For all of those who reviewed, put the story in their alarm list and waited for the next chapters: thank you for your patience and a deep apology for the delay. But it was all for a good cause: I started in a new job. So with college, work, and re-adapting my life to do both I had to neglect my fics for a while...But, hopefully, updates will be more frequent from now on...
OBs: This chapter will have two parts. The next should be done by next week.
À une Madone (1)
Ex-voto dans le goût espagnol
Je veux bâtir pour toi, Madone, ma maîtresse,
Un autel
souterrain au fond de ma détresse,
Et creuser dans le coin le
plus noir de mon coeur,
Loin du désir mondain et du regard
moqueur,
Une niche, d'azur et d'or tout émaillée,
Où tu te
dresseras, Statue émerveillée.
Avec mes Vers polis, treillis
d'un pur métal
Savamment constellé de rimes de cristal
Je
ferai pour ta tête une énorme Couronne;
Et dans ma Jalousie, ô
mortelle Madone
Je saurai te tailler un Manteau, de façon
Barbare,
roide et lourd, et doublé de soupçon,
Qui, comme une guérite,
enfermera tes charmes,
Non de Perles brodé, mais de toutes mes
Larmes!
Ta Robe, ce sera mon Désir, frémissant,
Onduleux, mon
Désir qui monte et qui descend,
Aux pointes se balance, aux
vallons se repose,
Et revêt d'un baiser tout ton corps blanc et
rose.
Je te ferai de mon Respect de beaux Souliers
De satin,
par tes pieds divins humiliés,
Qui, les emprisonnant dans une
molle étreinte
Comme un moule fidèle en garderont l'empreinte.
À une Madone(1)
Ex-voto in Spanish fashion
I'll build for thee, Madonna, mistress mine,
deep in my crypt of
woe a secret shrine;
— carve in the blackest corner of my
heart,
from worldly lust and mocking eyes apart,
a niche, with
gold and blue enamel blent,
to hold thy statue filled with
wonderment.
my polished verse, of virgin metal hard
with
crystal rhymes artistically starred,
shall raise for thee a
towering diadem;
and from my jealousy I'll cut and hem
a
mangle, mortal Lady mine, designed
as 'twere a sentry-box, stiff,
heavy, lined
with barbs of keen suspicion and with
fears,
embroidered, not with pearls, but all my tears!
to make
thy robe I'll give thee my desire
that rises, falls and quivers
like a fire,
clings to each summit, rests in each abyss,
and
clothes thy rosy body with a kiss.
of my respect I'll make thee
buskins fine
of satin, humbled by thy feet divine,
to prison
them in soft embraces warm
and like a faithful mould to preserve
their form.
Chapter XIII
(Part I)
As the carriage got closer to the Dupont house, the persisting sense of unreality of the whole situation grew more and more unbearable. Ororo felt completely detached from what happened around her, the sounds of the carriage and the horses´ hoofs on the stone pavement mingled with the dulcet sounds of the music coming from inside the mansion creating what sounded to her ears as one loud cacophony; the shaking of the carriage made her feel like fainting, her nerves were such a wreck she could´t bring herself to utter a word. Like a soulless doll, she just sat there, perfectly still and pristine in her white gown and sparkling jewels, quiet and upright like a mannequin...but what she wouldn't give to open the carriage door and run back home...
Remy had been just as quiet, for the whole time he peeked through the dark curtains that covered the carriage windows, watching the movement. At times he would look back at her silently and a small smile would form on his lips. He was as cool and composed as ever. This was an everyday occurrence for him...a ball, rich people, luxury, mean comments and the unforgiving eyes of the "high society". He knew all of that, he knew how to deal with it...and more than anything, he knew how to overpower it. That was probably why all of them loved him...all of those men and women admired him and wanted him in their midst with the same intensity they hated him. He was what all of them wanted to be but would never be: a man that could not only play by the severe rules of the elite, but who was powerful, intelligent and cold enough to rise above them whenever he pleased. Remy knew that world inside out with all its dirty little secrets. A man like Remy could just point at anybody in any salon and decide their fate...make them or break them.
Probably that was the reason none of these people would ever forgive his supposed liaison with Ororo. The prince of New Orleans, a man loved and feared, admired and envied, desired and hated stepping down to the point of turning his affections to a freed slave. Many didn´t truly believe it. Nobody could phantom such aberration, such degradation. Others relished in the sordidness of it: finding a moral weakness on such an unblemished figure was a personal delight for many. But nobody would ever forgive it.
And today, Remy, with a smile in face, would give them something to talk about.
The carriage stopped, and through the windows Ororo could see the lights of the mansion outside shining brightly as the music got louder and the sounds of voices and laughter reached her ears.
--
-Shall we?- He asked, almost anxious. It had been years since the last time he had felt anything even remotely resembling anxiety.
Ororo inhaled deeply:
-It´s still time to call this off...-She offered shakily.
-I don´t want to...do you?
-I don´t think you would like to know the answer...
-Why all this fear?
-Do you have to ask, Remy?
He chuckled softly and raised a hand, touching her cheek ever so lightly with the back of his fingers. She turned away, half embarrassed by the intimacy of his actions, half bothered by the fact that he was obviously patronizing her.
-Ororo...Look at me.
Reluctantly, she did.
-Listen to me...You know who those people are? And I´m not asking for names or titles. What am asking is you know who they are? I´ll tell who they are. They are people who never earned or deserved a penny from their fortunes, people who never even bothered to get any education beyond what was strictly necessary to show off in this sorry provincial place...All they worry about is the next ball, the next extramarital affair, the next dress or house to be bought... That house my dear is filled with lifeless carcasses...
-And these are the people you want to impress?
-I don´t want to impress them...It´s much too easy, not mention too boring, to impress them...What I want is to show them that no matter how much they have, how much they think they know, how much they think they can, how much power they believe to hold... There´s nothing they can do to hurt you...Simply because you´re better than any of them...the dirt on your shoes is better than all of them combined. You understand me?-Gently he cupped her chin- Now, we´ll walk into that ball and have fun...Think of it as going to the circus...It´s all it is anyway...
--
As the heavy oak doors opened to let them in, Ororo heard someone, a valet probably, announcing "Monsieur Lebeau" and "Mademoiselle Duplessis". Ororo knew she had been christened with her father´s last name, but to hear it aloud and in such formal circumstances made it sound too strange. They stepped in, side by side, his hand firmly holding hers. As much as this made her feel secure, she still didn´t dare to face all the disapproving eyes she knew were staring at them. Then she heard Remy whisper softly:
-Chin up, petite...
The air around them could be cut with a knife...in fact it was so heavy and dense the knife would have to be really sharp. The music in the background did little to disguise the enormous silence that fell on the ballroom. Above the disturbing quietness one single thought rose like a scream above their heads: "scandal".
Lebeau had done it. The ultimate offense. He did it without flinching, without worrying, with a grin in his lips, like it was nothing. He had slapped the entire elite of New Orleans on the face, with the same naturalness he would drink a cup of coffee. And not minding their presence, he walked into that room, his Negro mistress in arm, and laughed at their face.
Ororo let out a small sigh of relief when a dark haired man walked towards them with a smile, and shook Remy´s hand. It was Henry McCoy.
-Well, Remy Lebeau...always daring...-He smiled, his tone more sweet than ironic.
-I dare say your more daring than me...you do realize being the first one to talk to us is social suicide, don´t you?
-As if a have a social life to account for...won´t you introduce me?
-Oh, sure, I´m sorry...This is Mademoiselle Ororo Duplessis, Ororo, this is Henry McCoy...
-I heard a lot about you, Monsieur McCoy...You are a botanist, right?
-Yes, unfortunately for my social standing...-He chuckled.
-Regardless of your social standing, I envy you...I wished I had studied botany...never had the opportunity, though...
-If my good ol´friend Remy doesn´t mind, I could give you some lessons, if you desire so...
Remy just threw his hands up in mock desperation:
-Well go ahead...for the looks of it, I might just go home now and leave her with you, mon ami...
Ororo laughed soflty, feeling relaxed for the first time in taht night.
--
Things were going downhill quickly...They had talked to Henry for half hour and nobody else approached. They were being continualy stared at, scrutinized, silently scolded. The crude remarks could be heard from everywhere in the room; most didn´t even bother to keep their voices down. Remy seemed unaffected by all of it. Ororo just wanted to go back home.
-I need some air...-She whispered.
-Remy, you allow me to scort Mademoiselle Duplessis to the balcony?- It was Henry´s concerned answer. If Remy knew the ever kind McCoy, he was probably going to try and calm her down. He smiled to himself, it was exactly what Ororo needed: somebody other than him to tell her everything would be alright.
-Sure...just don´t take to long, or I could get jealous...
Just as Ororo left on McCoy´s arm, he saw Mademoiselle Dupont approach, a grin in her lips. She had been infatuated with him for a long time, and never made any effort to conceal it. Remy found it particularly vulgar, not to mention quite annoying. Since he couldn´t very well flee, Remy just stood naturaly as she walked towards him. With a vivious grin she commented:
-Quite thoughtful of you...but we already have all the domestic help we need, mon chèr...
-I´m aware of that, my dear Anna...But your parties always need help as far as grace and beauty go...Thoughtful as I am, I figured I should do something...-He gave her his usual grin as he left her mortified where she stood.
--
As she reached the balcony, Ororo drew in a deep breath, the cool night air soothing her soul a bit.
-Feeling better?- Henry asked.
-A little, thank you.
-You´re welcome, dear...
-I really mean, thank you, monsieur McCoy...You have been very kind...
-Just Henry, please...And what´s this nonsense about me being kind?-He smiled - I was merely polite, Mademoiselle...If others are unfamiliar with this kind of common decency, you shouldn´t really be bothered...
-You know this whole situation goes beyond "common decency" or manners...You are being very kind to me, not just polite...
-Well, I wouldn´t do any differently with somebody my friend Remy cares so much about...
-I beg your pardon?
-I hope I´m not too forward, Mademoiselle, but Remy truly cares a lot about you, dare I say... I think he...quite fancies you...
-You think wrong, Henry...
-Really? Well, I´ve known him for...what?...fifteen years, maybe...and never; I say never, I heard him act so fondly towards any woman...Also he never allowed any lady to walk into a ballroom on his arm like he did today...I might be wrong, but my dear ol´ friend seems quite...enamored, so to speak.
Ororo was speechless, dazed. Just as she finally recovered and opened her mouth to answer, Remy´s rich baritone filled the air around them:
-Mind if I interrupt?
-Not at all...if you excuse me- Henry answered softly, leaving them. As soon as the botanist was gone, Remy turned to Ororo, a wide, almost boyish smile in his lips:
-Shall we dance?
(Chapter XIII will continue on the next update...)
Errata: this chapter´s translation is a work of Lewis Piaget Shanks