The hinges of the weathered door creaked as he stepped into the realm of
the Moulin Rouge. The courtyard, once dotted with trees, lined with
lights, and full of laughter and mirth was silent and still, as if even the
air were apprehensive. His feet crunched on dead, fallen leaves that were
strewn about the ground. Broken wood beams littered the place. Christian
tried hard to keep his head clear and eyes open. His heart was pounding in
his ears and his breath was shallow as he neared the elephant. The huge
monstrosity that stood just ten yards from the entrance of the main
building. He stopped just short of the door into the belly of the beast.
His breath had quickened and his palms were slick with sweat. After five
minutes of staring, he decided that it was too much too soon, and turned
instead to go into the performance hall.
It was as if no one had ever bothered to clean up. The performers had left in such a rush to escape the wrath of the Duke that the chairs that had been used during the show were left in the exact places they stood on opening night. The curtains, dusty and moth-eaten, were closed over the stage. Christian looked straight up at the ceiling. He could just make out the outline of a swing in the shadows. A song came into his head:
The French are glad to die for love.
They delight in fighting duels.
But I prefer a man who lives
And gives expensive jewels.
The only reason he even thought of that song was that it was the song she sang the first time he had ever seen her. It was not Satine singing that song that night, but the Diamant Briliant, the Sparkling Diamond. Light was eminating from the windows and casting patches of light onto the floor. His footsteps echoed in the bare hall. He neared the orchestra pit and his head began to pound. This scene was very familiar. He began to sing very quietly:
Come what may,
Come what may,
Come what may,
I will love you
Until my dying day.
He sang as he walked, until his voice dropped to a simple hum. Suddenly, he was standing only inches from the musty curtains. Afraid of what he would find there, he parted them just enough for himself to slip through.
The stage had been swept. Of course. He had been there during her funeral. He had slipped out the back and onto the stage, finding Chocolat there, sweeping away the rose petals that had littered the ground. Thinking back on all this, something white caught his eye in the very center of the stage. He slowly walked towards it.
A single rose petal. A single, dried rose petal, still white, lay on the ground, untouched. Christian bent to pick it up. The moment his finger touched it, the moment it was his, it crumbled. It fell to pieces in his fingers.
With no warning whatsoever, every moment he had spent with Satine began to flash through his mind. Every emotion, amplified, every touch, revisited. Christian fell to the ground, the pieces of flower still clutched in his hand. His body raked with his sobs, his tears forming a pool on the floor.
He lay on the floor for an hour, lying in his own tears, when he decided something. He wiped his eyes, stood up and said to himself, "I have to go into the elephant."
Determinedly he parted the curtains again, stepped through them, and walked back down the aisle. He reached the doors, pushed them open, and walked straight towards the elephant.
He cautiously put his hand on the door, as if it would attack him at any moment. Slowly, he opened it, and stepped inside.
The walls were the same. The decorations were the same. No one had bothered to bring her things down from the beast that ruled her life. Christian could hardly breathe, and most certainly couldn't think as the memories came back all at once.
"I prefer to do it standing."
"Oh?"
"Well, no, you don't have to stand, it's just . . . it's quite long, and I'd like you to be comfortable."
"Thank you for curing me of my ridiculous obsession with love."
"My gift is my song, and this one's for you. And you can tell everybody that this is your song. It may be quite simple but now that it's done I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind that I put down in words how wonderful life is now you're in the world . . ."
"The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return . . ."
The last thought echoed in his head as he touched the spread on her bed. Everything was covered in dust. No one had bothered to pack anything away. The only things missing were her jewels, clothes, and costumes. Anything of value was gone. Her mirror was smudged with grime, and the make-up on her vanity was still there. Christian delicately picked every item up. Then his fingers fell on an envelope, sealed, with the words Dear Harry written on it in black cursive. Slowly, he opened the envelope, and he began to cry. It was from her.
Dear Harold,
I am writing this letter to tell you what I couldn't in person. I am running away with Christian. I cannot be here any longer. This note is rushed because we're leaving tonight. Please don't try and follow us. Save your precious Moulin Rouge any way you can, because I don't care anymore. I don't even care about being an actress. All that matters is Christian. I love him and he loves me. We will be together forever. Goodbye, Harold.
Satine
Christian's hands shook as he folded the letter, placed it back in its envelope, and the put it in his pocket. He would take this with him.
With a final look around, he turned to the door to leave. He paused with his hand on the doorknob, about to close it, and sang, "How wonderful life is now you're in the world."
The letter in his pocket, Christian shut the door and climbed down and out of the elephant. He walked out of the courtyard without so much as a glance back. He returned to his apartment, picked up his belongings, then left by way of the balcony for the last time. Never again did he see the Moulin Rouge.
He reached the train station in a small amount of time. He stood at the ticket counter, and when the clerk asked, "Where to?", he answered, "London."
It was as if no one had ever bothered to clean up. The performers had left in such a rush to escape the wrath of the Duke that the chairs that had been used during the show were left in the exact places they stood on opening night. The curtains, dusty and moth-eaten, were closed over the stage. Christian looked straight up at the ceiling. He could just make out the outline of a swing in the shadows. A song came into his head:
The French are glad to die for love.
They delight in fighting duels.
But I prefer a man who lives
And gives expensive jewels.
The only reason he even thought of that song was that it was the song she sang the first time he had ever seen her. It was not Satine singing that song that night, but the Diamant Briliant, the Sparkling Diamond. Light was eminating from the windows and casting patches of light onto the floor. His footsteps echoed in the bare hall. He neared the orchestra pit and his head began to pound. This scene was very familiar. He began to sing very quietly:
Come what may,
Come what may,
Come what may,
I will love you
Until my dying day.
He sang as he walked, until his voice dropped to a simple hum. Suddenly, he was standing only inches from the musty curtains. Afraid of what he would find there, he parted them just enough for himself to slip through.
The stage had been swept. Of course. He had been there during her funeral. He had slipped out the back and onto the stage, finding Chocolat there, sweeping away the rose petals that had littered the ground. Thinking back on all this, something white caught his eye in the very center of the stage. He slowly walked towards it.
A single rose petal. A single, dried rose petal, still white, lay on the ground, untouched. Christian bent to pick it up. The moment his finger touched it, the moment it was his, it crumbled. It fell to pieces in his fingers.
With no warning whatsoever, every moment he had spent with Satine began to flash through his mind. Every emotion, amplified, every touch, revisited. Christian fell to the ground, the pieces of flower still clutched in his hand. His body raked with his sobs, his tears forming a pool on the floor.
He lay on the floor for an hour, lying in his own tears, when he decided something. He wiped his eyes, stood up and said to himself, "I have to go into the elephant."
Determinedly he parted the curtains again, stepped through them, and walked back down the aisle. He reached the doors, pushed them open, and walked straight towards the elephant.
He cautiously put his hand on the door, as if it would attack him at any moment. Slowly, he opened it, and stepped inside.
The walls were the same. The decorations were the same. No one had bothered to bring her things down from the beast that ruled her life. Christian could hardly breathe, and most certainly couldn't think as the memories came back all at once.
"I prefer to do it standing."
"Oh?"
"Well, no, you don't have to stand, it's just . . . it's quite long, and I'd like you to be comfortable."
"Thank you for curing me of my ridiculous obsession with love."
"My gift is my song, and this one's for you. And you can tell everybody that this is your song. It may be quite simple but now that it's done I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind that I put down in words how wonderful life is now you're in the world . . ."
"The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return . . ."
The last thought echoed in his head as he touched the spread on her bed. Everything was covered in dust. No one had bothered to pack anything away. The only things missing were her jewels, clothes, and costumes. Anything of value was gone. Her mirror was smudged with grime, and the make-up on her vanity was still there. Christian delicately picked every item up. Then his fingers fell on an envelope, sealed, with the words Dear Harry written on it in black cursive. Slowly, he opened the envelope, and he began to cry. It was from her.
Dear Harold,
I am writing this letter to tell you what I couldn't in person. I am running away with Christian. I cannot be here any longer. This note is rushed because we're leaving tonight. Please don't try and follow us. Save your precious Moulin Rouge any way you can, because I don't care anymore. I don't even care about being an actress. All that matters is Christian. I love him and he loves me. We will be together forever. Goodbye, Harold.
Satine
Christian's hands shook as he folded the letter, placed it back in its envelope, and the put it in his pocket. He would take this with him.
With a final look around, he turned to the door to leave. He paused with his hand on the doorknob, about to close it, and sang, "How wonderful life is now you're in the world."
The letter in his pocket, Christian shut the door and climbed down and out of the elephant. He walked out of the courtyard without so much as a glance back. He returned to his apartment, picked up his belongings, then left by way of the balcony for the last time. Never again did he see the Moulin Rouge.
He reached the train station in a small amount of time. He stood at the ticket counter, and when the clerk asked, "Where to?", he answered, "London."