Chapter 3
Christian
slept threw the next two days. He was looking much better though, the color had
returned in his face, but they still hadn't moved him or attempted to dress
him. When he awoke they would. The doctor had come back yesterday to check on him
and gave them more medication. He instructed them to give him some soup when he
awoke, and reminded them again that he should only be drinking water. Toulouse
had felt very relieved that Christian was going to be ok, but also slightly put
down because he thought that Christian had tried to kill himself. Toulouse knew
if he was ever going to get through to Christian, to tell him he had to stop
living the way he was, this was the time to do it. The way Toulouse saw it,
Christian had been given a second chance, and he couldn't screw this one up.
On the
morning of the third day, Christian stirred. He began to groan and tried to
pull some of the blankets off. Toulouse who had been drawing out a sketch for
his next painting looked over his shoulder in curiosity as Christian blinked
his eyes furiously trying to get the room into focus. Toulouse excitedly hoped
off his chair and scuttled over to him.
"Feewing
better Chriwstian?" Toulouse asked smiling and looking down at him as he
attempted to prop his body up against the headboard. Toulouse assisted him by
placing a pillow under his shoulders so he could sit up easier.
"Huhhh," he
said rubbing his head. "I suppose so."
"Good, now
you should eat somesing." Toulouse walked over to the stove and grabbed the can
of soup on the counter. Pulling out a pocketknife, he brought it down hard
against the stubborn metal top. After several exasperated tries, he was able to
poke a decent sized hole in the top of the soup can. Squatting down, he reached
below the stove and yanked open the cupboard, and withdrew a pot from within;
although it wasn't without some difficulty. He then stood up straight and
placed it on one of the burners. He grabbed a matchbox from the table next to
the stove and lit a match. Holding the flaming match under the pot, he turned
on the gas. The flam exploded singing his eyebrows and the top of his hair.
Turning down the flam and cursing under his breath, he grabbed the can and
poured the soup broth out threw the hole into the pot.
Christian
watched attentively as the little man work with his back toward him. He felt
quezzy as he tried to contemplate the recent events. All he could think of was
the searing pain that had begun to shoot down his left arm ever since he had
woken up. As everything had come into better focus and clarity, so did the
anguish that his arm was inflicting on him. Then he remembered his fall, and
how he had landed right on his arm before everything had gone black. He
remembered the cold, the freezing cold that had turned his blood to ice. A
slight shiver ran down his spin as he laid with mixed emotions thinking about
it. Wincing in pain, he pulled out his left arm above the covers. It was twice
its normal size and a deep shade of purple. He must have broken it quite badly.
"Toulouse"
he called pleadingly. "I need something for my arm, I… I…think it's broken," he
stammered as he choked back tears. Composing himself he asked in a hopeful
tone, "do you have any Absinth left, any alcohol at all? Please I really need
it." He sounded like a small boy begging for candy at a sweet shop, but that
was what alcohol had become to him; he no longer just wanted it, he needed it.
Toulouse
turned to face him, his brow furrowed. "Your awm?" He said inquisitively. As he
glanced at Christian, a look of shock and pity swept over his face as he saw
the cause of Christians discomfort. "Wwe, wwe had no idea your awm was hurt."
He said in a soft caring tone. Then suddenly his expression changed and his
face became hard, almost angry. "No, no, no Chriwstian. Yoo can't have any
alcohol; the doctor said yoo should have water and swoup only, even if your awm
hurts, no alcohol. It could rweelly have a bad effect on you, the medicine and
de alcohol wouldn't mix well in your blood, so don't ask me again." He stated,
stressing the severity of the situation. Along with his tone and the look of
determination in his eyes, Christian realized he wasn't going to change his
mind.
"Well," he
said pleading again, "I need something, anything, more medication, I don't care,
I just can't stand it, it feels like my arm is on fire." He moaned to Toulouse.
"Okay,
okay, don't worrwey I'll send Jose to get the doctor again." He sighed half
glancing at Christian's arm. It did look quite painful he thought to himself.
He walked to the other side of the room while the soup was slowly cooking on
the stove. The Argentinean was humming to himself, sowing a hole that was
present in a pair of his favorite pants.
"While I
cook the swoup for Chriwstian can you…" but he was never able to finish what
the Argentinean was to do while Toulouse was busy cooking because at that
moment he cut Toulouse off by relapsing into one of his narcoleptic states.
Toulouse
gave an irritated sigh, knowing there was absolutely nothing he could do.
Instead, he walked back over to the stove, turned down the burner so it
wouldn't overcook and looked sympathetically at Christian.
"I don't
know where Setie and the Doc are, so I'm off to find the weal doctor by myself.
I'll be back soon and then we can get you somesing for that awm." He added as
he began to make his way towards the door.
"Thanks
Toulouse" Christian muttered at his retreating back. With a wave of his hand in
acknowledgment to Christian's statement, Toulouse left him utterly alone with
his thoughts. For Toulouse and Christian, this was more of a danger than either
of them could have anticipated.
Christian
sat in wonderment as he contemplated his life's recent events. Why was he still
alive, was someone trying to tell him something, trying to give him second
chance? God? No Christian thought resentfully. There was no God, or at least
not for him. He still believed in the principals of heaven and hell, but he
knew that God had disserted him the day he had killed Satine. In Christian's
mind, God wasn't concerned about him. Then what was it? It, it couldn't have
been her, could it? A sorrow swept over him like the ocean tide. His dear
Satine. Was she trying to reach him? Was she trying to get him to come to
heaven with her, was she anxiously anticipating his parting from this horrible
world into the next where they could finally be together? I had to have been;
that was the answer. He suddenly felt a stab of pain, in the deep recesses of
his heart. He had been so close. So close to internal happiness. He wouldn't
have had to live one more unbearable day without her. Why, why had fate been so
cruel as to deprive him of happiness once again when he had been so close?
Then, with a striking realization one name came to him. He could never have
imagined the feeling of total loathing that overcame him when he thought of
this one name. Toulouse. He had ruined it, he had prevented Christian from
being with Satine because he had interfered with Christian's life. He had kept
him away from her, from his Sparkling Diamond. Christian couldn't believe the
hatred that was blossoming in his inner sole like a cancer, a cancer of
darkness; that completely consumed his body and mind. He wanted to hurt, to
kill the man that had left him in pain. The man who had deprived him of Satine. His brow furrowed, he began to curse under
his breath as the abhorrent feeling spread to his very toes and fingertips. In
an unconscious daze, he felt his legs swing out from under the covers, and his
bare feet touch the cold hard ground. As though he was watching someone else
control his body, he stood up, completely naked and walked over to the soup
that was now boiling very rapidly. Footsteps. A grin of complete maliciousness
spread over his face as he grabbed the pot handle knowing Toulouse would be
there soon. Not even wincing, hardly even noticing the siring hot pain that ate
away the flesh on his palm as he grabbed the burning hot handle, he could only
think of Toulouse. He was going to filing the soup right at his eyes and watch,
laughing as he struggled against the burning pain and blindness that would soon
follow. He heard the door open and Toulouse walk in unsuspecting. He began to
speak when his bewildered eyes fell upon Christian. Pale and completely bare,
holding the still boiling pot of soup, with a look, a look in his eyes which
made Toulouse freeze on the spot in complete horror. Christian was going to
kill him. He could tell. He hate that surged through his eyes seemed to be
spelling out his certain death. He couldn't move, his legs wouldn't respond.
Christian began to slowly advance on him. He began to speak in a low rasp voice
that was not his.
"You have
done this to me Toulouse. You are no friend; you are the devils spawn. You
probably killed Satine in the beginning; you couldn't stand me being happy. You
wanted her for yourself. Desperate, knowing you could never have her; you
murdered her so no one else could. Then, that wasn't enough for you. I didn't
commit suicide and you knew that. You knew that I would have gone to heaven, and
that I would have gotten to be with her. You couldn't even let me be happy in
death. You prevented me from her, from happiness, and now you will get to feel
some of the pain that you have caused me, you murderer!" He didn't need to
shout; his stair was enough to scare Toulouse to death. Hard, fixed and cold;
it was like looking into an endless well. He was speaking irrationally, no one
had killed Satine, and Toulouse hadn't known that Christian didn't try to
commit suicide. He had only wanted what made Christian happy. Christian knew
this, he had told him before. Toulouse had been his first friend; he had been
the one to welcome him with open arms into the Bohemian revolution. Why, why
was Christian doing this? Toulouse realized that he either had to bring sense
to Christian, fast, or he was going to be killed. Frantic, not being able to
think clearly for he was petrified with fear, Toulouse shifted his mind for the
right words. They weren't coming, and Christian was getting closer, beginning
to raise his arm. He opened his mouth to speak and nothing issued forth but his
shaking breath. He was going to die.
At that
moment, right as Christian was going to fling the sizzling hot soup, the doctor
rushed in.
"So, sorry,
I forgot the medicine and had to double back…" but at that moment he rushed
head long into Toulouse who had been frozen to the spot in the doorway.
"Uffff!" he
said as he dropped his bag and was nearly knocked on the ground. He straighten
up and was about to apologize when, for the first time he was able to properly
surveying the scene that lay before his eyes. His cheeks suddenly became
drained of all the color that they had accumulated on the journey up the
stairs. He glanced, totally shocked and confused from the naked Christian
holding the pot as though he was about to chuck its contents, to the terrified
Toulouse who stood motionless on the spot. His eyes moved form one to the other
trying to make sense out of the situation.
At the
brief moment of the doctor's timely arrival, Christian paused just long enough
for Toulouse to find the courage and the right words to say what he had to.
In a shaky
but determined voice, Toulouse quickly shouted, " Who are you?" the simplicity
of the question, and the confidence and power in Toulouse's voice took
Christian completely off guard. Before he could even respond, Toulouse had
begun to continue. "You are not the man that Satine fell in love with. You are
not the man that she died pledging her love for. What have you done with that
man, my friend and Satine's true lover?" He paused his heart beating rapidly
and his mind trying to find more words. He could do it, he thought, Christian
needs to hear this, he needs to know the truth. His hands were still shaking
and his face was still white, but there was no trace of uncertainty in his
voice. "You are a disgrace to truth, freedom, beauty, and most of all love. You
are a disgrace to Satine's love, you are not worthy of such a high attribute!"
Christian now stood completely motionless in disbelief as the emotion and anger
poured forth form the little man. "She asked you to do one thing to prove your
love to her, to write your story, and you didn't even do that. Instead you
became a filthy, drunken, slob and mocked what Satine died for!" He was now
shouting at the top of his lungs. Shouting for he was furious the way that
Christian was acting. "You disgust me Christian, and I hope you realize you
have failed Satine. You don't love her, if you did, you wouldn't be living and
acting the way you do. You would have written your story!"
He finished breathing hard; proud
he had been able to conquer his speech without his lisp interfering, and
confident that he had finally gotten through to Christian. The doctor stood
motionless not issuing a sound. Clink, clink, clink. The pot had slipped from
Christian's fingers spilling its contents on the floor. He stood there looking
pathetic and bare; simply staring at Toulouse. The anger was gone, there was
simply a blankness as Christian began to fully grasp Toulouse's words. As a
sudden understanding flicked in his eyes, but it was soon unrecognizable for
they began to swell with tears. He sank to the floor on his knees as
heart-rattling sobs began to fill the deathly silent room. His whole body
shuddered with every sob, as he lay in a crumbled bare heap, completely in
hysterics of realization.
"Whatttt
have…what have I… I…I done?" he cried out in between his cries of anguish.
Toulouse looked down on his friend as he sobbed uncontrollably with sorrow, for
the pain he was going thorough must have been terrible. He had finally realized
that he had dishonored Satine's love for him, and his for her, and this was
almost as horrible as the day she had died. At least then he had been worthy
for her love, but now, even in her death, he had shamed her.
How long he
cried for, Toulouse couldn't tell. All he could do was to put a blanket on his
cold and vulnerable body as it lay on the hard floor still shaking with sobs.
The soup lay spilled and cold on the floor next to the pot that Christian had
dropped. The doctor had simply sunken into a chair in the corner of the room
and hadn't uttered a word since his arrival. Toulouse hadn't done much more, he
had simply lain down in his cot and listed to Christian's moans of agony as he
stared blankly at the wall. However painful it was for Toulouse to watch his
friend in the state he was in, he simply found solitude by repeating "the first
step to recovery is acceptance" over and again in his head. After a while,
Christian's cries began to slowly get quitter. They then became moans, which
follow by mire whimpers. Then there was silence. Toulouse went over to him and
realized that his body had just finally shut down. He had been so drained
emotionally that his body had just simply collapsed into a dreamless slumber so
that it could recover from the trauma it had experienced for the last hour or
so. Toulouse sighed and with the help of the Argentinean, who had awoken about
half way thorough Christian's devastation, and the doctor, they were able to put
him back into bed, but not without dressing him first.
For the
first time since Christian's outburst Toulouse spoke in an unsure tone. "We
ought to do somshing for his awm."
"Ahh, yes" the
doctor replied in barley a whisper. "I'll retrieve my materials." He walked
toward the door where his medical bag had been dropped when he had run into
Toulouse. Until now, no one had even given a thought to it. He crossed the
length of the room and back again to Christian's bed side. Laying the bag on
the bed and opening the clasp, he began to remove the necessary materials. No
one spoke as they watched the doctor remove his things, and fill a syringe of
clear liquid from a small bottle. He lifted Christian's arm out form under the
covers, and pricked the needle into his vein at the crook of this elbow.
Christian flinched slightly, but did not wake up. He then began to wrap his arm
in gauze bandages. Next he went to the sink and filled a bowl with water and
dumped a pouch of powder into it. Using a sort of spatula he stirred the
mixture until it became a thick white past. With great care he slopped it onto
the bandages and smoothed it into the right shape. With in minutes after the
doctor had applied and molded the past it hardened into a plaster cast. The
doctor held the cast in his hand and rapped it with his knuckles testing its
durability.
"Humm" he
said thinking out loud. "That looks sturdy enough…" turning to Toulouse he
added in a worried tone, "…but it's quite hard, I'd watch out if I were you.
That lad doesn't appear to be very stable, you know, up there" he said in a
whisper and jabbing a finger at his temple indicating that he took Christian
for mentally insane.
"Don't
worwey, I think he's learned his wesson. These past six mounts have been
extwemely hard on him, but I think he's going to make it." He said with a
certain confidence.
"I don't
know what went on with him, but I'm not one to interfere. You can never be too
careful though, just remember that." He added as he began to pack up his things
off the bed.
"I'll keep
that in mind sir." Toulouse said as the doctor made his way to the door.
Toulouse could tell he purposely "forgot" to mention that if anything else
should come up that they should call him. Toulouse didn't blame him as his back
went out of view around the corner. Glancing at the sleeping tear streaked face
of Christian, he realized that his friendship and loyalty alone could not help
him learn to live and properly love again. Christian was going to have to find
his way alone, Toulouse could only be the one to hold the light to guide him.
He would do it though, Toulouse was sure of it. He would write the Moulin
Rouge, and he would learn to open his heart again. Toulouse wasn't so sure he
could ever love another women like he had loved Satine, but someone would find
a small corner of his heart to occupy.
-Next chapters will be happier, don't worry; this is just
setting the stage for later on. Hope you enjoy!
-Bre