Chapter XI

L'Amour du mensonge

Quand je te vois passer, ô ma chère indolente,
Au chant des instruments qui se brise au plafond
Suspendant ton allure harmonieuse et lente,
Et promenant l'ennui de ton regard profond;

Quand je contemple, aux feux du gaz qui le colore,
Ton front pâle, embelli par un morbide attrait,
Où les torches du soir allument une aurore,
Et tes yeux attirants comme ceux d'un portrait,

Je me dis: Qu'elle est belle! et bizarrement fraîche!
Le souvenir massif, royale et lourde tour,
La couronne, et son coeur, meurtri comme une pêche,
Est mûr, comme son corps, pour le savant amour.

Es-tu le fruit d'automne aux saveurs souveraines?
Es-tu vase funèbre attendant quelques pleurs,
Parfum qui fait rêver aux oasis lointaines,
Oreiller caressant, ou corbeille de fleurs?

Je sais qu'il est des yeux, des plus mélancoliques,
Qui ne recèlent point de secrets précieux;
Beaux écrins sans joyaux, médaillons sans reliques,
Plus vides, plus profonds que vous-mêmes, ô Cieux!

Mais ne suffit-il pas que tu sois l'apparence,
Pour réjouir un coeur qui fuit la vérité?
Qu'importe ta bêtise ou ton indifférence?
Masque ou décor, salut! J'adore ta beauté.

— Charles Baudelaire

The Love of Lies

When I see you pass by, my indolent darling,
To the sound of music that the ceiling deadens,
Pausing in your slow and harmonious movements,
Turning here and there the boredom of your gaze;

When I study, in the gaslight which colors it,
Your pale forehead, embellished with a morbid charm,
Where the torches of evening kindle a dawn,
And your eyes alluring as a portrait's,

I say within: "How fair she is! How strangely fresh!"
Huge, massive memory, royal, heavy tower,
Crowns her; her heart bruised like a peach
Is ripe like her body for a skillful lover.

Are you the autumn fruit with sovereign taste?
A funereal urn awaiting a few tears?
Perfume that makes one dream of distant oases?
A caressive pillow, a basket of flowers?

I know that there are eyes, most melancholy ones,
In which no precious secrets lie hidden;
Lovely cases without jewels, lockets without relics,
Emptier and deeper than you are, O Heavens!

But is it not enough that you are a semblance
To gladden a heart that flees from the truth?
What matter your obtuseness or your indifference?
Mask or ornament, hail! I adore your beauty.

—

-I must go…-Ororo turned away from the piano keys and facing Remy who was reading a couple of music sheets, standing besides her seat. He smiled warmly.

-Etienne will take you home.

-Thank you…

-What will you be doing now?

-I thought you wanted me to leave New Orleans-She smirked.

-Are you going to?

-I'm not sure. I thought I might…

-Why don't come back to work here?

She raised an eyebrow, with a puzzled expression on her face. He just chuckled lightly:

-I'm not asking you to live here again…you must be more comfortable at Mattie's. You can just come here to work…you'd have a payment, some money to save… You're a free woman now, you should have the means to support yourself, I would like to be the one to help you with that. Consider it an apology…for everything.

-I don't know…

-Ororo…without you here, what use do I have for that piano and that huge conservatory out there? Besides…where would I find someone else who can put order in the house, care properly for the primroses, play Schumann by heart, read French and understand the subtleties of Voltaire or Rousseau deeply or have a stimulating conversation? Believe me my dear…spending time in this house without you here can be incredibly dull…

-I suppose I could do that…a fresh start of sorts…

—

-Are you sure about that?

Ororo looked up from her book and gave Mattie a calm look:

-Yes…I am…

-Do you think it wise?

-What harm could come of it? If anything goes wrong I can just leave… Besides, I need to work, I can't just depend on you for the rest of my life, can I?

-Is that the real reason?

Ororo laid the book on her lap and drew in a deep breath. Mattie looked away and returned to the knitting she was working on, already knowing that Ororo wouldn't answer her question, at least not as she expected.

-Is it that bad that I decided to come back? Or doesn't he deserve to be trusted?

-I don't even think he can trust himself anymore…

-What is that supposed to mean?

-Nothing, child…Is just…he's been leading a kind of life that…Just promise me one thing, be careful…

-You know I will…

—

It had been two weeks since they had made that "arrangement". For the past fourteen days she came in the afternoon and stayed until nine, when Remy left for his nightly routine of meetings and balls and Etienne would take her home. And every one of those days Remy would be his "good self", the calm, ironic, charming and kind gentleman she had grown so fond of; but Ororo still feared the day "the other one" would show up again… But he never did, and she grew more and more comfortable.

Etienne too had been quite happy to have her back. The young man had a very collected and gentle demeanor, and the fact that the house was once again calm and the atmosphere of a proper home was back made him happy. Etienne had a great affection for his master, Remy, as bizarre as he always acted, never treated him in any way that could make him feel humiliated, rarely raised his voice and never expected him to work more than humanly possible. He knew that was rare, more often than not, men of his stature treated slaves and servants with the same unbearable cruelty. Remy had won his respect, in spite of all the oddities, and Etienne was pleased to see him happy.

Remy was happy; Etienne had no doubt about that. Of course he would put on an aloof façade, make venomous remarks about eminent members of the New Orleans high society and go out at night for drinks and entertainment, but it was clear that now that Ororo was back, that he was happy. He wouldn't spend all nights out, only returning close to morning, he didn't hazard out everyday, but rather ventured to play the piano sometimes to get her to leave her tasks and join him and got anxious if she was late for work or skipped a day for any reason (even though that had happened just once).

Nobody wondered where that was going to lead, even if it seemed obvious. Life was just a comfortable string of days spent in the diligent organization of the house and nights of quiet readings in the conservatory or lively conversations around the piano. Living in the Lebeau household had become an endless autumn afternoon, and nobody thought of what things would be like the day after.

Then winter arrived…

—

-I just can't believe it! Is he out of his mind?

-Such indecency!

Remy looked at the crowded room with the corner of his eye, deciding the view out the window was far more interesting. In fact, the amusement of listening to their idle gossip about his "indecent" relation with a freed slave was fading away and turning into irritation. Ororo should have heard the rumors by now; how couldn't she…they echoed all over town, and according to some even spread to the cities nearby.

A plantation owner with a black woman for a lover wasn't anything worth of notice, and even if that wasn't his case with Ororo, people weren't interested in that. What puzzled people, what caused them to feel outraged was the fact that, by all means, Ororo was the mistress of the Lebeau household. She had been spending more and more time in his house, sleeping over in her old room sometimes, she made all the domestic decisions, she had taken upon herself to hire new servants, enough to keep the entire house sparkling and making sure every room was used, which made the place look nothing like the half-ghost house it was before, she took care of the conservatory herself, and now even the outer garden exploded with flowers of all types and colors. If that wasn't enough, she walked around town in fine dresses, shopping articles for the house as if it was hers, used Remy´s private carriage for everything.

It was one thing to have a negro lover, people said, but to actually treat her as a lawful wife...was just scandalous…

Many a time Remy had surprised Ororo coming into the house in a hurry, apparently upset and irritated…He was almost sure it had to do with the rumors. For some odd reason vicious rumors have a way of troubling people innocent of any fault way more than they troubled those guilty of something. Ororo was a remarkably modest woman, to be the target of malicious gossip must have been mortifying for her. And still she kept on acting like nothing was wrong; if he asked what was wrong she would smile and change the subject…That was precisely what bothered him…He couldn't care less about what people said about him, but to speak of her as a common whore was too much…

Many of the women who spoke of her were notable for having looser moral than the wenches that sold their bodies for a dime, the men that smirked and made remarks about his "improprieties" never lifted a finger to conceal the fact that they had fathered many of the babies born out of the rape of their slaves, and not only that but even came as far as to sell their own flash and blood like cattle…How dare they speak of Ororo?

Ororo should be worshiped, like a living Virgin Mary. The young children of Mattie's neighborhood knew it; many were starting to read under her guidance. Etienne knew that, as she was the only one by his bedside when he caught a fever that kept him from work for three days. Mattie knew that, now that she didn't have to lift a finger to clean the house and always had company on Sundays. Remy, more than anyone else, knew it…

Those fools should be forced to kiss the ground she stepped in…

-Monsieur Lebeau?-The soft voice of the red haired hostess caught his attention. He smiled and nodded hopping she wasn't feeling too talkative.

-Can I count on your presence for New Year's ball?

—

-You're home early…I was just about to leave. Your new coat arrived, I left it in the office. Is there anything else I could help you with? - Ororo told him cheerfully while adjusting her dark pink gloves.

-Actually there is, ma chère…

-What would that be?

-I was invited for the New Year's ball…

Ororo smiled. The New Year's ball at the Dupont household was one of the most talked about events of the New Orleanian high society; all the important people of Louisiana attended. And Remy being the enemy of crowds that he was must have received the invitation as a punishment more than an honor…

-If you need help with your clothes I could pick something and…

-No…Nothing of that…

-Then?

-I suppose that, for such an event, I'll need company…