Chapter VI

Tristesses de la lune

Ce soir, la lune rêve avec plus de paresse;
Ainsi qu'une beauté, sur de nombreux coussins,
Qui d'une main distraite et légère caresse
Avant de s'endormir le contour de ses seins,

Sur le dos satiné des molles avalanches,
Mourante, elle se livre aux longues pâmoisons,
Et promène ses yeux sur les visions blanches
Qui montent dans l'azur comme des floraisons.

Quand parfois sur ce globe, en sa langueur oisive,
Elle laisse filer une larme furtive,
Un poète pieux, ennemi du sommeil,

Dans le creux de sa main prend cette larme pâle,
Aux reflets irisés comme un fragment d'opale,
Et la met dans son coeur loin des yeux du soleil.

— Charles Baudelaire

Sadness of the Moon

Tonight the moon dreams with more indolence,
Like a lovely woman on a bed of cushions
Who fondles with a light and listless hand
The contour of her breasts before falling asleep;

On the satiny back of the billowing clouds,
Languishing, she lets herself fall into long swoons
And casts her eyes over the white phantoms
That rise in the azure like blossoming flowers.

When, in her lazy listlessness,
She sometimes sheds a furtive tear upon this globe,
A pious poet, enemy of sleep,

In the hollow of his hand catches this pale tear,
With the iridescent reflections of opal,
And hides it in his heart afar from the sun's eyes.

"Mattie,

I was relieved to receive your letter. Here I was considering myself all alone in this world, with no help from a living soul; and you come along. The true is…I don't know what to think or what to do. I want to leave this house. This place frightens me. I don't want to be here anymore… This man. I hated him at times. I truly did. He can be cruel and violent…He frightens me and he made me hate him. But…I pity him. Is like I can see something in him, a kind of constant gloom … You know him better than I do; tell me… You said he is a good man, then why does he act like this?… What went wrong in his life?

No. Don't tell me anything. I don't want to know.

I want to be away from here. I don't want to feel this way anymore. I need to leave. Help me…

--Ororo"

—

Remy walked up to his room with heavy steps. It had been a while since a fresh killing left him like that. In the beginning, yes, it was overwhelming…more than overwhelming, it was confusing. A mixture of satisfaction and remorse. But after some time he became numb. He didn't wonder what his victims felt like as he drained the life from their bodies drop after drop; he didn't ask himself if it hurt, he didn't measure the enormity of their fear, he didn't feel the need to comfort them in their final moment.

Today, however, as that young woman lay dying in his arms, gasping for air, crying her very last tears, he wondered. He wondered how it felt like…dying. Relief maybe? To feel free in the last possible second? Or hate? Hate towards him for ripping the soul out of her flesh? Maybe gratitude; for putting an end to her living misery? Or maybe she just ceased to exist all together?

What if there wasn't a soul to be saved in anyone…Maybe all humans are destined to the same non-existence after life; all doomed to eternal darkness…Never feel, never see… to be…nothing. Maybe he was the blessed one; the only true immortal soul, the only one to never be condemned to the abysm of not being. For all he knew, there wasn't any God. If there were, he wouldn't be what he was…then; if there wasn't God, then his burden was lighter than he imagined…No God, no soul…just here and now…after that…nothing.

But for him there would always be something…he was eternal, he would always be… Others would cease and become nothing. Including Valerie…Including… Ororo…

All of the sudden his chest felt hollow. Something inside of him just snapped and went blank. One day she would grow old. One day she would die. And after that? She would be…nothing. If there wasn't God, there wasn't soul, if there wasn't soul, there wasn't salvation…without salvation Ororo was gone forever. Once she let out her last breath…it would be over. Remy would live on…Ororo would perish.

All of the sudden the thought seemed too much to bear…

—

"Ororo,

I feel nothing good can come out of this house for you. It pains me to say that, but Remy isn't the same man I knew. I wish I could tell you why; but I don't think I know the answer to this question… He is a good man; don't doubt that for a minute. But something is wrong.

If you feel like you must leave this house, by all means do. I'm afraid whatever is wrong with him, I can't fix…

What should I do to help you?

-Mattie."

—

Ororo knocked softly on the library door. Remy had been locked in there for the past three days with all windows closed. She started to wonder if he was all right.

-Yes? - His weary voice answered.

-It's me…Ororo…

-Come in, chère…

She opened the door slowly. Inside Remy was sprawled in a chaise longue, piles of books and papers scattered everywhere. He looked tired; his shirt was undone, his feet bare, his hair tussled. One hand clutched a book; the other one covered his eyes, as if he was experimenting a monstrous migraine.

-Are you all right?

-Yes…quite all right, thank you…-He answered wearily, before shifting to lay on his side, curled up.

In spite of herself, Ororo felt bad. He looked almost sick, as if something was tormenting him. The woman looked away, fighting away her natural instinct of getting worried… She moved to leave; but he kept talking.

-Ororo?-

-Yes? - She turned.

-Come here…please

Ororo stood where she was, unsure of what to do. Finally she moved towards him and sat on the armchair besides the chaise.

-I'm tired. -He sighed, his eyes staring blankly at an indefinite point.

-Maybe you should rest for a moment. You've been here for three days and…

-That's not what I mean…I'm just…tired…of it all…-His voice was barely a whisper. Ororo had to lean in to understand the words he uttered.

-Of what?… If I may ask…-She asked softly.

-Everything. I just…-a long pause, followed by a sigh- tell me…were you ever happy?

She concentrated on the bizarre question for a while. Finally, after a few minutes, she answered him.

-At moments…I guess, everybody has moments of happiness…

-Even a slave?

-Yes…even a slave…we're people too…

-This is not what I meant…I mean…if you have such a curse hovering over your head…this inescapable situation of being slave to someone…or something…is it possible a moment of happiness?

-Yes…If you keep your soul intact…then I guess even the most worst things can't keep you from having at least a moment of happiness…

-Even if you know you're situation is hopeless…

-No situation is hopeless…

-What if I told you…my soul isn't intact? What if I told you…-He stopped again, as if afraid of saying the next words; or maybe feeling they were too hard to say.- I've lost it?

-I'm sure you wouldn't mean that.

He looked up to her, his dark eyes staring firmly into her ocean blue ones.

-What if I meant it?

-I would tell you every soul could be saved.

-Even if I lost it?

-You can't loose what doesn't belong to you. Our soul belongs to a mightier power.

-God? -He chuckled, with childish disbelief.

-You can call it that.

He was silent for a while. Ororo wondered if he had been drinking again.

-Ororo?…

-Yes?

-Would you pray for me?…

-I beg your pardon?

-Would you pray for me? I'm sure if this…mightier power of yours exists…it might be more inclined to hear your prayers than mine…Would you, please, pray for me?

-Sure. I will.

-Thank you…

—

Ororo closed her eyes, fighting back a headache.

The sight of Remy Lebeau in such a pitiful condition left her astonished. She never imagined he could ever look so…vulnerable. For a moment it seemed she was in front of a little boy, and not the irascible slave master of a few weeks ago. In fact, after the library incident, the slave master had not shown his face again…In his place there was a different Remy Lebeau…a sad, melancholic man, with a soft voice that spoke kind and enigmatic words…a man capable of generous acts, such as building a conservatory without asking anything in return…just for the sake of apologizing.

Ororo started to wonder if all of that didn't arise from his need to not be alone. She became convinced that Remy needed to have someone around. This was the reason for the constant parties, for his staying in the sitting room merely for the sake of watching her as she worked or played the piano, of giving her a luxurious gift when he felt her drifting away in anger.

He was unstable and lonely. In fact he became unstable when left alone. The day he nearly attacked her in the library, he had gone all alone in the city…even now, after three days on his own, locked away in the library he looked just miserable. In the days he went to conservatory and asked her to read he was completely different. He was calm, peaceful…he even laughed. Not the charming, blasé laugh he used in front of other people, but an open, airy, boyish laughter. After hearing of his father death, Ororo started to wonder if the cause didn't lay there…Maybe he was afraid of being without support or guidance like he was then…She could surely understand that…she felt the same almost everyday.

Ororo shook her head. She shouldn't be dwelling in this kind of thoughts. Remy Lebeau was a slave master; someone she should run away from, not feel sympathy for… Closing the latest letter from Mattie she reached for the paper and forced herself to write.

—

"Mattie,

I'm sending you part of what I have to ensure my liberty. This envelope contains two diamond rings, a pearl necklace, three pairs of golden earrings, and a sapphire bracelet. I have more jewels with me. He doesn't know about them…please, find a jeweler to evaluate and buy them."

-Ororo

Ps.: I´ll send you more pieces within a few days."

—

Every other day Mattie wrapped the fine pieces of jewelry in a soft piece of discreet cotton fabric and headed the to jeweler appointed to her by a friend. Casting a first glance over them, she immediately realized Ororo had a small fortune in her hands. It was necessary to find the best jeweler to get their value worth.

For a week to come Ororo would send her a little package filled with precious stones and Mattie would send back envelopes filled with money. She hoped she was doing the right thing. Ororo was confused; even though she believe Remy would never harm her, it was better for the girl to stay away from him…just to be safe. By the end of two weeks Ororo had enough run away, leave the country and still have some bracelets and necklaces intact to begin her life somewhere else.

Putting the latest envelope in her messenger's hands, Mattie took a deep sigh of relief, as the young boy disappeared into the night heading the Lebeau house.

—

Ororo walked into the conservatory, holding Mattie's latest letter in her hands. She had made it a habit of hers to read in the glittering semi darkness of the conservatory. She felt much safer there, in her private glass box than into the house.

The letter told her what already knew from her calculations: finally she had enough money to ensure her freedom. Ororo thought she would be thrilled to read the news. Strangely she wasn't. If anything she felt empty. For some reason knowing she could be free soon provoked on her the strangest feeling. Not quite bad…and yet not quite good.

Inside the house, the candles of Remy´s room were lit, and she looked over, wondering what he was doing. After their last conversation, he became more and more morose and increasingly depressive. Every time he looked at her, his eyes would lower and darken. He had been quite taken with spiritual literature lately. Whenever she went into the library to put order in his books, she would find all kinds of philosophic books in his worktable. Saint Augustine, Abelard, Dante Alighieri…He had been reading, studying, making notes; which was strange for a bon vivant like him…

It was almost as if he was looking for something…

Never mind; she thought. It was none of her concern. She reached for the book that sat on the table in front of her and opened it, revealing a deep square hole, patiently carved into the pages. Inside the pile of money Mattie had sent her was safely kept with all the letters she received. Now all she had to do was plan her next actions. Closing the makeshift safe, she leaned in, feeling that sense of nervousness and apprehension that always preceded big decisions. Ororo tried to quiet her heart. Soon it would be over.

-Ororo?- A male voice crept up from behind her.

Ororo had been so deep into her musings, she never noticed Remy coming into the conservatory. After days of being isolated, she didn't expect him to come down and meet her there. Probably he was feeling better and wanted to resume their reading sessions. Feeling her heart drop to her feet like a child caught misbehaving, she couldn't do anything but look at him with wide eyes.

-What are you doing?

-I…I was reading. –She cursed the honesty she was taught by her father. Damn her, why couldn't she lie without stuttering?

He raised an eyebrow and looked at the book she clutched tensely in her elegant fingers. He reached over and gently took it from her, as if it was just any object he was curious about, not a muscle of his face denouncing any tension. She let her hands fall off the hard cover, limp, resigned and hopeless like the feet of a man walking to the scaffold. She shut her eyes and straightened in her chair, assuming the stoic and calm façade she learned to put on so well while being abused by Genevieve, that usually drove the old witch mad with anger. But she knew it wouldn't work with Remy Lebeau.

He lifted a envelope and read the first line, then his eyes fell on money bills. He raised his eyes to look at her. Feeling watched she looked back and found his face oddly calm. Then he spoke:

-What is that supposed to mean?

(Continues…)