Chapter II

Chant d'automne

Bientôt nous plongerons dans les froides ténèbres;
Adieu, vive clarté de nos étés trop courts!
J'entends déjà tomber avec des chocs funèbres
Le bois retentissant sur le pavé des cours.

Tout l'hiver va rentrer dans mon être: colère,
Haine, frissons, horreur, labeur dur et forcé,
Et, comme le soleil dans son enfer polaire,
Mon coeur ne sera plus qu'un bloc rouge et glacé.

J'écoute en frémissant chaque bûche qui tombe
L'échafaud qu'on bâtit n'a pas d'écho plus sourd.
Mon esprit est pareil à la tour qui succombe
Sous les coups du bélier infatigable et lourd.

II me semble, bercé par ce choc monotone,
Qu'on cloue en grande hâte un cercueil quelque part.
Pour qui? — C'était hier l'été; voici l'automne!
Ce bruit mystérieux sonne comme un départ.

— Charles Baudelaire

Song of Autumn

I

Soon we shall plunge into the cold darkness;
Farewell, vivid brightness of our short-lived summers!
Already I hear the dismal sound of firewood
Falling with a clatter on the courtyard pavements.

All winter will possess my being: wrath,
Hate, horror, shivering, hard, forced labor,
And, like the sun in his polar Hades,
My heart will be no more than a frozen red block.

All atremble I listen to each falling log;
The building of a scaffold has no duller sound.
My spirit resembles the tower which crumbles
Under the tireless blows of the battering ram.

It seems to me, lulled by these monotonous shocks,
That somewhere they're nailing a coffin, in great haste.
For whom? — Yesterday was summer; here is autumn
That mysterious noise sounds like a departure.

It had been almost two weeks since her visit to the dressmaker when the articles ordered finally arrived. Ororo watched from the stairs as delivery boys marched into the house each one carefully holding up a dress, and three more carrying boxes with undergarments, hats and shoes. Not that she wasn't used to luxury, but it never crossed her mind to receive such exaggerated care from someone other than her father. She was well aware of the fact that, aside from Laurent, nobody had any particular reason to be nice to her. Her father was all she had, and once she lost him she had braced herself to face a life of hardship.

She entered the Lebeau household ready to face the worst she could possibly imagine. She didn't have anyone to protect her; she had become property of an unknown man with a decadent reputation that preceded him and she would be all alone in the house, the only woman living there. Her expectations couldn't be any worse, and she was prepared to face it stoically.

After a week however, she found herself in a position not only comfortable, but quite close to happiness. She only saw Remy at night, usually before he went out, for the better part of the day she was alone and since the house didn't require much care, she had a lot of time to herself to do as she pleased. Usually she would go to the library and read for hours; since Remy had allowed her to read any book in the library without asking, or stay in the living room playing the piano or knitting. It was almost as if the house was hers; except for the fact that she wasn't allowed to go out in the street without company.

That didn't really bother her, as she wasn't used to the city. What bothered her was the feeling it had. Back in the farm she could walk on the fields, wander in the garden, she had even traveled a couple of times with her father when he went to New York on business. She stayed in when she wanted to stay in. Here she stayed in because she had to, and that greatly upset her.

The delivery boys stood in line in the middle of the living room waiting for Lebeau to arrive. Ororo watched as the dressmaker, Madame Deveroux walked in to make the last arrangements, and crossed her arms over her chest. Last time they had seen each other Madame Deveroux had been awfully unpleasant; she didn't say anything, but it was quite clear she considered herself to be far above dressing Ororo. A new rush of irritation brought the blood up to her cheeks when she overheard the woman grouching.

-Make me come over this late at night…For what? To dress a Negro…What a waste of satin and silk and…

Before she could hear the rest, Ororo turned on her heels and walked up the stairs, not at all feeling like staying around that creature. She stopped on the spot when Remy crossed her path, coming down the stairs:

-Where are you going? You still have to see if those fit. -He gestured towards the line of dresses.

-I really don't think all of that is necessary…

-But I do. -He pulled her gently towards the living room

-Madame Deveroux!- Remy let out in a joyful manner as he walked in the living room. The dressmaker presented him with her right hand, which he bent to kiss giving her a full view of Ororo, standing behind him. The look in the older woman's gray eyes didn't escape Ororo´s attention, and she looked away, irritated, but said nothing.-So, shall we proceed?

The woman smiled at Lebeau and then looked back at Ororo, once again measuring her from head to toe, probably wondering why such a rich, handsome and well-educated gentleman would go to such trouble just to pamper a slave. Remy passed by Madame Deveroux, heading his chair on the middle of the room.

-And make sure you treat the young lady very well, Madame-He whispered from behind her, so she would be the only one in the crowded room to hear-after all, those dresses are putting food on your table for a long time, ne c´est pas?

The woman blinked, terrified at the possibility that he had heard her rants, and rushed to get Ororo dressed.

-Let's start with the day dress…-she let out, still tense, prompting Ororo to a secluded room to change.

—

Ororo watched from the window as Madame Deveroux carriage left. She was now dressed in a light blue dress with a small pattern of white flowers, and her hair was pulled back in a ribbon. Remy had chosen that dress as his personal favorite and insisted she kept it on. "Compliments your eyes" he said.

For some reason she found herself rather pleased by the comment.

Now Etienne was off to the stable, preparing Remy´s carriage. Lebeau had a meeting to attend, a private party for plantation owners and their wives at Madam Frost's house. Emma Frost was a northern woman who had married into a traditional southern family, inheriting miles of cotton fields once her husband passed away. The "perfect scam" Remy thought to himself, the perfect way of robbing the entire patrimony of a man without ever doing anything illegal.

-Ororo, have you seen my coat? - She heard Lebeau ask from the living room

-Is on the hanger. -She stated going for the coat and passing it on to him.

-Dammit. –He hissed trying to fix his lapels in place- I still can't believe she invited old McCarthy. And if I know him the night will most certainly end up in one of those heated conversations about abolitionism. Knowing his exciting rhetorical style I'll have to try real hard not to break a glass of wine and cut my wrists with it. –He chuckled, smiling at her with the corner of his mouth.

-You'll survive it...

-I hope so…damn, can you help me with this? -He asked, gesturing his collar and crooked tie.

Ororo felt a little embarrassed at such an intimate request, but complied. With unsure movement she approached him and fixed his tie in place, not daring to look up.

-Is really shameful that a man my age still has problems with a tie, huh? - He chuckled- But I guess every man just needs a feminine touch to be fully presentable, ne c´est pas?

-There you go, take a look in the mirror.

-No it's fine. – He told her a little anxiously, which struck her as odd, but she let it go.-Blue becomes you, chère.

She blinked at the impromptu compliment. As Etienne came in, she instinctively walked away from Remy, taking a seat on the stool by the grand piano. The valet looked a little puzzled by the tableau he found coming in, his master and the new maid standing so intimately close, and then her suddenly shy demeanor, but decided to keep his impressions to himself:

-The carriage is ready, sir.

Remy merely glanced at the baroque golden clock sitting atop of the mantle:

-It's still early… Give me some more time. I definitely don't wish to be the first one there…I refuse to drag myself through unnecessary torture…Is bad enough that I have to go in the first place…Etiquette can be awfully cruel sometimes…

-As you wish, sir…-The valet left, casting one last suspicious glance at Ororo, much to her annoyance.

-So- Remy asked her, as he walked over to the dark red chaise long in front of the piano-how do you feel about your new wardrobe? Everything to your liking?

-Very much so…thank you. You really shouldn't…

-Don't say that…you're used to have the best, why should it be any different? It would be a complete shame to have such a beautiful woman dressed in rags like any girl from the street.

She looked away and didn't say anything. Feeling an awkward uneasiness, she turned away from him and let her fingers wonder over the keys of the piano, phantoming a melody, but not daring to actually play it.

-Do you play?-He asked calmly, his voice showing genuine interest.

-Yes...

-Play something for me…

-I...-she answered, unsure…

-Come on…I´m about to spend the next hours listening to some old men bragging about their farms production and scowl at the northern abolitionists…At least give me something pleasant to think of while I pretend to be listening to them…-He smiled.

She shook her head and sat up straight, and within moments the first notes of Beethoven "Moonlight Sonata" filled the air. It was her favorite piano tune, since she was but a child. Her father would often wonder why such a young girl would like such a morose, melancholic song.

As the notes floated in the air, one after the other, slow and darkly, Remy found himself lost in a kind of reverence he hadn't ever felt before. He wasn't a reverent man, he wasn't on to worship or to contemplate anything the human race could produce…He had seen so much and within some time would have seen it all…

But he had to admit, he was in awe.

Even if her back was turned to him, he could see the grace in her movements, in the way her head bowed ever so slightly with the rhythm of the piece, how the curls of her hair fell gently over her back, mixing into the white flowers of her pale blue dress…

It was almost cruel that such a creature, this gorgeous blue seraph, should wind up in his life. He of all people to have her so close…Almost as if God was playing a joke on him, to show such light to one forever doomed to the darkness…

With a sting of grief he got up and left in silence, before the song was over, so she wouldn't notice…

—

Remy hated to attend to those nightly functions, where all he could hear were empty political discussion and even emptier social gossip. Even though he had come. Why? To get away from her...

Ororo…

Since that girl had arrived he had been fighting away the urge to…for some reason he couldn't even bring himself to think what he felt like doing to her. What was so easy to do to anyone else; he couldn't even bear the though of doing it to her. Yet, as terrible as the ideas were, they were also…pleasurable.

-Remy, my dear…won't you join us?-He heard the mellifluous voice of the hostess coming from behind him, as he stood on the balcony watching the street outside He turned to see the blonde standing there in one of her luxurious and expensive gowns that earned her the reputation of being New Orleans very own version of Marie Antoinette.

-Emma…I'm afraid I'm not in a very festive mood today…

She laughed, that slightly wicked laughter of hers.

-That doesn't sound at all like you…

-Even I have my bad days…

-The ladies have been asking about you.-She added with some malice.

He just shrugged not really wanting to play along with her mundane little charades.

-Come on…we have some of the most beautiful ladies of New Orleans here and you show no interest…Something might be wrong…

-Nothing wrong…But I'm afraid the only lady that would get my attention isn't attending.

-Oh…Remy Lebeau…In love? Could that possibly be?

-Don't make any conjectures yet, ma belle…-He told her seriously, her question making him feel annoyed for some reason he couldn't quite figure out.

Or wouldn't.

Turning around he went back inside the ballroom where the judge was making a toast to the glory of the South. He moved to the front door and gained the street…

—

The moon was full. So full, round and brilliant the streetlamps seemed to fade in the dark, overshadowed by the blue-silvery light of Artemis´s carriage. Ororo sat one the window bench on the library watching the quiet movement of the leafs on the trees outside.

She rested her forehead on the cool stained glass as her fingers lazily played with the satin ribbon that held the front of her laced nightgown together. It was almost past midnight now. Etienne warned her that Lebeau usually stayed out until late, but she couldn't sleep…

True to be said, she was worried.

He had left without a word, almost as if running away from her…She wondered if she did anything to upset him…Remy Lebeau was an eccentric man, everybody said that, Etienne said it on her first day in that house…The aura of charm and elegance that surrounded him was strong enough to even reach the most isolated farms on the bayou.

And yet, what she saw was entirely different.

He was melancholic. Even when he was being witty or sharp, there was a sting of sadness on him that was very much visible to her. He had the eyes of a man who had seen too much, the smile of a person who had gone through a lot, and, when he was quiet, there was a kind of heavy expression on his face that made her wonder what could have ever happened to such a young man to leave behind such evident marks.

Ororo would be damned before admitting but…there was something on him that fascinated and frightened her at the same time. Some philosophers say the nature of sacred was precisely that…fascinas et tremere…fascination and tremor…What is beyond understanding, and within the reach of contemplation. Lebeau´s presence had something of dark and holy that made her shiver; as if he didn't belong to this world somehow…

Brushing the dark red Persian rug with one bare foot, she let out a sigh and stepped away from the widow. Picking up a book at random she reclined on the black velvet chaise longue and flipped through the pages, fighting to keep her sleepy lids from closing.

—

-Who's Ororo? Sounds like a Negro name...

Remy looked over to the naked woman wantonly lying on her stomach across the bed. His eyes turned back to the outside. They were in her apartment, where she entertained her clients, as she told him, on the second floor of the most decadent doss-house the most lurid mind could imagine. Outside the beggars, prostitutes and pimps were still walking in the shadows, hidden from the human eye, but completely visible to his inhuman ones…

-You said her name…-She insisted with somewhat of a sweet smile, in that way some prostitutes had of trying to be confidants to their Johns.

Remy didn't answer. Instead he walked away from the window and reached for his shirt, tossed over the arm of a chair. Retrieving some money from the pocket of his coat, he tossed it at the bed:

-Is that enough?

-Hey, easy, mon brave…I didn't mean to offend you. -She tossed a lock of brown hair over a milky shoulder and laid on her back stretching her arms out to him. -Come here.

He merely stared at her, annoyed by her vulgarity. What was he thinking, coming here? It was laughable, him coming after a street whore whose pimp was probably somewhere waiting to send the next one in…

-Save it, fille…-He finished buttoning his shirt.

-You can call me Ororo if you want…

He stood there for some moments, trying to digest the words. He felt a rush of anger sweep through his body, as if she had just said the worst profanity someone could ever say. He frowned and phantomed a devilish grin, the woman most likely mistook for lustful.

She received him in her arms with almost child-like naïveté, allowing him to pin her to the mattress and bring his mouth to her neck.

Probably the other inhabitants of that hell-hole were very much used to screams, as no living soul showed up as she yelled at the top of her lungs, begging for her life. No one showed up then, or when he made his way downstairs with calm steps and exited the building, leaving behind a bloodless carcass no one would find… at least until her pimp wondered why the heck she hadn't showed up with his money…

—

Looking around, Ororo realized she had fallen asleep in the library. She looked up to the clock in the mahogany desk. Four in the morning. A noise caught her attention.

-What are you doing here, chère? - She heard Remy say in an altered tone.

-I am sorry, sir. I must have fallen asleep. -She sat up as he made his way into the library.

What she saw left her speechless for a moment. Remy had his shirt wide open, almost bare-chested, his hair was wildly disheveled and his eyes seemed to sparkle. He must have been drinking heavily, she thought to herself with a hint of fear, and she sighted the proof of it from the bright red stain on his white shirt, which, she figured, was red wine.

-How many times did I tell you not to wander in the house at night?

-I know. I am terribly sorry. It won't happen again…

-It shouldn't happen ever, you hear me?

-Yes…-she said holding his gaze.

Remy left the door and walked towards her. For the sureness of his walking it was obvious he wasn't drunk, but he still looked intoxicated. His nostrils were inflated like those of a beast sniffing the prey, the burnt-auburn locks of his hair were wet with sweat, even though it was cold outside, his eyes seemed to pierce through her, and all of the sudden her mind brought her back for that night, when she saw him wandering like a damned soul on the second floor.

-Who do you think you are, girl? Huh? When I say you don't do something, you don't do it, you hear me? Or you think you can do as you please? This is not your daddy's house! You're mine, you hear? MINE!!! I OWN YOU!!!

Ororo made herself smaller and smaller as he approached her. She couldn't tell if it was his words, or the menacing posture, or just the confusion of seeing the otherwise kind gentleman in such state, but she was petrified.

-I'm sorry, sir…

Even more altered by the apologies, he yanked her by the hair

-LOOK AT ME!!!

Ororo lifted her eyes to look at him, with defiance. If something was going to happen to her, she might as well face it. His face was inches from hers, so close he was breathing on her mouth. He didn't smell of alcohol, she realized…It was something…metallic. She tried to keep her eyes open, fighting back the tears; she hated to cry in front of people.

Slowly, Ororo felt the grip on her hair loosen up until she was free. She leant against the desk, lowering her head so he wouldn't see the tears flowing down her cheeks, forcing herself not to sob.

Remy stood in front of her, a jolt of electricity running down his spine at the sound of her suppressed sobbing. It was the first time since his father's death he had felt that disarming sense of impotence…He hated her even more for doing that to him; and he hated himself for doing that to her.

-Get out of here-he murmured.

Stumbling on her nightgown she ran off.

—

She had been weeping on her pillow for almost twenty minutes now, a hopeless mix of fear and disappointment, when she heard his voice.

-Ororo?

-Yes? -She answered sitting up.

-Stop crying.

She cleaned the tears from her face with the back of her hand and tried to arrange the cleavage of her nightgown, as the laced trim, made loose by the undone ribbons, slipped over her heaving bosom.

-I'm sorry-he said awkwardly. He didn't remember the last time he had apologized to anyone for anything. He didn't even know why he was doing it now. It just…got out of his lips…-I shouldn't have shouted at you.

-That's fine…-she lied, her hard panting slowing down.

Remy looked down at her, still feeling the rush of adrenalin washing over his body. He approached her, and strangely, the fact that she actually tensed and moved a little away gave him some sense of regret. His senses were so awaken that he could hear the blood running under her cocoa skin, the smell of fear and deception making him ache with regret for making her cry, and a irrational need to make her cry some more.

She was the perfect prey; scared, yet, somehow willing…He could just…No, he wouldn't… Retracting the hand that was irresistibly drawn to her cheek, he moved away:

-Anyway…I'll go to my room now…and please…

-Yes?

-Make sure your door is locked before you go to bed.

—

-I've been calling you for twenty minutes now...Are you feeling well? - Etienne asked her as she emerged into the kitchen.

-Yes…sorry to keep you waiting…

-You don't look all right…-The young man frowned. In fact Ororo was pale and had dark circles beginning to form under her eyes. She had spent the whole night up. After the late night exchange with Lebeau, she hadn't been able to even put her head on the pillow. Her mind was overflowing with scary thoughts, the worst of them that kept taunting her throughout the night: she shouldn't trust Remy Lebeau.

It was a mistake to let herself become comfortable with her current situation, to believe Remy would be nice to her. She had just gotten solid evidence that he wouldn't. She was his property, nothing else. At least that was how he saw her.

-I had some trouble sleeping…-she trailed off.

-Still haven't gotten used to the house?

-Don't worry…it was just a bad night…

Ororo poured them some tea, and sat at the table in silence. Etienne decided to let her be.

-Etienne…-She finally spoke.

-Yes?

-Where were you last night?

-Out…the master gave me the night off, said he would come back home on his own, that he wanted to walk a little…Why something happened?

-No... just…I don't like being alone in the house at night…

-I see… I'm sorry…I won't do this again…

-Thank you…

-So, let's go?

-Uh?

-Groceries…remember?

-Oh, sure…

—

The sun was glowing warmly, giving the cool air a very cozy quality; and the weather was bright and comfortable. So the streets were filled: mothers with their children, young couples, packs of boys laughing and running around, groups of girls chatting, everybody seemed to have taken some time to enjoy the day. The trees were starting to dress in all shades of red, orange and yellow, so everyone would know fall was arriving. Ororo stepped out of the carriage, aided by Etienne's hand.

If she would care to pay attention she would probably have heard some harsh remarks from a group of young ladies standing nearby. By now everybody in town knew that Remy Lebeau had bought "Duplessis´bastard", and, as Etienne had warned her, curiosity and reproval were overflowing from people's expressions and words every time she stepped a foot outside.

She walked on, ignoring the comments and stares.

-Extra! Extra! Murder on Canal Street! - A young boy shouted on the corner, waving a newspaper while holding a pile of others under his arm. A small crowd formed around him, eager for information.

Ororo stopped for a moment and looked down to see a loose newspaper page fallen on the street.

"Found dead…Emily Deschamps…broken neck…dilacerated artery… exsanguination…police has no evidence as to who might have" were the words she could read out of the article, before Etienne caught her attention and hurried her to the store.

A few steps away, a haughty black woman in her early forties, wearing a dark dress and hat clutched the newspaper in her hands, her brown eyes following Ororo as Etienne walked her into the store. As the young woman disappeared from her sight, Mattie Baptiste shook her head and with deep sigh, turned around and hailed a carriage…