September 14, 1901--
...In sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life through our Lord Jesus Christ, we commend to Almighty God our brother Henri; and we commit his body to the ground; earth to earth; ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The Lord bless him and keep him, the Lord make his face to shine upon him and be gracious unto him and give him peace. Amen.
I watched at the priest sprinkled the water onto his grave, watched as the mourners threw small bundles of flowers down into the grave, watched as the women honked into their black scented handkerchiefs. I watched it all from the edges of the cemetery, from behind a cluster of crooked tombstones and the gently swaying branches of a willow that creaked painfully above me. After a few more prayers and condolences the mourners turned away, their black cloaks fluttering in the wind, their voices hushed. I alone knew that their pity was strained, however. None of them cared, not really. He wasn't much to them, a disgrace even! He'd told me himself! How dare they come to mourn his death, when they had not an idea about his life.
I waited until they had moved away, until the gravediggers had filled in the pit with dirt, until I knew that I wouldn't be disturbed in my solitary act. I clutched a small bouquet in my hand, crushed under the welcome weight I carried in my arms, a weight bundled against the cold, sleeping peacefully, wrapped in a blanket made from one of his mother's old cancan skirts. The brightest spot in the cemetery, and he was mine.
My steps slowed down as I got nearer to the tiny grave, really no larger than that of a child's. The dirt was cold and crumbled under my touch to fall to the ground. I kneeled and brushed off a spray of dirt that had fallen onto the stone, rubbing at the letters with my finger. Henri Marie Raymonde de Toulouse-Lautrec Monfa. The name was larger than he was. I sighed and hugged my child closer to me. It didn't seem fair, that someone so full of life was planted here, where his only friends would be the dead. It didn't seem fair at all.
So you came.
I looked up at the sound of the voice, shielding my eyes from the sun. The woman standing above me stared down her nose at me, her eyes cold. Countess Adèle de Toulouse-Lautrec. I recognised her from a non-too-flattering portrait her son had showed me. I nodded and stood up, shushing my child as he began to squall. Oui, I came, I said. Did you really expect me to stay away?
I don't know what I expected, she said. Certainly not for you to bring the child here.
Why shouldn't he be here? I asked her, tickling his cheek while I talked. He has just as much right as you, if not more.
It was a stupid thing to say, and her face clouded up for a moment in anger. But instead of striking me, which I know she wanted to do, she turned away and buried her face in her handkerchief. I...I almost wished to see you here, she whispered. I almost prayed for it, in fact.
I asked, raising an eyebrow. And why's that?
He...he asked me to tell you something, she said, looking at me in the eye. Just before he died, he said...he said Tell Nini I remembered my line.' She paused. It means nothing to me, but he kept saying it, poor dear. I...I had such a time tracking you down, I went everywhere in Montmartre, all over the place, and...and here you are. she nodded. So he wanted me to tell you that he remembered his line. I don't know...I don't know if that's something special between you, or what, but I...I promised him I would, and I... she paused, burying her face in her hand. Mon Dieu, this is so difficult for me...
I'm sorry, I said simply. It's difficult for us all. He was a wonderful man. He'll be missed.
I...yes, I suppose he will, she said, staring strongly at me. Nini...do you intend on keeping him? The child, I mean?
Well, yes! I said, surprised. The thought of giving him up had never entered my mind. True, he was going to be a bit of a handful, and I could have used the extra money it would take to raise him...but I knew what happened to the unfortunate children of Paris, and I didn't want it to happen to him.
Then, listen to me, she hissed. You mustn't tell anyone of his true heritage, do you hear me, Nini? No one must know! I will not try to make this easy, my dear, we weren't happy at all when he told us what had happened. It's a sin, to create a child out of wedlock, and you are very lucky that we stand for it at all. But I warn you, Nini, she said quietly, looking around the cemetery for anyone who may overhear. If you breathe word of this to anyone, anyone, you will live the rest of your days wishing you didn't. Do you understand me, Nini?
I looked at her coolly. You can't frighten me, Madame, I said simply. You will have to do more than idle threats to attempt to scare me. But, I added. I will respect your wishes, if only because they were your son's, as well. But do not think that I do it out of respect for your family, respect that I have none of to begin with. Now, if you have nothing more to say...
There is one thing, the countess said, looking down at my child. You must be very careful with your son, Nini, she warned me. He may have fragile bones, you must make sure that he never breaks one. I know that the life of...of unfortunate women like yourself is often not quite soft, but I implore you, keep him safe!
I stared at her coldly. Unfortunate women? I asked. So, you're saying that because I'm a whore, I'll be a bad mother? Oh! I feigned surprise. I forgot, France doesn't have whores...just unfortunate women. I shook my head. In all my days, I'll never be able to understand people like you. I looked up at the clouded sky. Do think we'll be getting some rain, I said. I'd best get back to my miserable existence and leave you to yours. Au revoir, Madame. I turned, casting one last glance at the tiny grave before quickening my pace as a roll of thunder sounded in the distance. The child squirmed in my arms and I hugged him to my body tightly, singing softly down to him to ease him. A magic day, he passed my way, I sang as I wove through the towering monuments of lives gone by. And while we spoke of many thing, fools and kings, this he said to me: The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.
