Chapter Two: What Is Spoken Here

Leah

I was halted abruptly in my flight by a human mass on the landing of the third stair.

For a dancer, I was unbelievably clumsy. As I staggered backwards, I mentally berated myself. Of all the stupid things! Fate had finally won the upper hand it had been straining for all day. I clutched my forearm to stem the bright red flow that rushed from a small abrasion. Seeing the stain on my favorite bodice, a forbidden curse word began to bloom on my lips.

"Merde!"

"Leah Isabella Milagros de Castillo!"

My full name rolled smoothly off the lips of the only person able to utter it so quickly.

"Mama!" was all I could manage to choke out.

I couldn't think of anything more embarrassing to have happened in front of the small group below me.

Bowing my head in shame, I closed my eyes, attempting to rid myself of the image burned into them. Pudgy Monsieur Debbine stood motionless and gape-faced while Madame Giry took a stunned step backwards, very near to collision with the true aim of my vision. Mama was livid, full of all the righteous wrath of a thunderstorm.

I wanted to die.

A soft sound snapped my head to attention. It was impossible! No one would possibly be…

Laughing.

He was laughing at me! That overgrown, moon-eyed schoolboy was actually laughing at me! Just the softest of chuckling, but his face revealed the true extent of his emotion, turning a shade of red to rival my own.

How dare he! To think I had felt sorry for him! It was one thing to converse so familiarly with my mother, but now he had forgotten his place. Didn't he know who I was? Who my family was? I was Leah de Castillo, granddaughter of Don Fernando Castillo! Who was he to mock me? A second-class Parisian businessman! Did he think that being my brother's father gave him license to act as mine?

I longed for Mama to notice his insult, and as I waited for her swift anger, I imagined how wonderful it would be to hear her call him down for mocking me. My heart thrilled at the impractical hope that she might defend me, as any other mother would defend her injured child.

The soft rustle of skirts cut my heavenly daydream all too short.

Immediately, my joy vanished, and I descended to earth in a blast of cold reality. My mother stood looking down at me, full of all the righteous wrath of a thunderstorm. Debbine remained a step below her, still restrainedly red. Mama was aggravatingly oblivious to the insult.

For once, her eyes were for me alone, but in a manner very different than the one I often prayed for. The blue-clad figure below me emanated disappointment and a nearly tangible command of silence. I started to hang my head in shame once again, hugging my arms closer to my body, but found myself interrupted by a cool hand near my own.

Startled, I looked up to find Madame Giry inspecting my cut. In painful contrast to Mama's reactions, my unintentional victim seemed content merely to examine her newest dancer instead of rebuking me.

I appraised her person quickly, and was thankful to see she looked completely unfazed by either my stupidity or my tongue. The only visible injury was to her polished black cane, which now sported red ornamentation. Apparently, the wicked looking stick had been the cause of my injury.

"Her cane and my foolish actions", I thought ashamedly.

I was near to bursting, full of so many opposing emotions. Surprise at Madame's concern for me after I had run headlong into her. Mortification that this woman, who I now had such respect for, should see me in such a state of weakness. Fading traces of anger harbored against Monsieur D. for his fun at my expense. Self-disgust for having so shamed and embarrassed my mother. And stupidly, a trace of my earlier fear still remained, a dormant seed of uneasiness. I was now deeply regretting my childish reactions to an imaginary presence.

The undeniable urge to end the repressive silence around us came too quickly for thought. Needing to express how I felt to someone, I acted on instinct. I needed to say something to my teacher. The words flew from my mouth before I could think.

"Los sientos Madame, soy –"

"Ici on parle francais!" Mama addressed me for the second time since we had entered the building. Her mood was not much improved from the first time she had spoken.

I groaned inwardly, knowing that my attempt to quiet the situation had only made things worse. To anyone else, my lapse into speaking Spanish would have passed relatively unnoticed. Paris was not Madrid, but it was a bustling international center, and everyone knew a few phrases in the most common foreign tongues. Most people in Paris wouldn't have batted an eye at hearing three or four different languages spoken in one room, much less a common expression blurted out here or there.

Mama was not most people.

At times it seemed as though she were ashamed her own heritage. I had grown up being taught to embrace my roots while enjoying my country. I was bilingual, speaking both French and Spanish with ease. It was not uncommon for conversations with my Abuelos to be a muddled mixture of the two, for both languages had been spoken to me since infancy.

My mother's desire to cut me off from the language of our family had always been a hotly debated issue in the Castillo household. According to my Abuelo, Mama had 'shaken the rafters' for the first few months of my life, determined to have her way with the subject. My grandparents had flatly refused, wanting me to love their culture as they did. My mother believed that people looked down on mis abuelos for their country of origin. I'm not sure any of us really understood at the time why she felt as she did. I would learn, but the knowledge would be several years in the waiting.

Presently oblivious to her reasons, I could not fathom how anyone could think less of my beloved grandparents. Refined and gentile, they were perfect pictures of titled nobility. Don Fernando Luis and Donna Rosa Milagros were always welcoming and warm with both intimate acquaintances and absolute strangers. Indeed, they were always gracious hosts and generally pleasant people.

Within the confines of my limited circle of family and friends, they were second in importance only to Henry and Mama. Nothing I could think of could explain her strange ideas. Whatever the rationale behind her objections to the language, it had always been made very clear to me that she did not wish for me to use it in her presence.

I sometimes wondered if I had been cursed with a clumsy brain as well as a clumsy nature.

My momentary quiet seemed to have had no effect in the way of calming my mother's irritation. I must have tensed in anticipation of her displeasure, for the next sound I heard was not one of an upbraiding lecture, but Madame's low tone.

"Il n'y a pas de quoi, Mademoiselle Castillo"

The gentleness of her voice made a surprising contrast with her previously instructional, matter of fact manner. I felt a rush of relief and a surge of affection for the lady who stood at my side. For a moment I was completely unmindful of the other people in the smooth granite stairwell, thankful and amazed at the luck I must have possessed to find such an insightful and compassionate person in my teacher.

I was abruptly aware of the presence of M Debbine and Mama as the later roughly cleared her throat. Gathering my thoughts like wildfire, I gave my best attempt at a polite reply.

"Pardonnez-moi Mme., et merci, c'est gentil."

Finally sensing the tension in the atmosphere, Monsieur D gave his best effort to change the mood of the conversation. (Or lack thereof.)

"Yes, Mme. Giry has told us the good news Leah. Let me be the first to welcome you to the Paris Opera House as a member of the corps!"

He smiled indulgently in my mother's direction, endeavoring to calm her. She gave into his pleasant conversation and they linked arms, chatting while walking towards the stables and signaling the end of my time at the opera. Mme. Giry allowed them ample space and began to follow. A sharp gesture of her wrist was all that was necessary to send me flying to walk silently beside her. With little else to focus on in the already familiar setting of the dim hallways, my attention turned to the pair in front of us.

I could not help but notice Galin's effect on my mother's mood. As his warm smile and comfortable nature charmed away Mama's irritation, I made a mental note to do my best not to ever get angry with him again. Besides, that patient smile was difficult to ignore. And the way he made her eyes sparkle, as though they were radiant sapphires…

Reality's painful and inevitable call had come knocking once again.

This man was not my father, and he never would be! Why couldn't I simply let my childish dreams die? To my great relief, I found that we were nearing the stables. Now I could fix my mind on a less painful topic.

As I was gently handed up into our carriage, I quietly murmured my new teacher a short farewell "Madame, thank you for being so tactful about my clumsiness. Ma foi, I will not be so awkward on stage!"

I barely caught the ballet mistress's final words as the coachman softly closed the door behind me.

"Nous Verrons."

Φ

Authoress's Notes: ♪Los sientos Madame, soy: I'm sorry Madame, I am-
♫Ici on parle francais: French is spoken here
♪Abuelo: grandfather
♫Abuelos: grandparents
♪Il n'y a pas de quoi, Mademoiselle Castillo: It's not worth speaking of Miss Castillo
♫Pardonnez-moi Mme., et merci, c'est gentil: I beg your pardon Madame, and thank you, that's kind of you.
♪Ma foi: Upon my faith
Nous Verrons: We shall see

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