CHAPTER 4: Both a Little Scared
The months passed. Belle and the man she increasingly thought of as her Toni fixed up their house, acquired adequate clothing and furniture, and created a life for themselves.
It required some patience, for sure. Gaston demanded that in the best of times; and if he got into a bad mood his words could be downright savage. But luckily that didn't happen much — over the months his sharp edges seemed to be wearing down. Even his eyes didn't look so crazy as before. Though he remained vain and arrogant and egotistical, he was slowly growing more affectionate, more understanding, and more calm.
And this was why Belle grew more fond of him, for she tended to echo back whatever was dealt to her. If he was being sweet and selfless, so was she.
Nothwithstanding this, something which Belle began to find peculiar was that she and Gaston were together virtually all the time. He didn't like to leave her alone. Even his hunting, he seemed to keep within sight of the house. She wondered if it was jealousy — but of whom?
One day, Belle put it to the test.
"Toni, I'm going into town," she announced as Gaston was deeply involved in his daily trecentene of one-armed pushups. "Would you like me to bring anything back?"
"I'll go with you," he said, immediately getting up.
"Keep doing your exercise," she said. "I'll be fine."
"Nah, I was almost done anyway," he said.
Belle knew it was a lie. "It usually takes you hours to get through all your exercises."
"Yeah," he said, stretching his arms with a mock-carelessness, "I'm just bored of it. It won't hurt me if I skip a day."
"Is there something you wanted to go into town for?" she asked.
"I just want to get out of the house."
"You know, I'm rather tired myself," she said, spinning her web. "Maybe you should just go alone, and pick up something for me — "
"Ah, come on, Belle. If you're going into town I'll go with you, but I'm not heading out there by myself."
"What, are you afraid to be there alone?"
In an instant his chest size swelled by a foot. "You trying to pick a fight, Belle?" he answered suspiciously.
She was caught. "I'm just trying to see why you don't want to let me out of your sight. Since we moved here, I haven't even bathed without you staying in earshot."
He crossed his arms. "You know, some wives might like having an attentive husband."
It wasn't attentiveness, though; but Belle deemed it risky to say so, or else she really would pick a fight. Her curiosity didn't merit dealing with Gaston in a sour mood — a flash of that famous dream crossed her thoughts, concerning the time she investigated the beast's forbidden west wing only to incur his frightening wrath, and they both nearly died of it.
"I do like having an attentive husband," she replied, struggling not to put him on the contrary. "I'm just trying to understand why I do."
"You think too much, Belle," said Gaston, smiling and tapping her on the head with his finger. He struck her on the spot that was now a healed scar from her head-injury.
Well, now that he was being patronizing she maybe was ready to pick a fight. Just not the way that he expected.
Belle forced a smile. "I guess I'll just stay in. I need to wash out some clothes, anyway." She gave Gaston a peace-keeping peck on the cheek and watched him return to his exercise.
She went outside, just like she was going to the spring to do the washing, as she did on most days. But she didn't stop at the spring — she kept going. Soon she was down the hill, and headed on the road into town.
Belle didn't really have any purpose in mind — she just wanted to see what would happen if she went out alone. It was nice; exciting in an adventurous way, and head-clearing to an extent. There was a quietness she had been missing since moving out here, and there was something nostalgic to it all — a remembrance of past days in the old village, where she'd walk alone and hear a cry of Bonjour!
She began to think of her father. He must have been buried in the churchyard at the old village, since there would have been no other place. Perhaps one day they could make a visit back there — as much as she had disliked the town, she somehow retained a faint attachment to it. And she wondered if there really was a castle in those woods near it, enchanted or not, in which she might find some hint of the fairytale that inspired so many reflections.
She turned a corner down a narrow street that was one of those medieval relics where two people can scarcely pass each other. She was confronted with a friendly woman of the town, Widow Laveau, who was one of the egg-sellers.
"Bonjour, Belle!" she said heartily. "Is Gaston with you?"
"Bonjour, Madame," said Belle. "He stayed home this time."
"Well," said Laveau, "I've purchased a dozen more hens, he'll be glad to know. It'll keep his egg supply topped up."
The egg sellers all loved Gaston. "Thank you, Madame," said Belle. "I'll make sure to tell him."
Belle began as if to squeeze past Laveau, but suddenly the older woman piped up again.
"Oh, and Belle? Are you still writing down stories?"
"I am," said Belle.
"Well, whenever you have a chance, come by my house. I'm on the Rue Inferiéure, the house with the flower pots in front — or come round back and you'll see the chicken coops. But come by. I can tell you some old stories my grandmother used to recite."
Belle was pleased. "Oh, my! Thank you. I'll certainly do that."
The two women squeezed past each other.
Belle continued to roam the town, getting to enjoy its appearance in a way that was difficult to do when an attention-grabber like Gaston was at her side. Yet she noticed that her thoughts were tending in his direction — imagining the conversation they would have later, picturing how he'd react to the tale of what she'd seen without him. And she grew just a tiny bit worried as the hours passed, for she knew that unless he had failed to notice her absence, he was going to be upset about her wandering off.
At length she turned a corner and recognized Gaston on his horse. Immediately she pulled back, out of sight. Cautiously she peeked from behind a wall to observe him.
He was armed to the teeth, carrying blunderbuss and knives. His quiver was paired with the bow for once. He was looking around, searching — doubtless for her. Surprisingly, his facial expression was a rarely seen one of genuine distress.
She watched as he stopped to speak to a young man on the street, whom she recognized as the tailor's son. She could not hear what they said, but the son suddenly pointed directly towards her. She briefly glimpsed Gaston turning his head, but fast as lightning she ducked back into the alley.
He had probably seen her. In a way it was silly that she should run from him. She was going to come back to him sooner or later. But she wasn't ready to go back just yet.
The village was small, so there weren't too many places she could go. She hurried down a few narrow alleys, knowing Gaston would have trouble squeezing his massive shoulders through the small space.
When she emerged out onto the open street, she was alarmed to observe a huge figure drop from the sky and plop down in front of her. It was Gaston, who had followed her by climbing over the rooftops.
His expression was one of fury. He instantly seized her by the shoulders and shook her.
"What's the matter with you, Belle?!" he hissed, deliberately keeping his voice down. "I thought something had happened to you!"
Belle was too stunned to answer at first. She was getting too much conflicting information, and wasn't sure what was happening. Was he mad at her? Was he scared for her? Was he trying to kill her?
Gradually she began to piece together that he was mad because he was scared. And it was on her behalf.
Relieved once she understood, she embraced him. Gaston was now the puzzled one.
"Gaston," she said, the gravity of her words enhanced by omitting the pet-name. "I'm sorry I went off without telling you. I didn't mean to scare you — at least not this much."
Immediately Gaston started adjusting his posture and his face: a hurried effort to obliterate any evidence of fear. "Scare me? I'm not scared…" but he didn't offer what the alternative was.
Without further words, they headed together to where Tencendur awaited. Gaston kept his chin in the air, in a caricature of what a careless person might look like.
As they walked along, Belle thought about the things Gaston had told her of their past, and why he would be so afraid to leave her alone. It sounded as if, in the previous village, he'd needed to save her more than once from the malicious antics of the townspeople. With that in mind, his dread of letting her out by herself actually seemed pretty reasonable.
"You know this isn't like the last town," said Belle, abruptly.
Gaston looked at her. "What are you talking about?"
"The people here. They're all so much friendlier. It's a smaller town, and we all know each other better. Nobody is acting like I'm a witch or a crazy person…"
Gaston chuckled. There was a nervousness to it, a confusion. "Alright, Belle. I'll say that's true so far."
"We moved here to have a new start," she continued. "To get away from that. Shouldn't we use the opportunity?"
They reached Tencendur. Gaston lifted his wife onto the saddle before climbing up in front of her. She had to lean to avoid the weaponry on his back.
He took the reigns. "I didn't get married to not have my wife around," he said.
Belle furrowed her brow in annoyance, but half smiled. "We should really meet the people here. Perhaps we should have a party. Invite over some folks from the town," she said. "You always catch more meat than we can actually eat," she added. "They could help us eat it. Oh! I bet I can get some more stories, too! We could have a veillée!"
"A veillée, huh?" said Gaston, picturing this. "Do you have enough friends to invite?"
"Oh yes. There's Mme. Laveau and the Orsini girls and M. Mermoz and his wife — and I know there's plenty of people who want to see you. Let's do it!"
"When?"
"Let's say, next time you catch something large, like a deer?"
Gaston went out and nabbed a deer for them the very next day.
There was indeed a party that night, with about sixteen guests from the village. The LeGumes built up a bonfire, friends bought wine and the local moonshine, meat was cooked on the fire and eaten up, stories and songs were exchanged, friendships were strengthened, and Belle filled up her notebook completely with tales.
The event went off so well, the LeGumes decided to have a veilée every month. This decision made them very popular in the village. No more were they the town oddballs — they were now the best liked couple in the whole place.
Gaston had his trophy-wife, and Belle had — as far as she could expect — her fairytale husband.
…
The LeGumes were sleeping together peacefully, if a bit later into the day than was typical. A loud knocking — one might say pounding — upon the front door of the house startled them simultaneously awake.
"Who on earth can that be?" said Belle groggily. She hopped out of bed and hurried to throw on enough clothes to decently answer the door in.
At the front door, Belle opened to see who the visitor was. At first glance, she saw no one — then she looked down.
"LeFou?" she said, almost unbelieving.
"Wow! Belle?" responded LeFou, likewise astonished. "Hiya! Is — is Gaston here?"
"Of course he is! Come in, he'll be up in a minute." She opened the door to let in the visitor, then called across the house: "Toni! LeFou is here!"
"Toni?" LeFou echoed softly. He looked around the house, and he seemed amazed.
"What's brought you out here?" asked Belle.
"Um… well… I'm watching his properties back home," he answered, almost like he was embarrassed. "I've brought his money for the last four months."
Belle made some appreciative remarks. "I'm sure you haven't been here before?" she asked.
"Nah. But what a place you've fixed up! When I heard about the plan to come out here, I… um… couldn't imagine you'd really be staying long."
"It suits us," said Belle. "It's far enough from town that Gaston finds lots of animals to hunt, but near enough that we can walk in every day for —"
"—The eggs," said LeFou, knowing the routine too well from his years of living with Gaston.
"He does put a lot of work into his figure," said Belle with a shrug. "I guess it makes him happy?"
"It's because of what that Giraut fellow did to him," said LeFou, with a tinge of something like disgust. "Lured him out into the woods and messed with him. He thinks I don't know about it, because he was so soused on absinthe when he told me that he can't remember he told me — "
At that moment the subject of the conversation came into the room, and LeFou promptly buttoned his lip.
Gaston was dressed in a purple tunic with his usual tight black pantaloons and brown boots. He smiled seeing LeFou and, to the surprise of the younger cousin, he embraced him.
LeFou seemed almost misty eyed at the greeting. "Gaston! I haven't seen you this happy… well, ever!"
"Married life suits me," said Gaston proudly.
"I'll say," said LeFou. "Glad it's been worth the effort. And the hiding."
There were a few minutes of casual chit-chat about LeFou's journey, then the men began to talk business. Belle tried to listen and take interest, but her eyes were glazing over at the ceaseless naming of tenants and the recitations of maintenance issues.
"This is boring Belle to death," said Gaston, seeming to take notice. "Say, LeFou, let's talk outside! I'll show you around the yard."
Gaston grabbed LeFou without waiting for an answer and hurried him out.
Belle was alone inside the house. She didn't mind the men leaving her out of their talk — LeFou was Gaston's friend, not hers. Left to herself, she took up the most recent Marseilles newspaper and began to read of recent events.
Like most papers of the day, it was more about gossip, politics, anecdotes, poems and reviews than about sensational crimes, though on occasion some major criminal act would reach its pages. The worst Belle caught today was mention of some duke offering a reward for information about his missing wife. Not having seen any duchesses around, Belle went on to read the poems. Hoity-toity stuff, lots of classical references. Not her favorite, especially since she was becoming so accustomed to the rawness of the folk tradition.
She began wondering if the papers would be interested in printing some of the stories and songs she had been collecting. Some of the content would need to be cleaned up to become printworthy, but it had to be as interesting as these stodgy Odes to Thetis that were being run. She turned to the front page and found the address for the paper, forming a plan to mail something for their consideration.
She went to the bedroom to get her folklore notebook. Doing so, she glanced out the window and observed Gaston and LeFou. From their body language, she could tell they were arguing, though they were too far away for her to make out the conversation.
Then she saw as Gaston grabbed LeFou by the collar, lifted him, and started that intimidating stare-down thing he did.
Alarmed, she considered going out to intervene. But, she decided, they had a long history, and were family to boot — they surely could, and would prefer to, take care of this themselves.
With less focus than before, she found her notebook, and began reading through it to find the perfect poem.
Eventually Gaston and LeFou came back inside. They were now all smiles, yet retained something of a frazzled air about them. They didn't mention their argument, and instead began a hearty show of pleasant conversation and friendly interactions.
"Wow, Belle," said LeFou, all too enthused, "you missed a great conversation about… um… about…"
Gaston patted LeFou on the back with a force obviously intended to remind him to shut up. "Buck rub," he said, finishing for LeFou.
Belle crossed her arms and shook her head in disbelief. They were hiding something from her, and knowing those two it wasn't going to be out of politeness. She hoped it was just man stuff that they wanted to keep her out of for tradition's sake.
LeFou had come on couple days trip by horseback, or rather pony-back — a little buttercup he owned. He was intending to stay for a couple more days before returning home to the old village. Belle had to balance her instinct for manners and politeness against her annoyance that she'd had no advance notice of a visit, but was clearly expected to play hostess.
Still, the visit went well. Belle hadn't particularly liked LeFou before, but by the end of his stay she could see why Gaston had been so fond of his comparatively sunny disposition, to the point of inseparability.
Gaston just did better when he had others around who could keep him on track. But he also had a way of seeping bad influence into his companions.
After a half-week's visit, the couple bade farewell to LeFou, seeing him off on his pony.
"Bye-bye!" waved LeFou as he started away. "All the best! Happy hunting! Don't let any beasts give you trouble!"
Gaston winced, but with a forced and somewhat irritated gaiety waved farewell to his cousin.
…
Gaston was busy hanging his latest trophy on the bedroom wall — the breast and head of an unfortunate rare bird, probably fully extinct after this encounter. Gaston was the taxidermist behind his own trophies, and this was a very fine piece of work. Whilst the huntsman fretted with placement and hanging hardware, Belle sat on the bed with an assortment of papers surrounding her.
She had copied out some choice folksongs, and was in process of folding and addressing them, to be mailed to the newspapers.
"There is no coaching inn for sending mail in Isola," she said. "We'll need to take a trip over to Beuil," said Belle, excitedly. "You can get some more of your pomade while we're there, too."
Gaston's hair was looking unusually lackluster, as he'd recently exhausted his supply of hair pomade. He knew how to make it himself from animal fat and beeswax, but it was as much trouble to get beeswax as readymade pomade. He murmured approval for Belle's suggestion and continued on with his own project.
At last he got the head up on the wall how he wanted it. "There it is, Belle! More beautiful than any cathedral — my new trophy wall! Whaddaya think? Gorgeous, right? Fits me perfectly. And since you share this bedroom, you too get to bask in its glory!"
Belle looked up and took an interest for her husband's sake. "It looks very nice there, Toni."
Gaston approached the bed, intending to sit beside Belle. She saw him coming and hurriedly warned him not to sit on the papers, which he would have absolutely done lacking this precaution. Alerted, he made a point of sitting to the side, where they'd be undisturbed.
He threw an arm around Belle and admired his new decoration. "Picture it, Belle! Soon the entire wall will be filled with trophies! Can you think of anything better to see first thing in the morning? It gives one hope for a better world."
Belle decided the best reply to that was nothing. "Do you think there's time to make the trip to Beuil today?" she said instead.
Gaston looked out the window. "We wouldn't get back till after dark."
"I'm alright with that, if you are."
Gaston hesitated, more from practical concerns than anything. "Tencendur is going to need his grub first — and so will I."
"Well, feed Tencendur; and I'll put together something for our lunch."
Belle gave Gaston a quick peck on the lips before pushing him off to work, then she rose from the bed to fix up something suited to her minimal culinary skills. She was as good of a cook as the conditions allowed for, with limited foods and no stoves or ovens to cook in. She made omelettes — a great big one for Gaston and a small one for herself. He returned, they ate, and then together they went off to run their errands.
Belle rode, sitting behind Gaston as usual. He had brought his weapons in case of trouble, but kept them all at his waist for her sake.
In the town, they ran their errands, and Belle was even able to browse the bookshop while Gaston talked to the hairdresser across the street about his pomade. She also procured two fresh notebooks to fill with songs and stories: four full ones were already back at home.
Their tasks fulfilled, the couple began for their house — a longer ride than the amount of time they'd actually spent in the town. As Gaston had predicted, it grew dark while they were still on the empty mountain roads. He slowed his horse and rode carefully in the night.
"It's on nights like this," Gaston began mischievously, "that they say the Croquemitaine comes out of his hiding place, looking for victims in the dark…"
"Oh, if this is a folktale, wait till I get home so I can write it down — "
"Got to learn these things by heart, Belle," he said rapidly before continuing his tale. "The Croquemitaine is a massive monster, taller than me, with razor-sharp fangs that protrude from his mouth, long talons, matted hair… he lives in the dark, waiting for opportunities to feed; for if he came into the daylight, his victims would run at the sight of him, before he could even draw close. He sometimes takes his victims alive, and brings them to his lair where he will eat them, bit by bit, as a snack… the hands are what he eats first, biting them off his human prey, crunching the bones between his fangs… "
And this terrible description went on, till even Gaston was becoming a bit frightened by the imagery. He really was a great storyteller.
When they reached their cottage, a frightened Belle hurried into the house and began building up the evening fire as fast as possible. Gaston was obliged to attend to the hardworking Tencendur, and only afterwards did he go inside with his wife.
She was discovered boiling water on the fireplace, throwing together a cheese and noodle dish for dinner. Gaston, though tired from his long day, threw himself on the floor and began doing his isometrics while she attended the food. When dinner was served, they ate together at the table — Belle gently scolding Gaston for telling such a scary story on the way home.
"I won't be able to sleep all night now!" she said, though laughing at herself for being scared by something so silly.
"Ah, don't worry. I won't let the monsters get you," replied Gaston with a slightly wicked smile.
And after dinner, the couple retired to the bedroom, undergoing their nightly routines of toothbrushing, washing, and so on. They went to bed, with Gaston getting in carefully so as not to throw Belle to the floor with his weight.