Chapter 3- Odd Things, and a Sidekick's Memories
The next morning, farmer Gilles Moreau came out to feed his sheep and after a moment of shock, he began cursing at the top of his lungs. How on earth could this possibly happen? Was he seeing things?
He jumped up and down in rage, throwing his brown tricorn hat on the ground and stomping on it.
"Mon Dieu, what happened to my sheep? And…my goats too? Who did this?"
His seven sheep were about four inches high, and his three goats were about the same. The tiny little creatures hopped about the yellow March grass, happily frolicking as if the world was new. Their 'baa' vocalizations were barely audible.
Gilles reached down and scooped up a miniature sheep, cupping her in his hands and petting her fluffy wool. He frowned. At this size, all the wool from the sheep combined would amount to barely half-a-sou. He was just getting caught up on his bills, too. Debts he'd incurred in past months had resulted in the embarrassing consequence of being locked in the stocks. Worse yet, his wife Mathilde would nag and scold about them not being able to afford six eggs for their five young children.
Gilles set down the sheep and ran as fast as he could to the butcher's shop, and burst in on his brother, who was violently plucking the feathers off a chicken.
"STANLEY!" he yelled. "Come and look at this!"
"What?"
"Just- get out to my field!" He led Stanley out to his farm, just a few minutes' walk away, and pointed. "See anything unusual?"
Stanley's mouth gaped. He gave his brother a quizzical look. "Um…Gilles, if I say anything do you promise not to report me to Monsieur D'Arque?"
"Not if you don't report me to him."
Stanley continued to stare, thinking. "Well, maybe you could sell them to the traveling carnival show." He burst into laughter at his own joke. "OW!" Stanley rubbed his backside. The painful burns had not quite healed yet. Somehow, just a few nights ago, he'd had a strange encounter with a candelabrum.
Gilles turned and headed back to his house, grumpily. He had to prevent his wife and children from going out to the field.
An old, ragged woman passed by the men quietly and stopped near the sheep pen. With a look of determined concentration, she pulled a wooden stick out of her shawl after Stanley had headed back to his butcher shop.
"Agrandir," she whispered.
The rest of the grieving village was slowly awakening and beginning to go about their normal business. In a small cottage at the end of the main street, old Henri-Claude Lefou was up early as usual, saying his morning prayers in an easy chair while clutching his rosary beads. His son was not up yet, which was unusual. The younger Lefou- Henri-Ignatius or simply Henri Junior- had finally come home the evening before and hadn't said a word. The more the heartbroken man slept, the better.
A knock came on the door.
"Come on in," said Henri-Claude.
It was the town clerk, Jacques LaBlanc. He came in with a sheaf of papers in his hand. "May I speak to your son, please?"
"I think he's still sleeping, but…I guess I could wake him. Is- is it important?" he asked meekly. Jacques had that 'official-business' look on his face.
"Yes, it is."
Henri-Claude knocked on his son's door. "The town clerk wants to speak with you!" he said reluctantly.
A hoarse and sleepy voice answered from the bedroom. "What?"
"I said, the town clerk, Monseiur LaBlanc wants to speak to you!"
Monsieur LaBlanc gestured to the papers in his hand. "Tell him it concerns Gaston de Soleil."
"It is something about Gaston!"
The door opened after a few seconds. Lefou's eyes were red and swollen. He had a bad headache and he looked bedraggled. "What… what about him?"
"It concerns his estate, Monsieur. You were named as the recipient of his property if he were to die without living relatives or heirs." The clerk handed him the papers.
"I- I can't really read most of this… huh? What?" The papers were covered with big words and sophisticated legalese.
"The de Soleil tavern belongs to you now. As well as the de Soleil family home, Gaston's horse, and all of his other possessions. Congratulations." Monsieur LaBlanc smiled.
A pained look came over Lefou's face. "He just died two days ago. I still can't just…"
"Maybe this is too soon. You should talk to my son later." the elder Monsieur Lefou suggested to the clerk. The man seemed a bit insensitive.
"Pardon me, I didn't mean to be rude. My condolences in the light of Monsieur de Soleil's untimely demise. And…" the clerk took a key chain from his pocket- "here are the keys to the house and the tavern. Again, they are yours."
Monsieur LaBlanc smiled what could be called a politician's smile. Lefou wasn't in the mood for it. Monsieur LaBlanc wore silk culottes and lacy cravats, and was one of the few men in town, besides Lefou's own devoutly religious, teetotaling father, who rarely set foot in Gaston's tavern.
LaBlanc continued, "It was a good thing the lawyer from Thionville pressed him to name at least someone. That stubborn young man was so certain he'd have a half-dozen sons, so it took some time to convince him about what would happen in case he didn't have sons! Truly a pity, we were all proud of that boy...irreplaceable, he was. Good day, monsieurs." The official handed the keys to Lefou and took his leave.
Lefou looked at the keys and the papers and shook his head incredulously. "Why me? Why would he..."
After a moment, he was able to understand a few of the words in the fancy-written will. "In the event that I become deceased with no heirs or blood relatives, I, Gaston de Soleil, bequeath all of my property to my personal friend and employee, Henri-Ignatius Lefou."
"Don't question it," replied his father. "The way I see it is- Gaston was admired, celebrated, a popular man. But he didn't have anyone else close to him. You were devoted. Loyal. I hoped he'd do something good for you-" at that, his son looked like he'd spoken a blasphemy- "I mean, that he would do something good for you again. Ever since you were boys..."
The older man shrugged, trying to choose his words carefully, as not to offend-"you have been nothing but loyal- too much so, to the point of being a bootlicker to him. I understand why you were, but... finally, now that he's gone... I'm sorry."
His son ducked into his bedroom quickly to be alone; he felt the waterworks coming to his eyes again. After all those years of sycophantic service, offering a listening ear as Gaston's right hand man, he'd finally been treated with respect by him- posthumously.
A little while later, Lefou trudged slowly and sadly along the street to the door of the tavern. He took the key and opened it, preparing himself for the wave of pain that would pierce him as soon as he walked into the place. He hadn't been there for quite a long time- weeks actually. The coldhearted (for him, literally cold) scheme known as the Maurice DeFleur affair had kept him from coming in and joining the usual merriment. He'd been doing as Gaston ordered him to, of course, but it had been grueling, and the more he thought about it, the more it had been eating at his conscience of late, especially now.
The animal heads on the wall were dappled in morning sun, and dust specks floated about the spacious bar room. It was as if the place also felt empty, and sensed its owner was gone forever.
The portrait was over the fireplace. He couldn't bear to look at it.
Lefou had one mission in mind on this miserable day, and it was to drink all the beer in the tap barrel until he went unconscious and could hopefully sleep the rest of his life away. If he was awake and sober any longer he'd just feel the Gaston-sized void more painfully. So grabbing a large tankard, he lumbered back to the rear room and opened the tap barrel, filling it with strong, concentrated beer. It hadn't gone bad, it had just aged and strengthened. Good. He sat at one of the tables in the bar room, alone, and guzzled one mug after another. Memory after memory flashed through his mind.
Thirteen years before, he was following Gaston in the snowy meadow as Gaston was heading out to the forest with his arrows and bow. They were both twelve years old. Gaston looked even older than that, as he had shot up in height over the last year and had developed the trappings of a soon to be man. Lefou, the smaller boy, did not seem to be about to grow much taller than four foot nine, and was frequently teased for it.
He wanted to come along hunting with the more popular boy so badly. Gaston was one of the only boys in town his exact age, and he didn't wish to spend the day with his terrorizing older sister. He ran eagerly toward Gaston as the latter begin to step out onto the frozen lake, crossing it to get to the part of the woods where the big buck deer were known to be.
"Hi Gaston!"
"What do you want?" Gaston was irritated.
"Can I come hunting with you?"
"No. Go home to your mother. What are you, five or six? You can't hunt!" He sneered and kept walking.
"I'm twelve just like you. You know that!" the smaller boy whined.
"Well, you look like you're six. Goodbye!"
Lefou stepped onto the ice and continued to trail him. "Aw, come on, please? Can't I come? I won't talk! Just like in lessons. Madame Rondeau says I'm the quietest and the most-"
"SHUT UP!" Gaston had left the edge of the frozen lake and continued to stomp through the deep snow for the woods.
"Please?" Lefou started to run faster. He was in the middle of the lake.
"Quit following me!" Gaston and his fine fox-fur cape, black breeches and boots disappeared in the pines.
The ice beneath Lefou's boots started to make a strange groaning and crackling sound. In an instant, the ice shattered beneath him and he found himself falling into deep, painfully frigid water. Blackness surrounded the terrified boy as he tried to open his mouth to scream, but ice-cold water went into his mouth. The water was deeper than he was tall. This was it. He was going to drown here...
A hand gripped his coat and he was being lifted and carried out of the icy lake, thrown over a fox-fur clad shoulder. This particular memory was fuzzy and surreal, but he still remembered it to this day. He was roughly thrown into the snow, and still shivering and blue with cold, he looked up into the tall, strong boy's face. Gaston's light-blue eyes were cold and he still wore a sneer.
"Gaston..." he choked, coughing and wheezing.
"You were almost dead. Now get lost and go home, stupid!"
A woman's voice called out, "Mon Dieu! There they are! What in the world-" Both of the boys' mothers had been looking for their sons, since neither had told them where they were going. The shorter, stouter woman of the two rushed around the side of the lake and knelt down to her son's side. She screamed in panic.
"What happened?" Madame Jeanne Lefou shrieked. She took off her shawl and covered her dazed and frozen son with it.
"I just pulled him out of the lake. He fell in! I'm glad I was here," said Gaston, matter-of-factly. A proud smile played upon his lips.
The other woman, a tall, very attractive lady in her thirties with dark hair and pale blue eyes, approached the group. Hearing her boy's admission, she gushed with pride. "Gaston- you are a hero! You saved little Henri-Ignatius' life!"
Sprawled in the snow, Lefou coughed and spat water- "Thank you Gaston..." he managed to say once he could breathe again.
His mother shushed him. "Shh. Just try to breathe, dear...How can we ever thank you, Gaston? Such a strong, fine heroic boy you are," Jeanne declared, her big brown eyes welling with tears. "Oh, Genevieve, your son deserves a medal! An honor! We must call a town meeting- he's proven himself a true man today!"
The cocky twelve year old puffed up his chest with pride. "Eh, I've been a true man for a long time, but now you grownups finally got it." He crossed his arms and smiled contentedly, the smile turning to a smirk.
After that day, the boy could do no wrong in the town's eyes. With his physical strength and hunting prowess, he was the star of the village before even reaching the age of manhood. His unchecked ego continued to inflate for years to come.
Meanwhile, the smaller boy he'd yanked out of the lake that day became his constant shadow and one-man cheering section ever afterward.
Lefou was on his fourth mug. He owed his life to Gaston. If it weren't for him, well, he'd be buried up in that churchyard right along with the graves of his mother Jeanne, and Jerome and Genevieve de Soleil, and now... Gaston...
Time for a refill. He stumbled back to the keg. He passed a curious looking animal mounted on the wall, and it made him remember a day last October...
They were doubled over in a fit of laughing outside the DeFleur cottage. An explosion had racked the crazy old loon's house, and the lovely-but-odd girl, Belle, had rushed off to tend to her father. Who knows what the lunatic was up to that day.
"She's going to be my wife tomorrow. No mistake about that." announced Gaston suddenly, after their laughing subsided.
"Huh- tomorrow? How can you marry her that soon? Don't you have to..."
"Court her?" Gaston laughed. "Forget the fancy stuff Lefou. I am going to surprise her. We are going to set up the wedding tomorrow morning. You are going to help me."
"But-"
"No 'buts.' Go find those men who play instruments to meet here in the morning. You will conduct the band, just like you do at every Christmas party. Tell them to play...wedding stuff. I'll arrange for the wedding to be set up right outside her door! She'll have no choice but to marry me."
"But don't you think she-"
"She will have the surprise of her life! She's going to marry ME! Won't that make her happy?" Gaston was pacing up and down the street like a peacock. He walked back up to Lefou, who was carrying a pile of animal hides in his arms. He grabbed them from him, and looked at them for a moment.
"The Beaudette girls will be a little..." Lefou started to say.
"I'll deal with the Beaudette sisters. There will be plenty of me left for them, if you know what I mean." He winked.
He knew perfectly well what Gaston meant. He did almost everything with his best friend- hunting, running the pub, playing cards- but there was one arena where he was left out in the cold, and that was the world of l'amour with women. He never saw the point of it; and it hurt his heart so to see Gaston cavorting with the triplets and other young ladies. And the reason why...the reason was one that made Lefou say ten prayers a night, clutching the rosary that had been his Maman's. They were shameful feelings, secret ones that young Henri-Ignatius hated about himself since he was thirteen. He glanced up at his best friend's blue eyes and swell cleft chin, and those feelings returned.
Gaston, meanwhile, was looking at the animal hides in contemplation, his brow furrowed as if he were... thinking.
Oh, no, this wasn't good.
"Lefou! You know we had a bad day hunting. I always do better than this! Look at this- a runty little deer, a raccoon, Stanley hates raccoons, there's no meat! And a little badger, Stanley will laugh at this! And that goose. Pathetic day today." He shook his head. He could sense that his reputation was on the line.
"I have to do something tonight- I have to announce my engagement to Belle, and the men need to see a good kill for the day... so here!" He threw the pile of animal hides on top of his short companion with a force that sent him falling backwards and flat on his back on the ground, the raccoon tail landing on his face.
"Sew all these together. Make a new animal out of it. I have to show off my kill."
"What kind of animal am I supposed to make..." His voice was muffled by raccoon tail fur.
"A rare one, Lefou. And you have until seven o' clock tonight. Get it done!" Gaston commanded.
Lefou picked himself off the ground and ran with newfound excitement back to his own house, pile of furs in hand. He rushed in, past his father who was sitting in his usual chair by the fire, gazing up at the painting of his late wife Jeanne sadly, in typical fashion.
"Pop, d'ya have any sewing thread?"
"Look in Iolanthe's old room. She had some in a drawer." A curious look crossed his father's face. "When did you learn to sew?"
That evening, at seven, Gaston was seated in his big, furry, horned throne of a chair, by the pub's fireplace surrounded by Gilles and Stanley Moreau, one-toothed Tomas "Tom" Dumarre, burly Richard-Louis "Dick" Revelle, baker Andre Desjardins, the youngish, heavyset Jacques Jauquet and Jacques' girlfriend, the red-haired, part-time barmaid Colette Champlain, and the swooning triplets Mimi, Gigi and Fifi Beaudette.
"I have an announcement to make, ladies and gentlemen. I am getting married...tomorrow!"
Gigi gasped, and Fifi and Mimi wrung their hands with nervousness. Please don't let it be that Belle, please don't let it be that Belle...
"So who's the lucky pick, Gaston?" asked Tom.
"Belle DeFleur, of course!"
Gigi gasped again and squealed, incredulously, "Why her?" and she, followed by her two distraught sisters, ran out the door in a fit of despair.
As they were rushing out, Lefou came in, carrying... something. "I...uh, take it you made the happy announcement," he said, sheepishly. "Um... sorry I'm late."
"Oh, and this, gentlemen- was what I bagged in the forest today! Lefou! Tell everyone what I shot. It was a challenge, but I always get what I'm after." Gaston grinned, leaning back in his furry chair, his muscular arms behind his head.
"W-well, it's.. it's the rarest animal in the forest!" the nervous lackey stammered, holding the heavy conglomerate of carcasses in his arms. He'd sewed the immature buck deer, the raccoon and the badger all together so it made a unique animal with the cranium, antlers and back of a deer, the sharp teeth, claws and feet of a badger, and the rear end and bushy tail of a raccoon.
"And what did I decide to call it?" asked Gaston. "Remember? I found it, I took it, so I got to give the thing a name."
"It's- uh...," the little man racked his brain trying to think of a name for the creature, this bunch of furs all glomped together and sewed into a...
"It's a bunchaglomp!" Lefou exclaimed. "And it's really rare. Well... there was only one of them in this whole region and now, there won't be anymore because... this was the last one. Right, Gaston?"
Gaston had given him a very brief annoyed look that seemed to say, "What kind of a stupid name is that?" but quickly accepted his answer and nodded proudly. "That's right! And the Bunchaglomp is now an extinct animal, because yours truly has finally slaughtered the very last one in all of France. Have a beer on me, folks."
The men all clapped Gaston on the back and congratulated him while they drank. Gaston reveled in the admiration, and he even took a moment to slap Lefou, somewhat roughly, on the back and say, "Good one, Lefou. I think we have a fine plan set up for my wedding tomorrow."
Lefou couldn't have been happier, basking in the brilliant sun of his great friend's glory that night...
After five or possibly six mugfuls of strong beer, Lefou fell asleep on the bear rug on the floor near the fireplace.
