~5~
The barricades. Barricade is a word she hears too often now, a word that makes her unsure. Bossuet has spoken of it, and the playbill man with whom he shares a home. And today people hurry past her, too fast, with strange looks on their faces, and strange fires in their eyes. She is dressed as a man now, for she knows the unreally beautiful man would send away women. He is the sort, as Monparnasse is, to find them useless in a fight, though she is certain he would think them worth more respect than 'Parnasse, in a way of pity and regard for those weaker. She has never liked him, and his lovely face. That face, and the cold eyes, are not half so delighting and wonderful as the eyes of her Bossuet.
She half-runs along, caught in the stream and swelling river of men rushing, rushing towards an obstacle she will soon see. A barricade. The barricade. The word she has heard and learned and not liked. The word whose sound she finds displeasing. The feature whose existence she resents for taking too much of her time with Bossuet. She climbs over it quickly, hearing the sound of feet, hearing the ominous noises of guns and boots. Bossuet pulls her over the last bit, arms encircling her.
"What are you doing, musical 'Ponine?"
"I'm fighting with you."
"Yes, I suppose you are. I can't turn you back. You wouldn't listen to me." He gives her a sad smile. "If you get killed, I shall never ever forgive you. Do you understand?"
"Yes." She speaks quietly now, no longer worried, just intrigued. She's seen her brother, and little, pretty M'sieur Marius. Moments later, she hears gunfire, and searches for a musket of her own. She is handed one by the beautiful man, who does not look at her, seeming upset. She can feel his doubt, his uncertainly. She knows he is afraid, and that he trembles, but she knows not for what. The man with kind eyes touches his shoulder, and he turns, and whispers something, to which the man speaks back comfortingly.
"It's all right to be afraid, Michel. You're no god. It's all right to be fearful before you change the world."
"Oh, mon dieu... Phillipe, you give me the strength I do not possess. I can fight now. Come with me."
She turns from them, scurrying about, wanting suddenly to hear what they say now, before they make the world turn the other way. Before they stand France upon its head, they must have some dreams or fears or such. She wants to hear.
She comes across the boy with the terrible scarf, only now it is pale green and magenta, as he sits beside the boy with blond curls. They speak to each other in soft voices, and the curled boy settles an arm about the other. The soft voices become faintly dreamy as they share and trade, and she steals away, feeling wrong to stay.
She sees the young man with the alert eyes, quietly singing, and the playbill man listens, eyes closed, tensed. He interrupts the song now and again to insert a word or a sentence of the peculiar shalts and thous she cannot understand. They are in a peace together, she can understand instead, the song and the words wrapping around each other.
She catches sight of M'sieur Marius, looking forlorn and lonely, staring out over the barricades. His lips form the word, "Cosette", and she turns away.
The man with the smile is lying on his back, looking up at the sky, frowning rather and composing a play-letter aloud.
"Dear Maman... today we changed the world. We have held our revolution at last, and things come together. I write to you as a free man. You may be displeased, and think me a disobedient son. I am. But now we are free, I should like to be one of our family again. I should like to be loved by you and Papa again. I - "
She creeps away. She doesn't want to hear the rest of his letter, and she doesn't want to desecrate it either. She stumbles across Bossuet, and he smiles.
"You've searched the barricades. 'Ponine, we will save France, but perhaps I shall die... perhaps you shall. I want you to know that I love you." He takes her hands in his.
"I love you too," she whispers.
They both startle and turn at the sound of the beautiful boy's voice. "The Guard is coming! The first attack! Prepare!"
Owari ~ End
The barricades. Barricade is a word she hears too often now, a word that makes her unsure. Bossuet has spoken of it, and the playbill man with whom he shares a home. And today people hurry past her, too fast, with strange looks on their faces, and strange fires in their eyes. She is dressed as a man now, for she knows the unreally beautiful man would send away women. He is the sort, as Monparnasse is, to find them useless in a fight, though she is certain he would think them worth more respect than 'Parnasse, in a way of pity and regard for those weaker. She has never liked him, and his lovely face. That face, and the cold eyes, are not half so delighting and wonderful as the eyes of her Bossuet.
She half-runs along, caught in the stream and swelling river of men rushing, rushing towards an obstacle she will soon see. A barricade. The barricade. The word she has heard and learned and not liked. The word whose sound she finds displeasing. The feature whose existence she resents for taking too much of her time with Bossuet. She climbs over it quickly, hearing the sound of feet, hearing the ominous noises of guns and boots. Bossuet pulls her over the last bit, arms encircling her.
"What are you doing, musical 'Ponine?"
"I'm fighting with you."
"Yes, I suppose you are. I can't turn you back. You wouldn't listen to me." He gives her a sad smile. "If you get killed, I shall never ever forgive you. Do you understand?"
"Yes." She speaks quietly now, no longer worried, just intrigued. She's seen her brother, and little, pretty M'sieur Marius. Moments later, she hears gunfire, and searches for a musket of her own. She is handed one by the beautiful man, who does not look at her, seeming upset. She can feel his doubt, his uncertainly. She knows he is afraid, and that he trembles, but she knows not for what. The man with kind eyes touches his shoulder, and he turns, and whispers something, to which the man speaks back comfortingly.
"It's all right to be afraid, Michel. You're no god. It's all right to be fearful before you change the world."
"Oh, mon dieu... Phillipe, you give me the strength I do not possess. I can fight now. Come with me."
She turns from them, scurrying about, wanting suddenly to hear what they say now, before they make the world turn the other way. Before they stand France upon its head, they must have some dreams or fears or such. She wants to hear.
She comes across the boy with the terrible scarf, only now it is pale green and magenta, as he sits beside the boy with blond curls. They speak to each other in soft voices, and the curled boy settles an arm about the other. The soft voices become faintly dreamy as they share and trade, and she steals away, feeling wrong to stay.
She sees the young man with the alert eyes, quietly singing, and the playbill man listens, eyes closed, tensed. He interrupts the song now and again to insert a word or a sentence of the peculiar shalts and thous she cannot understand. They are in a peace together, she can understand instead, the song and the words wrapping around each other.
She catches sight of M'sieur Marius, looking forlorn and lonely, staring out over the barricades. His lips form the word, "Cosette", and she turns away.
The man with the smile is lying on his back, looking up at the sky, frowning rather and composing a play-letter aloud.
"Dear Maman... today we changed the world. We have held our revolution at last, and things come together. I write to you as a free man. You may be displeased, and think me a disobedient son. I am. But now we are free, I should like to be one of our family again. I should like to be loved by you and Papa again. I - "
She creeps away. She doesn't want to hear the rest of his letter, and she doesn't want to desecrate it either. She stumbles across Bossuet, and he smiles.
"You've searched the barricades. 'Ponine, we will save France, but perhaps I shall die... perhaps you shall. I want you to know that I love you." He takes her hands in his.
"I love you too," she whispers.
They both startle and turn at the sound of the beautiful boy's voice. "The Guard is coming! The first attack! Prepare!"
Owari ~ End