The Scaffold Waltz
Chapter II
The soft breeze blew in a gentle rhythm across the fields of gold from near and far. Perhaps the way Serge felt about now, could benefit how the wind blew. His emotions were catching up on him, so Serge tried his level best not to get himself depressed. It was these parties and social gay gatherings that turned on his thoughts of his late parents. The memory that remained the clearest in his mind is when his father played the piano and his mother sang various songs that sounded beyond lovely. Alas...Serge will never witness another moment like that with his parents again.
Frail leaves blew over Serge's halted shoes as he stared across the water at the array of mixed hot colors-sunset. Serge always loved watching the sunset, but today he seemed he would rather stick his nose in some book and ignore the palpable fact that he really did feel lonely. Maybel, of course, was a friend of his, but he never knew that she loved him; he though of her as just a friend, however, he only saw her twice a month at the most. Deep in the corroded chambers of his mind, Serge desired a different kind of person...a true friend who he can tell anything and everything with. He could talk with Maybel, yes, but she was a girl, and there were just some things Serge could not talk about with Maybel, no matter how liberal she was.
"She is a good person," Serge whispered to himself. "If I were a girl, we would already be the best of friends." He sighed. "Life is all so convoluted. It is either black or white. There is no gray middle to jump into." He sighed again. "Now, now. I am just getting myself depressed. Getting depressed about worrying about what cannot be helped. Huh, what do you know-Nothing ever comes good to boys like me who are parentless, pennyless, and...and..." Serge tried to stop himself from going any further. He knew he had a lot going for himself. He played piano like a virtuoso never seen before, he had parents who protected him from Heaven, he had Madame LeEteneix who had taken him in from an austere orphanage, and he had dreams, health, and the rest of his life to live the best he could. That is what made him stop and think what he was saying. "I think I do have good things for me. I have blessings. Yeah...also a future to make the most out of. I have the promises of many that I can be something great! I do have all of those, yes! I have those," he said with a clear voice and a smile across his lips. He did have blessings, he did have a future, he did have promises...
...he also had somebody listening to him, also watching the sunset from the dirt road, standing about fifteen paces from Serge himself.
"You also have a way with talking to yourself a whole lot," came a calm yet bitter voice. Serge snapped out of his self-advising state and his deep brown eyes fell upon a thin figure outlined in orange, gold, and white, just like the sunset above.
"Maybel?" he said to the figure. The figure turned as if it were confused. All Serge could make out was a big pair of deep emerald eyes staring back into his for the longest moment. They were beautiful, and if Serge could not hold himself against them, he would be lost in their gaze forever. He recognized them, however, he had a hard, gut-wrenching feeling that those eyes did not belong to who he thought they did. He advanced closer to the character a distance away with a relieving smile and eyes that glowed against the rays from the sky.
"Maybel! I am glad to see you, but I though you stayed at Madame LeEteneix's house for the music? I am sorry I've been away for so long. I just got wrapped up in my own thoughts that I did not keep an eye on the time. I apologize. I promised to sing with you but I-"
"Are you perhaps talking to me?" came the calm and bitter voice of the shadowed figure, silhouetted against the powerful sunset. "If you are not, please continue talking to yourself again and not to me because you are really freaking me out."
"Maybel? What is wrong?"
The shadowed person's eyes grew wider with bafflement.
"Maybel?" the person replied. "I do not know who this Maybel girl is, but rest assure you I am not her. My name is not Maybel, and I do not know who you are." Serge was completely bemused. He knew what Maybel looked like and how she sounded, duh, she was his friend! But this character looked just like Maybel and sounded like her, but the voice was about a half-a-note lower in tone. Just then, the person walked in Serge's direction and the shadows dispersed from the body. In utter surprise and embarrassment, Serge was now looking at a BOY! Not a GIRL.
Serge stared at him with his mouth hanging open slightly. He looked exactly like Maybel, sort of Maybel's male counter-part . He had Maybel's deep green eyes, pale soft skin, golden blonde hair, thin arms and legs with a slender, lithe body, rosy cheeks, long white fingers, and a mysterious grace and elegance that approached as exceedingly feminine. The only, only, only, only, only, only difference between this new stranger and Maybel was that his hair was shorter than hers, about down to the lower part of his neck, where as Maybel's reached below the end of her back.
"My goodness! I am so sorry! I thought you were a friend of mine because you two look so much alike! I apologize from the bottom of my heart!" Serge bowed nervously, afraid to look the boy in the eye. "I repentant upon my action and misjudgement! Please forgive me! I am truly very sorry!"
"My gosh, you are a crazy lunatic! Get up, I don't need an apology. What did you do wrong?" said the blonde with a confused yet amused look.
"I mistook you for a lady. You must feel insulted."
"Happens all the time, even from those who are the real ladies. Do not stress over it. If it means that you won't be apologizing like a madman who just committed a crime then it's fine."
"Oh, thank-you. Thank-you Mr...uhhh...?"
"Cocteau. Gilbert Cocteau," he said with a sharp glance that wasn't exactly one hundred percent friendly.
"Oh, I see. A great pleasure to meet you Cocteau Gilbert Cocteau!" Serge laughed at his joke, Gilbert did not budge a muscle. He was not amused at all.
'I guess this one is the kind that tells riddles and jokes to feel comfortable with others. How droll, yet dramatically pathetic. Probably always in an optimistic mood I see. How different the winds blow in the midst of two crossed rivers.'
Serge's laughter died as he realized his laughter was the only sound, other than the crows and crickets, present. He looked at Gilbert shyly and uncertainly.
"Ah...well, I am Serge Batouille, nice to meet you." He held out his hand gleefully.
"A pleasure," replied Gilbert turning his eyes away from the dark-skinned boy. Gilbert was not enjoying this less-than-perfect conversation. "Tell me, do you always talk to yourself, Sefred?"
"Serge."
"Whatever. As long as you do not answer yourself, then I guess you are still sane enough to have a conversation with."
"I suppose that is so."
"What did you say?"
"I suppose that is so," Serge repeated.
"You just love to repeat yourself don't you? Conversation with you can be quiet monotonous," Gilbert smirked. "See? I can tell jokes too. Probably better than you."
Serge giggled. "Say, that was pretty good. I liked that one!" Gilbert looked at him sternly, his face stone-cold.
"Gilbert?" Serge looked behind his shoulder but saw nothing. "What are you looking at, Gilbert?"
"The last hour before sunset, yes?"
"It is, yes. Why?"
"I have to go now. Pardon, but I must take my leave." Gilbert clenched his long shawl, his knuckles turning snow-white, and turned on his heel.
"Wait! Gilbert!" shouted Serge waving his hand up in the warm air.
Gilbert turned, and their eyes met once again.
"Will I see you again?" One thing about Serge that made him susceptible to pain was that he wanted to be friends with everyone. He could not stand anyone in pain themselves or alone. Gilbert's gaze out to the sunset when Serge first saw him showed a glimpse of loneliness and yearning for something grandiose, as if he coveted for the days to just go by quicker. Serge's answer was a half-wave and a gaze that didn't really promise anything. "Of course I will!" he continued. "If you ever want to see me, the LeEteneix's abode is throwing a grand party! I invite you to come! It was a honor meeting you, Gilbert! I hope we can become friends!"
The clock tower rang. The chimes echoed through the still air of the city. It was relaxing to hear those chimes of the tower rather than the bells of execution. If it was not another condemned to the guillotine it was another. Blood stained the lives of people everyday. However, where Serge dwelled, in the northern region of France, blood was rare to see, and was always trying to be prevented by means of execution. All over the other parts of France, blood was just another mundane thing.
"Friends?" Gilbert whispered to himself, without Serge hearing. "Friends!" he called back.
"Of course! Are we not? I know we just met and all, but I feel like we can become good friends!" Serge answered happily. Inside, Gilbert sensed this strong urge to walk away without a word. That F-word caused him to falter at his thoughts, all broken and twisted. Gilbert, being almost a young man, had never had a real friend, or even a person to call his friend. Gilbert was not in a sense alone, but he had no one to fully rely on. His clients were all that made up his connections and interactions. Through the touch of skin was the way Gilbert acquired everything he wanted to know about one person.
'Serge,' Gilbert thought, 'has no idea what he's getting himself into to ask such a question like that.'
"Friends, huh? I'll think about that one!" Gilbert answered. The final chime rang through the stiff and silent sunset air. "I bid you a short farewell."
"I cannot wait until I see you again, Gilbert."
"Never you mind about me. Just forget that you ever met me. You have a foolishly pure heart, Serge. I might shatter it into little tiny pieces just you wait and see. Adieu." Serge, puzzled and with crooked thoughts, watched as the blonde beauty walked away into the sunset.
The first half of the night went on and on, dully. Madame LeEteneix was having a merry time with all of her friends and enjoyed running into the kitchen and serving her famous caramel drop tarts. Serge, on the other hand, sat by the wide window, that same one that Maybel watched him leave for the walk earlier, watching whether or not Gilbert would come. The party seemed more exciting if Serge would try to be a little more flamboyant and energetic, but he wanted to save all his energy for when his new friend came to visit. It was a half hour past nine and still no sign of the blonde.
"Serge?" It was Maybel.
"Oh! Hello, Maybel," Serge said slowly, without taking his eyes off the window.
"Are you feeling well, Serge? Before, when we sang together, you didn't seem to be yourself at all. You started to sing Frere Jacques in the middle of Forest's Nightingale. It was quite funny, actually, sorry. That is not usually like you." Maybel sat down next to Serge, blocking his view a little.
"Maybel," Serge started, his eyes growing with emptiness. "Can you honor me with an answer to a question?"
"My pleasure."
"Do you have any brothers?" Maybel appeared as confused as Serge was when he met Gilbert and when he walked away.
"Brothers? Serge, you know I have only my sister, Ann."
"Never mind, then. It was a silly question on my behalf. I do apologize."
"Think nothing of it," she smiled. She giggled.
Before Serge could declare that he was seeing double of everything, he saw Maybel's fair, luxurious face again. Two pretty complexions at once. Then, the moment he was waiting for! It was not Maybel's face that suddenly appeared outside the window, it was Gilbert, dressed in a stunning azure suite.
"He's here!" acclaimed Serge with his face lighted like a thousand suns. "He's here! Madame LeEteneix! He's here!" Serge zipped past Maybel, creating a gust behind him, and then stopped in front of the door.
"Child! Who can it be?" asked Madame LeEteneix. "Who is it?"
"My new friend! He's such a terrific person! I hope you will enjoy his company. May I let him in? Please?" Serge had the glow of a child being handed new toy, or a mother being handed her newborn baby. Madame LeEteneix smiled warmly and a glint of excitement sparkled in her small, brown eyes.
The doorbell rang. Everyone grew quiet, and the attention was directed towards the door.
"Yes! Of course!" said Madame LeEteneix. "Please, Serge, let the young man in!"
Serge swung the door open as fast as his arms would allow, and there stood Gilbert, outlined in the rays of the nightly stars and city lights. He was breathtakingly gorgeous. He was wearing the stunning suite Serge saw through the window. He was standing in a rather different angel, like one would walk when limping as if his ankle was sprained.
"Gilbert! Welcome! I am so glad you came tonight!" acclaimed Serge. "Madame LeEteneix! This is my new friend, Gilbert Cocteau!"
Serge, as happy as he was to have the witty young gentleman in his humble abode, couldn't help but notice the blank stare on not just Madame LeEteneix's face but the entire crowd in the living room. Something was obviously amiss.
"My..." started Madame LeEteneix. "My goodness! W-What a pleasant surprise! I am happy to have such a guest in my home." She looked at Serge's face light up. She tried her hardest not to look like she would want to command Gilbert to leave right away. She wanted to either way one would look at it. She knew what Gilbert was, or assumed, just by looking at him; she wasn't stupid. "A pleasure to meet you, Gilbert. I am ecstatic that my Serge has finally made a friend."
Gilbert's eyes widened. He had no idea that Serge was that dead-set about them both being that close. Gilbert gave himself a cocky smirk and with that smirk came and intriguing idea in Gilbert's head. Serge was in for a world-win of a surprises once Gilbert got him alone upstairs.
"I am glad to be here myself," Gilbert half lied. "Serge seems very happy that I came. I hope he and I will continue to be good friends." Serge couldn't help but smile at the blonde. Everyone else either took the bait that was set for them, or simply refused to believe anything Gilbert was talking about.
When some of the party guests went back to their own business, Maybel made her way through the crowd in order to get a look at Serge's new friend. When she finally got a good look, she saw herself!
"Serge?" she asked. "Serge!"
"Maybel! I am so happy that you are here! Come and meet my new friend!" Serge offered his hand to hers, and she reluctantly placed her hand into his, and they both walked towards Gilbert, who didn't notice Maybel.
"Gilbert, this is Maybel, my friend. Maybel, this is Gilbert. I hope you two become friends as well!"
Gilbert turned to meet the girl but instead was staring at a perfect reflection of himself. Both Maybel and Gilbert were staring at each other, opened mouth and shocked.
"My word! They look exactly alike!" Madame LeEteneix exclaimed, her hands on her face in utter surprise. "Why look at them everyone! They look like twins!"
"You cannot tell them apart!" one said.
"The only difference is that Maybel has long hair!" said another.
"A perfect parallel image!"
"Indeed!"
"I have not seen anything so close in detail before!"
"They will definitely confuse us! HAHAHAHA!"
"Gemini twins! Who would've known."
"If Maybel got a haircut, you could never tell them apart! Ever!"
Serge was in agreement. They both looked so much alike it was almost disturbing. Maybel simply smiled at Gilbert then at Serge, saying nothing.
"It is nice to make your acquaintance, Gilbert," she curtsied. Gilbert, interacting with a member of the opposite sex, bowed like any gentleman would do.
"The pleasure is mine." He felt this gauche sensation that he was bowing to himself in the mirror, the reflection copying every move. "Y'know, now I know what I would look like as a woman."
"To me, a man," Maybel replied with a blank face. "Good sir, where do you hail from?"
"France. Aren't we all?" Serge smiled, but tried not to laugh rudely.
"Where in France?" Maybel tried again with a more serious tone.
"The Northern Province," Gilbert said. "At least in this part of the country I can walk down the street without getting my shoes stained with blood."
Maybel said nothing. She was mortified at this boy's lack of conduct. France was in the midst of a bloody revolution and he seemed adamant about all the killings and beheads, whereas the northern region only hanged the condemned without the bloodshed.
"Maybel?" Serge saw that she was ready to leave. "Maybel?"
"Gilbert," Maybel said to him, locking her stare with his. "True that you won't lose your head, but I would be careful around these parts if I were you."
"Why? Are you terrified of the scaffold, Miss Maybel?"
"With all of my heart."
"I see. It would be a shame if a young maiden like yourself were to be sent to an early grave. Such a sin." Serge's anxiety grew each time one of his friends would speak another new, but less than welcoming, insult.
"Sir! I will not stay here an be further insulted by a perfect stranger like you!"
"Maybel! Please!" Serge begged her.
Gilbert did nothing but stare at Maybel, on the brink of tears. Tears of embarrassment, pain, and most of all- envy and jealousy.
"I apologize," she said gently. "Yes, I am afraid to speak of the scaffold. I dread the idea of France's revolution. It is inevitable though. Sir Gilbert, I welcome you here. I am sorry to have lashed out against you. I must be feeling a tad bit ill. I am willing to forget if you are." She held out her white hand and Gilbert's white hand halfheartedly accepted.
"Yes. Of course." He kissed the hand and bowed to her then to Serge. "I probably should be going."
"Please do not go," Maybel stopped him. "If it is because of me, do not take your leave."
"It was not you. It was I," Gilbert gave a small smile. "I am weary tonight. I had to take a long walk here. I am afraid the long walk has turned my calm nature into an uptight and crude. I feel faint. May I ask about a resting quarter?"
"Of course. Madame LeEteneix! Madame!" Serge called.
Unfortunately, the Madame was in the kitchen, mingling with a many of her friends to hear the boy. Maybel told Serge that he could go upstairs into his room and give Gilbert his bed to rest. She helped Serge carry Gilbert up the stairs and around the hallway into the bedroom, dark and dim. Before long, Gilbert relaxed and closed his eyes, marking the beginning of his plan.
"I think he fainted," Maybel said. She put her hand over his smooth forehead. "He does not have a fever. He will be alright. He just needs rest."
"Thank-you, Maybel," Serge replied to the girl. She blushed. "I was hoping that tonight would be perfect. But then, both of you began quarreling then he faints. I feel very bad."
"Do not feel that way so," she confronted him soothingly.
"I cannot help it. I feel like not everybody liked Gilbert right away."
"Change takes time, Serge. Give some time to this. I am sure Gilbert will become very much well liked. I already like him."
"You do?"
"Yes. I have never seen you so happy before than when he walked through the door tonight. Anyone who makes you so happy like that, Serge, is well worth liking forever."
Serge moved his eyes into Maybel's soft green eyes and saw both her and Gilbert. He smiled and thanked her. 'I am so lucky to have great friends like Maybel and Gilbert,' Serge thought. 'I am so grateful.'
Minutes later, Maybel had left Serge and Gilbert alone. Serge continued watching Gilbert, as he lit candles.
Upon lighting the last candle, Gilbert stirred, fluttering his long eyelashes, revealing his beautiful face against the pale moonlight.
"Serge?"
"Gilbert! Are you feeling better now?"
"Now that I know you are here," he replied with an sadistic gaze. Serge didn't like that gaze but he felt pulled into it, like bees to honey.
"For you, my dear and naive Serge, I will make this half price." Serge was yanked by his white shirt and slammed down onto his bed, Gilbert on top of him. This was happening all to fast! Serge found himself looking at Gilbert from an awkward angle. Smiling evilly, Gilbert stroked the dark locks against Serge's forehead.
"Half price seems reasonable, do you not agree?" Gilbert whispered into his ear. "Make this worth my while." He started slipping off the dark-skinned boy's shirt and making his way down further. Serge was becoming scared. Gilbert was a prostitute? He never knew. The eyes of the night was one them. Serge's was locked with Gilbert's. Was this love? Was this passion, desire? Was this...evil?