The quiet living room was interrupted by the sound of calm breathing. I laid a cold hand on Nadir's forehead and watched as he slept. His old lids remained shut, and he made no movement at my touch. Noting the steady rise and fall of his chest, I was satisfied with his condition.
I called for Christine, and she came to me from her bedroom fully dressed. My mother's small book of poetry was pressed tightly in her hands. Our eyes met for a moment before I stood and walked over to the boy.
He had been sleeping like a babe. His body sunk like deadweight into the cushions, and he made no reaction when Christine came over to lay an absent palm on his head. She barely glanced down.
Without taking my eyes off him, I asked, "Would you heat up some tea on the samovar?"
She nodded and left the room silently.
I bent over Raoul and examined his smooth face closely for the first time. Yes, he looked very much like Madeleine, especially at the nose which was small and straight; except for the slightly abrupt upwards tilt at the tip, it was a nose that suggested the inability to submit. If I had been born with a nose, perhaps it would have looked something like this.
The bone structure of his face was softer than Madeleine's. But the corners of his lips, which even in sleep curled upwards in a vain, unintentionally contemptuous manner, could have been transposed from my mother's skull. I found myself staring down at her face, and not Raoul's. She seemed to be dreaming before my eyes.
I leaned a bit closer to his ear. "Wake up, Madeleine," I whispered, "Wake up and see your son."
Raoul's body shuddered. Had he heard me? His lovely motionless features seemed to contort at the sound of that name. His lips, still mocking, seemed forced shut. I pulled away for a moment, allowing myself to breath. Family reunions were harder than I'd imagined.
Christine emerged from the kitchen, a tray of tea in hand, and some damp towels thrown across her arm. She kept her eyes focused on the tray as she walked and set it down gently upon the table coffee table between us. At the sound of the tray meeting the glass, Nadir sat up. He propped his upper body with his two arms and looked about with wide open eyes that struggled to focus on his surroundings. When at last he recognized me, he fell back in exhaustion.
Christine placed a damp towel on his forehead, and I think he mumbled a word of gratitude. Slowly he turned his head towards me.
"You must not try to speak, Daroga," I said wearily. "The boy is resting."
I turned to Christine, I said calmly. "My dear, could you fetch some clothes from my closet for the Vicomte? Yes, you may choose whichever one – I'm afraid we'll have to roll up the pant legs if they are too long."
When she brought me the clean clothes, I peeled the soaked suit from Raoul's body and dressed his awkwardly heavy limbs in my shirt and trousers. Indeed they seemed to swallow him in their length and I had to fold the pants and sleeves several times before his hands and feet slipped through. He looked like a little boy lost in his father's clothes.
I escorted Nadir to my room and allowed him the privacy to change inside. As I closed the door behind me, Raoul awoke, calling out Christine's name. I watched as she went over to him, brushed his forehead with her small hand, and slipped back into her chair by the fireplace; she seemed engulfed by the contents of my mother's book.
There was no sound but the ticking of the mantel clock and the crisp flipping of pages.
Raoul's eyes fell on me, and once again at the sight of my face, he lost a bit of his color. I think he had possessed the strength to cross himself, he would have done so.
I took measured paces towards him– I didn't want him to faint again. That would not have been very good for his health.
I stopped abruptly and bent over him, looking into his widened eyes that could not tear themselves away from my face; horrible fascination had consumed him.
"I know – the resemblance is startling, isn't it?" I smiled, lifting his significantly smaller hand in my bony grasp and turning his palm upwards towards me. He gasped at my touch. "But it says here you will have a very long and painless life." I showed him my own hand. "I cannot say the same for myself."
He pulled away and tried to sit up. His eyes darted to Christine, who looked up briefly between turning another page and continuing with her reading.
Raoul pushed himself up against the arm of the couch and called to her. He was very aware of my watching him watch her, but he continued to stare dully at her. "What has happened? What has happened while I was in that forest?"
"You exert yourself, Vicomte." I poured him a cup of tea which he took down too quickly and began to choke on the liquid. "Now you must drink slower than that." I poured him a second cup. "That's better. No, no, that is enough." I took it away from him as he craned his neck for more.
"Too much liquid too fast will not be good for your health."
He stared at me dumbly. "Why are you doing this?"
I grasped onto his wrist and pushed up the sleeve. Pressing two fingers into his veins, I felt for his heartbeat. Steady. I released his arm.
"You will be free to go in few hours," I said evenly. "Do not be too anxious to sit up again or I will have to tie you down by force. If you try to stand up now, you might faint." I shook my head at him. "I don't plan to catch you again."
Despite the tensing crease between his brows, he leaned his head back in resignation. He did not call out to Christine again, but he listened as I did, to the steady flipping of the pages.
"How strange," she said suddenly. Words came fluttering softly from her tongue:
"I wish to shy away from fears,
That forms my towering dam of tears,
But I fear as my own death nears,
No one shall cry over my bier."
"I am going to check on Nadir," I said and stood curtly. "If you need anything else, my wife shall attend you."
Raoul closed his eyes and a jagged wet line made its way down the corner of his left cheek. His lips twisted, contorted, almost as ugly as my own, and he turned to his side, covering his face with both his smooth hands.
"Christine, why? Why?"
Christine shut the book. Shemurmured beneath her breath. She stood. Her eyes visibly absent as she walked over to Raoul and placed a light hand on his shoulder.
"Don't cry, Raoul." She shook him gently. "Don't cry."
The poor boy trembled with his hands over his face as she comforted him. But her eyes never left mine. Even as she stroked his hair, she stared into my eyes.
