It was a beautiful summer day. Gaston was 13 years old, and he was heading to the lake to go fishing. LeFou trailed behind him, loaded down with both their fishing tackle.
Gaston turned, seeing LeFou far behind. "Hurry up, will you?" he said impatiently. He was annoyed by LeFou's slowness. It never occurred to him that LeFou's much shorter legs and the weight of carrying all their gear might have something to do with it.
"Coming!" LeFou said, trying to hurry faster.
As they passed through the center of town, he heard a high-pitched voice. "Gaston!" He turned to see Bambi, one of the blonde triplets.
"Where are your sisters?" Gaston asked. It was unusual to see them apart.
She giggled. "They're coming. But I spotted you up ahead, and snuck away so I could talk to you alone for a minute."
"What about?" he asked.
She batted her eyes flirtatiously. "Well…you see the bakery over there? There's a bush growing behind it, and yesterday I saw that it had the most beautiful roses on it. I wanted to show you."
He grinned, showing his dazzling wide teeth, and she almost swooned right there. "Roses, huh? Okay, I've got a minute. LeFou, wait here."
Behind the bakery, out of sight of passersby, she kissed him. He kissed her back, enjoying the sweet taste of her. His hand wandered to her bosom. She let him grope her for a few seconds, then pulled back in mock outrage, not wanting to seem too easy. "Why, Gaston! You naughty thing!"
He smiled. "Sorry, but when a girl is as beautiful as you, it's hard to keep my hands off."
"Well, I'll forgive you this time," she said, smiling.
"Bambi! Where are you?" voices called.
"Oh, darn, it's my sisters. I'd better go," she said in disappointment.
He let her go out first, then waited a minute or two before following, as though he had just happened to show up. The three sisters were clustered together in the town square. Seeing him, they rushed over.
"Hi, Gaston," said Bunny coquettishly. "You're looking very handsome today!"
"He looks handsome every day!" corrected Bubbles.
Their mother emerged from one of the shops. "Come on, girls, we have a lot of errands to do. Let's go." Seeing Gaston, she added with a smile, "Well, hello, young man. I hope my girls haven't been bothering you." She had high hopes that he would marry one of her daughters when the time came.
"Of course not, madame," Gaston said politely. "It's a pleasure to be in the company of such refined young ladies. And is that a new hat you're wearing? It's very becoming."
She blushed, pleased. "Why, yes, it is." What a nice young man, she thought. "Well, we'd better be running along. Come on, girls."
As they headed away, Bunny suddenly said, "Oh, I dropped my handkerchief! I'll catch up in a minute." She ran back to Gaston and whispered, "I'll try to sneak out later if I can. Maybe I can meet you in the alley behind the feed store."
"All right," he said, smiling. She looked around to make sure no one was watching, then gave him a quick peck on the cheek before rushing to catch up with her mother and sisters.
"Come on, LeFou," Gaston said. "Let's get to the lake."
It took longer than expected to get there – LeFou couldn't walk too fast with all the gear he was carrying, and Gaston kept getting stopped by various girls who wanted to flirt with him. But eventually they reached the lake, met their friends there, and settled down to go fishing.
The water sparkled in the sunlight, insects buzzed on the riverbank, and the fish were biting. Gaston felt relaxed and lazy as he sat in the warm sun, nearly dozing off as he held the pole.
So he was startled when LeFou suddenly spoke. "Hey, who's that?" All the boys looked up. An older boy was approaching them, one they'd never seen before. He was about 16, a burly, broad-shouldered boy with red hair.
"Hello," the older boy said. "I'm Francois. We just moved here yesterday."
The boys introduced themselves by name, one by one. But before Gaston could speak, LeFou piped up. "And that's Gaston! You've probably already heard of him. He's the strongest, toughest boy in town. He can do anything better than anyone else - fish, shoot, wrestle..."
Gaston smiled to himself as LeFou prattled on. One thing was certain: he never needed to brag when LeFou was around. The smaller boy did it for him.
Francois grinned. "Toughest boy in town, huh?" he said. "Think you can take me on?"
The other boys stirred with anticipation, pleased by the prospect of a fight. Gaston sized up the stranger. He was bigger than Gaston by far, but Gaston knew he was the best fighter in town, and he was confident. "Sure, if you want," he said carelessly.
He stood up and faced Francois. The other boys circled around, cheering Gaston on.
Francois made a meaty fist, and threw a punch that connected with Gaston's chin with all the force of a sledgehammer. Stunned, Gaston reeled back. Francois pressed his advantage with another punch that threw Gaston off balance. He fell to the ground, but before he could get up, Francois jumped on him, pinning him down. "Say uncle!" he demanded.
Gaston struggled, but as hard as he tried, he couldn't get up or throw off his opponent. He was strong enough to lift Francois if they had both been standing. But in this position - lying flat on his back with the bigger boy sitting on him and pinning him down with all his weight - Gaston had no leverage. He was trapped. But he kept struggling and squirming, unwilling to concede defeat.
Francois grinned, a nasty grin. "Suit yourself," he said, and started pounding the younger boy. Gaston felt blood pouring from his nose and bottom lip. Francois continued punching him, perfectly willing to keep at it all day if necessary until Gaston surrendered. "Say uncle!" he insisted.
"Uncle," Gaston finally whispered. Francois immediately jumped off him, triumphant. The other boys circled around Francois, congratulating him.
Gaston stood up shakily, in a state of utter shock. He couldn't believe this had happened. He never lost. It was unthinkable. Distraught, he turned and started running toward home.
LeFou called after him, "Gaston, wait!" But Gaston didn't listen. His world was crashing down around him. All he wanted was to get home, where things made sense.
"Mon Dieu!" cried Mireille as he entered the house. "My poor boy! What happened?"
"I got in a fight," Gaston mumbled.
Auguste rose from his chair. His eyes swept over Gaston, taking in his bruised and disheveled state. Then he asked the question. The question Gaston had known was coming. The only question that mattered.
"Did you win?"
Gaston hesitated. "No," he admitted quietly. Auguste's brows drew together, his expression dark as a thundercloud. He strode over to the window and stood looking out in silence as Mireille rushed over with bandages and ointments and began ministering to her son.
"Oh, your beautiful face!" she sighed sadly, dabbing at his scrapes. "My poor handsome boy. I hope it won't leave scars. Does it hurt a lot?"
"No," Gaston said, his eyes on Auguste. He wished his father would say something. But Auguste didn't speak for a long time.
Finally he turned from the window. "Gaston, come with me. I want to talk to you."
Mireille put her hands on Gaston's shoulders protectively. "Auguste, the poor boy's hurt. Hasn't he been through enough today?"
Auguste looked exasperated. "I'm not going to hurt him. I just want to talk to him. Do I need to ask your permission now?" he snapped. He looked at Gaston. "Are you coming? Or are you going to hide behind your mother all night?" Gaston rose immediately and followed him out the door. Mireille watched them go, wringing her hands nervously and trying to quell the sense of foreboding that rose within her.
Out on the porch, Auguste gestured for Gaston sit on the bench. Gaston sat, his head lowered, wondering what was coming.
But Auguste did not speak immediately. He stared at Gaston silently for what seemed like forever. Gaston wished his father had simply taken him to the woodshed - he had hardly ever been punished in his life, but a whipping would have been over and done with quickly. He could have handled that. The look in his father's eyes was much, much worse. It gave Gaston a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had never let his father down before, but he knew that this time he had, and clearly it was the worst thing he had ever done.
Finally his father spoke. "How did this happen?"
"It wasn't my fault!" Gaston burst out. "It was this new kid. He's 16, Pop! And he's bigger and heavier than me!"
"That doesn't matter," Auguste said grimly. "What matters is that everyone saw you lose. Your reputation is in jeopardy. Damn it, Gaston! What do I always tell you? It's all about the image!" He stood seething for a moment. "What's this boy's name?"
"Francois," Gaston said. "He's new."
"Francois," Auguste repeated. "The son of the new blacksmith." Auguste always knew everyone and everything that happened in town. "His father was in the tavern last night. He heard me bragging about you. I always brag about you, you know that. Toughest boy in town, I said." Auguste banged his fist on the railing in frustration. "What am I supposed to say to him when he comes in tonight, gloating about how his boy trounced mine on his very first day in the village?" He whirled to glare at Gaston. "What am I supposed to say to all of them? I've been talking you up since the day you were born! How can I face them? I'll be a laughingstock after this!"
"I-I'm sorry, Pop," Gaston said in a small voice. He tried to think of a way to make it better. "But Pop…Francois is the only one who ever beat me. I'm still stronger than any of the other boys," he pointed out.
Auguste stared at him in disbelief. "So that's your goal in life now? To be second best? To let Francois be the leader from now on, while you follow him around, just one of the sheep, meekly doing whatever he says? Is that what you want?"
Gaston was horrified at the idea. "No, Pop!" It was true, then. His father had confirmed it. This was a catastrophe – the worst thing that could ever happen to him.
"No. You're the leader, Gaston. You've always been the leader, the best of the best, the one the other boys look up to and respect. And now this brazen little jackanapes comes into town and tries to take it all away from you! Are you going to let him get away with it?"
"I-I don't know," Gaston said honestly.
"Well, I know," said Auguste fiercely. "No son of mine is going to just roll over like a dog and give up!" He looked down at his son, his eyes boring into Gaston's. "You listen to me, Gaston. This is the most important thing I will ever teach you." His father's voice was more serious than Gaston had ever heard it. "Never let anyone take what's yours. Never. You let that happen, just once, and it's all over. People will think that you're weak, that you can be pushed around, taken advantage of. They'll never respect you again." He slammed his fist into his palm. "That is not going to happen! Not to you, and not to me! We are better than that, do you hear me?"
"Yes, Pop," Gaston said hastily. He felt a cold shiver of fear down his spine. His father made it sound as though his whole future was at stake.
Auguste sighed. Calming himself, he sat down next to Gaston. "Listen to me, son," he said in a kinder voice. "You know I think the world of you, right? Haven't I always told you how proud I am of you?"
"Yes, Pop," Gaston said.
"I only want the best for you," Auguste went on. "Because you deserve the best. You're the finest boy in this village. Always have been, right from the start. But in this world, no one's just going to hand anything to you. You have to prove you're worthy of it – that you're entitled to it." He put his hand on Gaston's shoulder. "There comes a time in every man's life when he has to stand up and show what he's made of. This is your time, Gaston. You've been given a challenge. Meet it head on, and triumph over it. Make me proud. I know you can do it."
He stood up. "Tomorrow, you're going to find this Francois. You're going to fight him again, and you're going to win."
"But how?" Gaston asked. "He's bigger than me!"
Auguste shrugged. "So find another way. Fight dirty. Cheat if you have to. It doesn't matter. Just make sure you beat this boy, and that the other boys see you do it. Prove to them all that you're still the top dog, that you won't let anyone get the best of you."
Gaston's mind was racing. "All right," he said slowly. Then he looked up, worried. "But Pop…what if I don't win?"
"You will," Auguste said firmly. His meaning was clear: You'd better. There was simply no other option.
He patted Gaston's shoulder. "You can do it, Gaston. You're a winner - it's been obvious since you were born. I know you won't let me down."
Gaston looked at his father, determination in his eyes. "All right, Pop," he said resolutely. "I'll do it."
"That's my boy," Auguste said approvingly.
They went back into the house. Mireille came forward anxiously. "Is everything all right?"
"Everything's fine," Auguste said, sitting down in his armchair. "We just had a man-to-man talk. That's all."
Mireille touched Gaston's shoulder worriedly. "Gaston…?"
He shrugged off her touch. "Leave me alone, Ma." He wore a grim, determined expression she had never seen before. He had always been such a sunny, happy-go-lucky child. He headed to his room.
Mireille looked at her husband. "Are you sure he's all right?"
"Of course," Auguste replied. "He's just becoming a man. Had to happen sooner or later."
Gaston lay awake in bed for hours, reliving the fight and everything his father had said. The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. His father was right. This was Gaston's village. He was the leader, the one everyone admired. How dare that audacious little upstart come breezing into town and try to take over!
Francois had humiliated him. He thought he'd gotten away with it, that Gaston had run off with his tail between his legs. In fact, he was probably laughing at Gaston right now. Gaston's fists clenched in rage at the thought. Well, he wouldn't be laughing tomorrow. He'd had the element of surprise today; Gaston hadn't expected him to be so strong. But he knew better now, and he had all night to plan his attack. Francois wouldn't get the best of him ever again.
The next morning, Mireille heard a knock at the door. She opened it to see LeFou. "Good morning, LeFou. Do you want to come in and have some breakfast?"
"No, thank you, ma'am," LeFou said. "I just wanted to see how Gaston's doing. He was pretty upset yesterday."
"I know," said Mireille worriedly. She look at LeFou, grateful that someone shared her concern for her darling boy. "You're his friend - maybe you could talk to him?"
"I can try," LeFou said, glad to do anything that could help Gaston.
Mireille smiled. "He's lucky to have such a loyal friend."
"Thanks, ma'am," LeFou said, pleased. He followed her into the house. Gaston and his father were just coming down the stairs.
Auguste had his hand encouragingly on Gaston's shoulder. "Make me proud today, son. I'm counting on you."
"I will, Pop," Gaston replied.
"Gaston," Mireille called, "LeFou is here."
Gaston looked over at his sidekick. "Good. Let's go."
"Wait!" protested Mireille. "Don't you want some breakfast first?"
"No," Gaston said shortly, heading toward the door.
"But, Gaston," said Mireille. "You're growing boy. You can't go out on an empty stomach."
"Stop nagging me!" Gaston burst out at her. He was already tense as a bowstring, preparing for what was to come. Her constant twittering set him on edge.
At his sharp words, Mireille stepped back with a gasp, looking as though he had slapped her.
Seeing her expression, Gaston felt a pang. But before he could say anything, his father spoke up. "Well, good for you!" he said, chuckling. "I was wondering when you were finally going to cut the apron strings. You show that much backbone with Francois, you'll do fine."
Gaston's expression hardened. "Yeah." He turned and went out the door, not looking back.
LeFou followed, looking worried. "Gaston? You okay?"
"Yes," Gaston said without looking at him.
"You know, Gaston, about yesterday…" LeFou began. "Francois is big, but he's clumsy too. He can't do all the things you can do. You're still the best at hunting, and shooting, and archery, and fishing—"
"I'm the best at everything," Gaston said firmly.
"Right!" said LeFou, encouraged. "And sure, Francois is bigger right now, but that's only because he's older. In a couple of years, you'll be as big as him, or even bigger, and then I'll bet you can beat him!"
"I'm not waiting that long. I'm going to beat him today," Gaston said. He strode through the town, his long legs moving him quickly. LeFou hurried to keep up.
"You are?" LeFou asked in confusion. "But Gaston – he's so much bigger than you! You can't beat him now!"
Gaston stopped short, so suddenly that LeFou ran right into him. Gaston whirled and grabbed LeFou's shirt front, hauling him right off the ground and glaring into his eyes. In slow, threatening tones, he said, "Do not ever tell me that I can't do something."
"Okay! Okay!" squeaked LeFou, frightened. "Take it easy!" Gaston dropped him, turned, and kept walking.
LeFou raced after him. "But how can you beat him?"
"You'll see," was all Gaston said.
He found Francois in the meadow talking with some of the other boys. Gaston marched right up to him. "I want a rematch," he demanded.
The older boy looked surprised. Then he laughed. "A glutton for punishment, eh?" he chuckled. "Okay, if you insist. I don't mind thrashing you again, if that's what you want."
They faced each other. Francois' grin faded as he saw the look in Gaston's eyes - a fierce determination that hadn't been there yesterday. Francois threw a punch, but Gaston ducked under his arm and head-butted him in the stomach as hard as he could. Francois doubled over, and Gaston jabbed his eyes with his fingers, then kicked him in the groin. Francois crumpled to the ground like an empty sack.
Gaston knelt next to him and grabbed him in a chokehold that left him breathless. "Say uncle!" His icy blue eyes held not a trace of humanity or compassion, only a ruthless determination to win at all costs.
Francois managed to gasp, "Uncle," and Gaston released him. The older boy collapsed to the ground.
Gaston stood up and looked around. The other boys were staring at him in awe. He felt…magnificent. Powerful. Invincible, in fact. He could do anything.
Why had he been so worried yesterday? How foolish he had been. He should have known he would win in the end. He always won in the end. And he always would.
Gaston was the best, and everyone knew it. No one would ever challenge or defy him again.
He looked at Francois on the ground. The boy was starting to recover and catch his breath. Gaston was about to gloat, to taunt him by saying, "Not so tough after all, are you?"
But he stopped himself. His father's words came into his mind: "It's all about the image." He wanted the boys to respect him, true. And they did. But he also wanted them to like him, and to admire him. That was important too. Taunting Francois would only earn him a lifelong enemy, and make himself look bad.
He had beaten Francois publicly. The older boy was no longer a threat to him. He could afford to be generous.
So he held out his hand and asked, "Are you all right?"
Francois looked up in surprise. "Yeah, I think so." He eyed Gaston's hand warily, then took it and allowed Gaston to help him up.
"You're a pretty good fighter," Gaston said. "Not as good as me, but then, who is?" He grinned.
Francois hesitated, then grinned back. "You are pretty tough!" he admitted. "Especially for a kid."
"It's no shame to be beaten by the best," Gaston said lightly. He looked up and squinted at the sun. "It's sure hot out. Want to go swimming at the lake?"
"Sure," said Francois.
Gaston turned to the others. "Come on, guys. Let's go swimming." They all agreed, and headed to the lake, Gaston in the lead. Just as it should be.
At sunset, the boys left the lake and returned to their respective homes. LeFou followed Gaston home to help share the news of Gaston's triumph with his parents. Gaston entered the house grandly, grinning from ear to ear, the conquering hero returned.
Auguste came forward. "Well?" he asked expectantly.
"Boy, you should have seen it!" LeFou said excitedly. "That guy didn't know what hit him! Gaston totally pummeled him into the ground! It was amazing!"
Auguste beamed. "That's my boy!" he cried, clapping him on the back. "I knew you could do it! And to think you were going to just give up!"
Gaston grinned sheepishly. "You were right, Pop. You're always right."
Mireille smiled. "Congratulations, honey." She didn't really approve of fighting, but she was aware that it was, once again, a "man's thing." All she knew was that the day before, her beloved boy had been terribly upset and miserable, but now he was smiling and happy. That was good enough for her. She was just relieved the problem had been resolved. "Come, dinner's ready. Let's sit down. You can join us if you like, LeFou."
"Thanks!" said LeFou happily.
But during dinner, as Gaston recounted the fight to his father blow-by-blow, Mireille's smile faded. Something seemed different about him. She couldn't put her finger on it. She studied him as he told the story. He had always been confident and sure of himself, of course; had always loved to brag and be the center of attention. She had loved his self-confidence, knowing it would take him far in life. But now it seemed to be beyond confidence, beyond mere bragging…now he was cocky, almost to the point of arrogance.
And there was something else too. He was smiling and laughing as he told his father the story, back to his usual cheerful self…but there was something in his eyes. Something cold and hard and ruthless. She realized, with a shiver, that she wouldn't want to be the person who got between Gaston and something he wanted.
She shook herself. She was being silly, she told herself firmly. He couldn't have changed that much. And it was obvious that LeFou and Auguste didn't see any difference in him. They were both smiling too, enjoying her son's moment of triumph, just as she should be enjoying it. He was still her Gaston, the darling child she had rocked to sleep as a baby, the sweet boy who used to bring her wildflowers he had picked in the meadow. She was just an overprotective mother, worrying too much and seeing things that weren't there.
Dinner finished, Auguste stood up. "Tonight is a night to celebrate!" he announced. "Come with me to the tavern, son. Francois' father certainly had a lot to say last night, I can tell you – let's see what he has to say for himself now," he said with a wink.
"Can I come too?" LeFou asked hopefully.
"Sure, I don't see why not," said Auguste. "Will your father mind?"
"No," said LeFou with certainty. "He won't care."
"All right then," said Auguste. "Let's go." Then he had a thought. "Gaston. I never did set you up with Desiree, did I?"
"No, Pop."
"Well, I think tonight would be the perfect night. What you did today deserves a reward. Sound good to you?"
"Sure, Pop," Gaston said confidently. "It sounds great." He felt none of the trepidation he had two years earlier, when the idea had first been broached. He knew he could handle it. He could handle anything. He was the best, after all.
He was Gaston.