Chapter 9
A/N: Thank you Lord Kain – I had forgotten
Gepetto
How many times did I say to myself that I wished I could do it all over again? That I would change things- make things right. I don't know, probably a hundred, maybe a thousand times. Every day I traveled with Yuri and Karin and fought battles with monsters and men, my little marionette Cornelia being for me my weapon against pain was all the time, my weapon against myself as well. Why I made a doll to look like her… well, I cannot beat myself over that – my teacher did the same thing. Death makes fools of us all.
We stood that day on those disintegrating plains and I wondered what each one of those people would pray for. I knew Joachim, big oaf that he was, wanted to be a hero in many eyes, but especially in the eyes of children. I knew that Blanc had taken a shine to little Yoshiko in Japan and the others… well, I don't know. I know Yuri wants to be with Alice more than anything else, but so much lately has bruised and beaten him down – like that day with Ishimura. He tried so hard to beat that old man – to teach him a lesson he wouldn't soon forget, but instead he ended up with the lesson; that no matter how much violence you visit on someone, it won't bring about lasting peace. Pity too, as we could all use a little of that.
Looking at him across the violently breaking plains of that horrible place, I could see his oddly colored eyes shifting back and forth, looking at each of us, and lingering longest on young Karin and I wondered. I wondered what he would pray for. But then I wondered what I would pray for and turned my thoughts to that. And it wasn't long before I felt the winds lifting my old bones up and carrying me to a better world. How did I know it would be better? Hehe, because I was going to get a second chance.
The caravan was parked outside the small village, those two foolish brothers had just pulled in and I hopped out as best I could with my old bones. The world seemed unsettled for a moment, a bit dizzy before it settled into its normal routine. And I felt a sense of urgency. Now why I should feel that, I wondered. I shook my head, pulling out the box with my marionettes and… that's when it hit me. I needed to make a call. Send a wire. Now, where was the messenger when you needed one?
I found the wire messenger just down the block from the theatre and stopped in to send a quick telegram home. My wife was back in Paris with our daughter and I wanted to be sure everything was all right – Cornelia had been feeling under the weather when I left early in the week. The stop here would be a one-nighter, and then on across the border to Belgium. How those loopy brothers found venues for us in such odd places! But the patrons paid well and I made enough to keep both Cornelia and me in marionettes; my dear, sweet Cornelia loved my puppets as much as I did and begged me more than once to make her a special doll. I had one in mind...
The telegram clerk finished taking the message and told me he'd find me at the theatre if there were a reply and I toddled off to set up my stage. It was good to be a puppeteer and I loved my work. That evening my stage was set up for a grand performance of Sleeping Beauty; my darling Catherine was bedecked in her finest gown for the ball scene and Pierre had really outdone himself. He stood preening and happy as I let Catherine dance on the ends of her strings and twirl in the full-skirted dress with the bright sequins and I laughed, more at my delight than at Pierre's. And when the lights went down in the little theatre and my spot lights came up, my puppets came alive, dancing and singing their story as full and as grand as any opera.
After the show the children all gathered to meet Catherine and the other marionettes and of course, I loved each and every one of them; their smiling and delighted faces so full of life and love. And then the clerk from the wire shop arrived as well, but he wasn't smiling. He had a reply for me and he waded through the children to give it to me. Pierre was at my side and took the paper, opening it for me as my hands were still twisted with twine, and read the words that brought my heat pounding to my throat.
"Gepetto, darling, please return at once. Cornelia is very ill; she is dying"
"Oh no! This is terrible," squealed Pierre. "We must get you home at once!" he turned quickly and yelled to his brother, their words passing to quickly for me to hear as the pounding of my heart was still loud in my ears. My baby, my Cornelia was dying.
The next few minutes were a blur of activity as help was found to take down the stage and put it safe; my marionettes were boxed and stored and the whole time I stood numb in the middle of the theatre, my mind refusing to do more than dwell on the impossible. But I had not understood the power of persuasion of the brothers Magimel. The next I knew I was being lifted bodily into the seat of their truck, that same crazy wagon we used in our theatre work, and the truck lurched forward into the night, the road ahead little more than a dark ribbon in his head lamps.
The next few hours were a nightmare of dark roads, dirt tracks, and shortcuts. I did not know where we were or how we would ever get to Paris, but Gerard drove like a madman and brought us at sunup to the outskirts of the City of Lights. And as the sun came in rosy dawn, I climbed the steps to our home, my hands shaking, and my lips moving with the prayer I'd muttered throughout the night: Please God, let me be in time.
I went directly to the bedroom, my little Cornelia lying so small and wan in our big bed. My wife was sitting beside her and moved aside when I approached. We spoke not a word, just a nod as I sat down, my aching bones for once, not bothering me as I leaned forward to take Cornelia's little hands in mine. I held her, my heart hurting for the pounding in my chest... how could God be so cruel to take my little baby from me?
I held her thus for long minutes, watching her chest rise and fall so slowly, each breath might be her last. Her cheeks, usually so rosy, were pale and sallow; how long, dear lord, how long...
There was a clatter in the room behind me as booted feet climbed the outer stairs and the wooden furnishings were bumped and shoved aside. I was about to yell a garrulous remark when a man came beside me, setting his black bag on the bed.
"Please, monsieur Gepetto, let me," the man said and I looked up to see Doctor Deniaud standing over me. I moved aside, letting the learned doctor take my place by Cornelia's side and instead paced the threadbare carpet at the foot of the bed. He hmphed and muttered to himself a few times and I went back to my silent prayers from before. But after a while, my lovely wife Elizabeth took me from the room and brought me food to eat in the kitchen. Not that I wanted to eat, but Gerard was hungry and he had brought in delicious foods from the nearby bistro – steaming bowls of soup, coc au vin and bread fresh from the boulangerie. The smells enticed my appetite and I ate a little, dipping my bread in the soup.
Gerard, bless his soul, began telling my wife stories of our travels, segueing away to tales of he and his brother Pierre before they met me. As Gerard has a sense of humor much drier than Pierre's, his story telling was more along the lines of gossip and Elizabeth sat mesmerized – well so was I, but I was tired.
The next I knew the doctor was tapping me on my shoulder; I had slumped over and my face was pressed into the wooden table, my beard bedraggled and mussed and skewed to one side. I had fallen asleep sometime during the night and the sun was now offering yellow light through the dingy glass of the kitchen. I looked up at the doctor and felt hope in my heart: he was smiling. I'm sure I broke the chair in my haste to return to the bedroom.
My little angel was curled in the blanket, her sallow complexion now a bit rosier. Whatever medicines the doctor had used, he'd saved my baby's life – I could never repay him. I sat down and the jostling of the bed woke Cornelia who opened her big green eyes and smiled, ever so sweetly.
"Pappa, you're home," she said and then fell back to sleep. I cried softly at her side, touching her silky hair with my rough fingers before finally returning to the kitchen. Elizabeth had gone with the doctor and Gerard was standing by the table, a look on his serious face that had me wondering what he was up to.
"She is better, you little girl?" he asked and when I affirmed he sighed, breathily. "Mon deux, that was close. I had to promise him the moon, that doctor," Gerard said then smiled. "But he was worth it."
"You know we don't have a lot of money, Gerard. How can I repay…?"
Gerard waved it off as if I had said something amusing.
"You will find a way, my friend. You know my brother likes handsome young men, nes pas?" and he laughed and before long I laughed too. It didn't matter what kind of price Gerard would extract from me – for he had helped to save my beautiful Cornelia and I would always be grateful.
