a problem he was ready to solve at once.
Belle gave a soft smile. "I just need some time to see what you're like. To learn it by heart, as you said. Asking questions and getting answers isn't quite the same thing."
Gaston furrowed his brow. Belle wasn't sure whether he was thinking or whether he was angry.
Then without a word he stood up, and in one arm he grabbed her. He was exceedingly strong and could lift her as easily as most men could pick up a house-cat.
He began hauling her in the direction of the bedroom.
Belle froze with dread. "Gaston! Gaston!" she began automatically, pleading.
Gaston entered the bedroom and dropped her, softly enough, onto the mattress. His expression was one of faint disgust.
"You don't need to look so terrified," he said. "This is where we sleep. That's the first thing you can learn."
At that, he tossed himself beside her, his massive weight causing enough spring in the mattress that she was thrown off the bed. She landed on the floor.
Annoyed, Belle picked herself up and climbed back onto the bed. Gaston was still on his back, posed almost demurely. He didn't turn his head, but his eyes were on Belle, and his his face now betrayed his amusement.
She didn't have to get back onto that bed. She could have walked out the door just as easily.
He barely moved as he kicked off his boots and let them fall to the side of the bed. Belle sat up on her knees, looming over him, hands on her hips.
"If this is what things are like, I don't know how we ever ended up married!" she snapped.
Gaston said nothing, and began removing his belt. He tossed it at the side of the bed, with his boots.
Belle was becoming even more agitated by his silence. Yet she couldn't think of anything more that needed to be said.
With an aggravated sigh, Belle began removing her apron. She folded it up carefully and placed it on the floor by the bed. Then she took off her shoes and put them alongside.
"If our things haven't arrived by tomorrow," said Belle, cooling down as her thoughts returned to the practical, "We need to go to one of the bigger towns and find a haberdasher or a tailor with some readymade clothes."
"I'm with you on that," muttered Gaston, pulling his shirt off.
And they went to sleep.