August 26, 1901--
Perhaps my story is not unique in history, perhaps it is not as intriguing as a love triangle, as powerful as a betrayal, as dangerous as a stolen kiss or forbidden glance. It may be none of these, but what makes it important is that it is my story, mes amis, and I feel that it deserves the same respect as anyone elses.
To begin to tell of my life after the Moulin Rouge, I must begin with another life. This life would become the most important one in the world to me, although I hardly knew it when it began. When it began, I only wished for it to end.
I was about in the fifteenth minute of labour when I came to the decision that this would be the first and last child to come from Nini Legs-in-the-Air. The pain ripped through my body in a great wall of fire that seemed to consume me from the inside out. I grabbed at the sheets, attendants, anything, to fight down the screams that otherwise would have torn the charity hospital apart. I was vaguely aware that I could catch an infection and fall under the same fate as my own mother, dead days after my birth, but little of that mattered now, and I was concentrated wholly on getting this...this thing out of my body.
When it was finally over, I lay very still on the bed, holding a tiny, squirming baby in my arms. My eyes were open slightly, staring up at the sign painted above my bed. Dieu est Amour. At the moment, lying in pain, surrounded by shivering bodies and the smell of sickness and death, I was having a great deal of trouble believing that. The new life in my arms gave a soft cry, diverting my thoughts back to the task at hand. His mouth sought out my breast and I gave it to him hurridly, hoping to occupy him for a few minutes so that I could get some rest. I had just closed my eyes and was drifting away when I heard a familiar pattern of footsteps come my way, down the aisle crowed on either side with beds full of unfortunate women in unfortunate conditions. It was a heavy, teetering gait, puncuated with the sharp tap-tap of a cane. It was a gait I knew well, but never expected to hear in this place. The footsteps stopped as they got to my bed, and there was a creaking as a small figure sat on the edge.
I opened my eyes and smiled at the man who sat there. I asked, almost thinking that the pain had driven me mad. I...what a surprise! I didn't think you would come.
He looked aghast. Not come? What on Earth do you mean, not come? Do you really think I could miss something like this?
I leaned back and sighed. I just thought...well, I just didn't think you'd be here, that's all.
He shook his head. He grinned as he looked at me and at the baby cradled in my arms. Mon Dieu, Nini. What have you got there?
I smiled warmly as I touched the tiny head, already covered in thick, dark hair. A new little artist. He just don't know it yet.
May I...?
I nodded and held the baby out to him, yawning as he took him. Henri looked down at the baby in awe, his eyes lighting up from behind his spectecles. he said softly, touching the child's nose gently. You've really tuckered out your mother, haven't you?
I smiled. I'll heal. I thought you were in...what was it, Normandy? I asked, remembering his stay at a seaside resort to help him overcome his drinking.
He shook his head. No, I'm going back home, to stay with Mother for a while. He laughed as the child opened his eyes. He's got your eyes, Nini!
And your hair, I commented. Dare say he'll look like a bear before too long.
You...you haven't told anyone, have you?
I shook my head. Not a soul. I paused. You know what the doctor said when he saw me?
He said, Mademoiselle, do you know what the least filled-in box on a birth certificate is?' I bristled as the memory of his casual demenour. To think that he'd say something like that! To a woman going into labour, of all things!
Henri shook his head in agreement and smiled down at the child in his arms. I'm only going home for a few days, he told me. Then I'll come back to Montmartre, I promise.
What good will it do? I asked. Satine is dead. You can't make another play for her.
He smiled softly at me. Not for Satine, Nini. For you.
I narrowed my eyes. Me? How do you mean?
I mean that I...well, I don't know exactly how to put it. He stole a glance around the crowded room and leaned down to whisper in my ear. I want you to be Nini de Toulouse-Lautrec. I want, he looked at the baby again. To be able to fill in that box on the birth certificate.
Nini de Toulouse...I couldn't have just heard those words! I looked at him in shock for a moment before I shook my head. It'll never work, I told him. You marry me? And what will your family say, might I ask you that?
Screw my family! he cried, then hushed us as he saw the glare from the nun who watched over us with an eagle eye. They haven't given a damn about me in twenty years and I'm more than happy to return the favour. You will do it, won't you? Marry me, I mean?
I sighed. We'll see, Henri, I said. I love you...at least, I think I do, but...but I don't know how good a wife I can make you. You need someone who's kind, and nurturing and paitent, and I'm none of that. I just don't...
Patient? Nurturing? I'm not an infant, Nini! I'm thirty-six years old, for God's sake. I think that by now, I can take care of myself. he looked at me beseechingly. Please? For his sake, if no one else's.
I looked from him to the child he held so lovingly in his arms, and smiled despite the storm in my mind. My entire life, I had promised myself that I wouldn't become the poor sap that got lost in their customer's eyes, that I wouldn't listen to promises. It was how I survived in that beautiful, soul-crushing place called the Moulin Rouge. Perhaps it was my exhaustion that made me so weak, in mind as well as body, but despite my promises, at the moment I could think of nothing else but grey in my hair as I watched my grandchildren play in the countryside I'd dreamt so much about, of sitting in front of a roaring fire when the snowflakes began to fall, of falling asleep to the sound of my husband's breathing. My husband. Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec. At that moment, it was all I wanted in the world. I said simply. Oui, I will. Now, I reached out and held his hand. What you need to to is go to your mother and dry out. It'll do me no good, marrying a drunkard.
He laughed and handed the baby back to me. I held him gently and looked at his father as he spoke. What did you name him?
I smiled. Henri, after his father, I answered. Henri Pattes. It's the only last name I've ever known.
He leaned over the bed and kissed me on the forehead. Not for long. Au revoir, ma cherie. I've got a train to catch. I'll come back soon, I promise.
Come back sober, I laughed, and kissed him. Can't have you staggering down the aisle, now can I?
He got up and touched my face for a moment, looking at it as if he were memorising every curve, every line, and then he turned and walked away between the rows of beds, his cane tapping along beside him. As he got to the door, he stopped and turned around. I love you! he called out, completely ignoring the request for silence painted above the door. Don't forget that!
Je t'aime! I called back, and laughed as he left the room, swaying in his peculiar manner.
It would be that last time I ever saw him.
