Chapter 3. Stairway To Heaven

The next few days were spent in a pursuit for Toulouse and, in the end, it was he who ended up finding me.

Harod had hired a seamstress to put together a few dresses in a feeble attempt to win me over. Much to his dismay, rather than demanding lace and silk like most girls, I had called for the woman to put together some gowns I had seen a band of gypsies wearing. In a lavender dress full of beads and ribbons, with a purple satin sheer used as a bandana in my hair, I found much satisfaction in seeing my Uncle's face look at me in ambivalence, not knowing if he should take my audacity with anger or benevolence.

"An unusual demand," the lady remarked as I twirled before my cracked mirror, admiring the handiwork of my new bronze-tinted cape and hood. "But you look mighty becoming in the gown, mademoiselle."

"A regular heathen, I shall be." I giggled, a newly emerged habit that arose after meeting the enigmatic writer. "Won't everyone find me utterly appalling?"

"Isabel?"

I turned to meet the face of a rather small man dressed in outrageously large pants. His face seemed affable, and his eyes grinned with an amiable grace behind glasses.

"I once played part in a performance involving gypsies," he commented, referring to my outfit. "Are you the writer, my petite?"

"Indeed, I am."

"I am Toulouse," he bowed. "The other writer sent me."

"Oh yes," I grabbed his hands, dragging him out of my room and closing the door that imprisoned the seamstress within. "You must take me to him. Why he… just look at what he has done to me!"

"I find nothing wrong."

"Exactly."

"Your honesty is becoming," Toulouse laughed buoyantly. "I can see why he likes you."

"He said you would take me to him."

"And I shall."

"Might you take me now?"

"In that, my petite?"

"Oui," I nodded. "Now may I see the l'écrivain?"

"Yes. Yes. Follow me!"

Instantaneously, I grew to like Toulouse. His good nature and blithe personality had me laughing the whole way through the streets and alleys. So caught up in my laughter, I was oblivious to the fact we had emerged into the nadir of the city.

"In here, my petite." Toulouse directed my attention to a ramshackle home that had a stained blanket hanging over entrance where a door should have stood. "He is waiting for you in here."

I found my écrivain sitting before a hearth that still had smoke emanating from a dying fire. Sitting upon a stool with a typewriter resting on his knees, he stared at the keys intently and looked up only when I made my presence known by tripping on an old jacket that lay on the floor for dirt to claim.

"Isabel she treads so lightly, floating in her gypsy dresses," he sang with a smile. (1)

"You are a ridicule oie," I laughed.

"Even though her words cut deep I can't deny the truth in them," he continued his song before I attempted to make him cease his teasing.

"Stop!" I walked over. "I have not seen you in days and all you have to say to me are your farcical songs."

"She says stand up, she says to hop,
She says to stretch, she says to stop.
She says to turn, she says to bend,
She says to dance, now wave to your friend.
She tells me please, bend your knees,
Sit down on the floor, and sing it some more.
La la la la. . ." (2)

"All your words are going nowhere, nowhere. They only fall into the burning flames." (3) I whispered softly, cringing at how dull in comparison my humdrum voice was to his.

"My thoughts exactly," he stood up, setting his typewriter upon the stool and grabbing my hands. "Are you ready for some inspiration, mon doux?"

"As ready as I will ever be, I suppose." I felt my heart swelling at his attempt of French through his English accent.

"What inspiration do you have for me today, monsieur?" I questioned as we ran hand-in-hand, much to my delight, down the paved streets of Paris to the country beyond.

"I plan to show you The Great Wall," he answered.

"Why, did it never occur to you that The Great Wall is in China?" I guffawed. "I know we are moving at quite a fast rate, but I do not think we shall make it to China by the end of the day."

"It is just around the corner!"

Passing through a small passing of trees, the dirt road came to an end by a large wrought-iron gate. Walls that were well over fifteen feet high stood before us, carved out of large blocks of stone. The gate allowed view of a large mansion that seemed grand even in the distance we stood from it. There was no doubt that this place stood on acres upon acres of land.

"And to think that there was a place like this so near to Paris," I breathed.

"This way, my lady."

Holding out his hand, I followed until he led me into the sea of trees that surrounded the vast property before us. Contorting my body positions between the closely growing trees, we came to a pass where I turned and found myself standing alone. Lost and bemused, I stirred out of my world of perplexion only when a stick was thrust down upon my head.

"You know that hurts!" I hollered from where my offender sat atop a tree branch.

"Come now!"

"Up?"

"Whatever way is there to go?"

"How did you go up there?"

"I climbed, of course!"

With that being said, he stood up, placed a hand upon the trunk of the tree and moved across the trees by their branches. So large and colossal were these trees that the branches were not flexible and did not sway with his weight. After what seemed like hours of climbing this way and that to make it at the same level as him, I stood up and hugged the tree in fear of falling.

"Come across now," he sat atop the great wall, one leg dangling over the edge.

"I cannot."

"Why?"

"I am afraid of heights."

"Afraid of heights?" he laughed. "How do you expect to get to heaven on that accord?"

"I…I… do not know."

"Then conquer your fear now, before it is too late!"

"The wall seems less likely to fall down from my weight…"

"There's a lady who's sure.

All that glitters is gold.

And she's buying a stairway to heaven." (4)

He sang out as I moved across the trees, locking my eyes into his to assure I would not look down. For although the branches appeared to not mold with my presence upon them, I could feel each one giving way to my weight.

"If there's a bustle in your hedgerow
Don't be alarmed now,
It's just a spring clean for the may queen.
Yes, there are two paths you can go by
But in the long run
There's still time to change the road you're on.
And it makes me wonder.
Your head is humming and it won't go
In case you don't know,
The piper's calling you to join him,
Dear lady, can you hear the wind blow,
And did you know
Your stairway lies on the whispering wind.
And as we wind on down the road
Our shadows taller than our soul.
There walks a lady we all know
Who shines white light and wants to show
How ev'rything still turns to gold.
And if you listen very hard
The tune will come to you at last.
When all are one and one is all
To be a rock and not to roll.
And she's buying a stairway to heaven."

"Might you sing your ridiculous songs later?" I suggested. "Perhaps when I've made it all the way across?"

"When she gets there she knows

If the stores are all closed

With a word she can get what she came for

Ooh, ooh, and she's buying a stairway to heaven."

"Heaven?" I laughed, tossing my head back and near falling with the last step onto the wall.

Grabbing hold of me by the arms, he pulled me firmly beside him, until we were standing but an inch away. Going crimson, I lowered my gaze, knowing well whatever fantasies might be floating about in my head was unlikely to occur. Lowering his hands from my arms, they went to my face, turning my head up to look at him.

"Isabel she treads so lightly, floating in her gypsy dresses."

"Might you stop teasing me for one moment!"

I broke from his hold and looked out at the land before me. The wall could be seen in the distance, a mere line that was more horizon than stone. Holding my breath, I closed my eyes, feeling the sun upon my skin for the first time. Never had I relished such things before, and I found myself lowering my hood and tossing back my hair, no longer desiring to bask within my shadows.

"One day I'll fly away. Leave all this to yesterday. Why live life from dream to dream. And dread the day when dreaming ends." (5) I held out my arms shouting out the words, completely carefree that I was probably singing off key with my painstakingly horrid voice, picturing myself lifting off of the wall and flying to the horizon that was the wall opposite of where I stood. "One day I'll fly away. Fly, fly away."

Even beyond my notes of flying away to unknown horizons, I could hear the unnamed man beside me breathing shakily. When he turned aside and lowered his head to hide his tears, I did not notice until he was bent over the edge of the wall sobbing.

"Satine…"

The name meant nothing to me. Never in my life had I heard mention of it. But in that instance when I had heard that one sacred word pass his lips as if he were speaking of some unimaginable treasure, I knew that a new wall had decided to enter my life.

A larger, taller wall than the one on which I stood. And this time, there would be no trees to help me up. No mysterious, enthralling man guiding me across with his voice to compete with the angels.

But he was the only one who could demolish the wall.

Only I was to be the one to approach it, and that was a task I was more afraid of than anything else.

1. Ben Jelen "Falling Down"

2. Bonnie Lockhart "My Friend The Drum"

3. Cadet "Blame"

4. Led Zeppelin "Stairway to Heaven"

5. Nicole Kidman "One day I'll Fly Away"