Yeah, after this one, I'm cutting back on the drama for a long while.

And The Dream Of Paris Preys On My Bones

Chapter 4: Family Values

"Oh, you poor dear!" Coupeau's mother cried, pulling young Chauvelin's head against her chest. Her son and Mercier had explained the entire situation to her, and the woman was simply aghast at the child's current situation, so the woman bestowed every affection imaginable upon the desolate boy. Suffice it to say, it was the most affection that Chauvelin had ever received in his entire life.

Despite that the woman had an obscenely large family to care for and feed, she had still managed to provide Chauvelin with his own room, at the expense of six of her children, and fed him like a king, though he would have none of it. The moment that he had been situated, he immediately retreated to the room he had been assigned, and closed the door, perched himself on the windowsill, and looked sightlessly out the window, never moving an inch.

For an entire week, the boy sat like that and did not move, on occasion dissolving into quiet sobs, sometimes choking on his breath, rarely sleeping and never speaking or eating. Every now and again, Coupeau would stick his head into the room and check to see if the boy had moved, hoping beyond all reason that he would answer when he called his name. He prayed for the young Chauvelin nearly every hour, pleading to God that if he did nothing else, to return the soul to the broken child, for he was still so sure that the boy was not lost.

And finally, one day when he had been picking at the meal that his mother had put out for him, Chauvelin slowly walked out of the room, much thinner and much paler than when he placed himself in there, but he was alive, and Coupeau nearly cried because of it. Gently laying his hand on his friend's shoulder and softly smiling, Chauvelin walked out of the house, saying not a word, and Coupeau followed, bringing with him the remainder of his lunch so that he may feed the starving child.


"My mother," Mercier said, casting a stone into the ocean from the cliff, "she was everything to my father. One day I found her in her room with a man I have never seen before. He was on top of her, and my mother was yelling for help, and then she just stopped. The man hit me, and when I got up, my father was holding her and crying. She died," he said casually, picking up another rock and throwing it, "and my father has never been the same since. He never speaks to my brothers and I and he goes out late and comes home drunk and beats me sometimes."

"That's awful!" Coupeau said, eyes wide with shock and concern as he was feeding Chauvelin.

Mercier shrugged. "After a while, you get used to it. It still hurts, but you come to expect it and know what's going to happen."

"Does he hit your brothers too?" the auburn-haired child softly asked.

"No. My brothers are men. They fight back, and my father has learned that he can't hurt them." He shrugged. "Only me."

"My mother," Chauvelin whispered, "she always protects-" Pausing, realizing what he was saying, and choking back a sob, said, much softer than before, "She used to protect me from the house owner. He would beat me if he had the chance, but my mother would always protect me the best she could." He stopped for a moment and looked at the blonde boy throwing rocks into the ocean. "Do you believe in God, Mercier?"

The boy shrugged. "I haven't really given it much thought. I'm too caught up in the hardships of everyday to really pay heed to something that can't help feed me or my brothers or make my father stop beating me. It's hard enough to get by without being preoccupied with pleasing God too." Taking note of Coupeau's shocked expression, he added, "But it doesn't mean He's not there. I just really couldn't care either way."

Chauvelin shifted slightly and curled up into a ball. "I don't believe."

Coupeau shook his head. "I can't see how you don't. Isn't it a bit comforting that your mothers are living forever in a better place, and one day you shall see them again?"

Chauvelin glared at the green-eyed boy and sneered in contempt. "Not at all."

"Why? I don't understand…"

"Think on it this way, Coupeau. If I was so sure I would see my mother again when I die, what's stopping me from throwing myself off this cliff right now so that I may see her this moment?"

"I…but, suicide is a sin, Chauvelin…"

"And with your mentality, so is lust. Both my mother and I would be in Hell, but we would be together. Knowing that there is nothing after this life is far more comforting. There's more of a reason to live. This is all I have. Once I'm dead, it's all darkness and nothing. I am afraid of that, Coupeau, and that fear keeps me alive."

Coupeau was stunned and looked at the boy accordingly. "I…I have never thought of it that way before…"

Chauvelin turned on the ground and said nothing more.

"What do you take of it, Mercier?" Coupeau asked quietly.

"Me? I think it's a nice thought, Heaven and all, but Chauvelin's idea suits me just fine as well. I really don't remember my mother much, so it's nothing to look forward to and nothing to miss."

Chauvelin sat up and looked into the light blue eyes. "You don't remember her?"

"Not really, no."

"How could you not? She was your mother, for the love of all things holy! She was with you most of your life!"

"Well, yes, but…" He sat on the ground, placed his head on his hands. "She died when I was seven, I think, and no matter how long she was there, you start to forget when you don't see her anymore and she becomes just a memory, and soon even that starts to get blurry. It's hard to remember when the thing you're missing is gone, and soon I think you start to believe that it never was there, even though you knew it was once."

Curling up again and softly beginning to cry, Chauvelin quietly said, "I want to remember her forever."

Smiling softly and running his hand through the ebony hair, Mercier gently said, "As you forget, the pain goes away until it's just a dull ache and then nothing at all. You'll always remember a little, but the sharper the image, the sharper the pain. Time dulls it all, I suppose. And then you just have a scar where the hurt used to be, but the memories are always there. Just less clear and a little distorted, but you can look on them fondly without any pain at all."

"You really know a lot, don't you, Mercier?" Chauvelin said quietly, feeling just a little bit better.

"I've been through a lot." Patting Chauvelin on last time on the head, he stood up and brushed himself off. "Come on. Let's get home."

Nodding slightly and feeling all the better for having them, Chauvelin stood up and slung his arms over Mercier and Coupeau's shoulders and walked back to the village side by side them. Yes, friends were a good thing.