Visits
The days slip away, blending into each other with their bland and uneventful hours. Sometimes, I sit and stare out of the window in my room. If I look closely, I can see the outlines of the laborers' houses. Sometimes, I find myself imagining what it would be like to live among them. I can imagine young children running free. Although laborers have never been given the freedoms that we have, they have never been greatly oppressed. They are mostly let alone if they do what is required of them.
Not unlike you, whispers a voice in my head.
But I have not been let alone.
Someone finds me as I sit and play the piano. The golden sunshine has been covered with dark clouds, and I have lit candles to see the music in front of me. It is a corpulent man in black, and he looks nervous. I take my hands off the keys and wait while he fidgets momentarily.
"Your husband would like to see you," he says, his words rushed. "In his study."
Resisting the urge to sigh, I rise and make my way through the numerous halls. However, I cannot help but feel slightly curious. Raoul has never before called me to his study. I cannot think what it would be....Unless....
I flush at the thought and unconsciously bring my hand to rest on my flat, empty stomach. It has been months. I know they are impatient. Now anxious, I knock reluctantly on his door, and he opens it with a hurried, "Come in, come in."
He does not speak for a while. I stand in the middle while he rushes about me, transferring paperwork this way and that and snuffing a few candles. At long last, he turns to look at me, and his face is most peculiar. He looks very serious, but there is something that he cannot hide: embarrassment? Or fear?
"Christine," he finally says, "do you know how you know you are expecting?"
Heat rushes to my face; it is about what I suspected. "Yes," I say defiantly. He gestures for me to elaborate. "I...I will become ill...in the mornings," I say, but it does not sound as if I know anything at all. Raoul looks at me for another minute before turning around and saying,
"I have arranged a visit. An inspection, if you will, with a doctor who will be able to help you. He should be here now, actually. Someone will assist you in preparation and lead you to the right room."
He leaves quickly, and a tall woman with gray hair enters, carrying a bundle of clothing. The "preparation" is nothing more than a change of clothing, and I struggle into it. It is more or less a nightgown, but (I blush fiercely) there is hardly anything underneath. I look at the woman.
"Is this everything?" I ask. She nods. "Are you sure? Isn't there something missing?" She shakes her and looks at me with pointed anger before turning and leading me down the hall. I wrap my arms around myself protectively, high embarrassed and wishing to disappear into one of the many rooms. The room of which Raoul spoke is a small one, hidden away in an obscure hallway. It has a small, narrow bed and a chair. Raoul is already there, speaking with a man who I can only assume is the doctor. He smiles, but it is not friendly, and asks me to lie down. I hesitate for a moment but obey, climbing awkwardly onto the bed.
It is the most humiliating thing I have done thus far. I try not to listen as Raoul and the doctor speak openly, and I feel as if my neck is on fire and. After a minute, I feel chilly, bony hands wrap around my ankles. I close my eyes. The tears come and drip silently down into my ears. After a few minutes, though it seems much longer, the two men retreat to a corner of the room and mutter together while I try to grab some strands of dignity and privacy. The two come back and stand over me. I know the tears are still fresh on my face, but I am not ashamed of them.
"There is nothing wrong with you," says the doctor. "You are simply not trying. I've told your husband what to do."
The doctor begins to gather his things, and Raoul looks at me. "You may go," he says, and I scramble off the table, hurrying to my bedroom where I slam the door shut and dissolve into tears.
That afternoon, Clara and I walk through the gardens. She looks perfect, as always, but I have a distinct dirty, frazzled feeling. When we are alone, she looks at me.
"What is wrong?"
For a moment, I hesitate. "Nothing."
She stops short, turning to look at me. "Do not lie," she says, her voice angry. "I cannot stand lies! They're all around me."
It does not take long for me to sob to her; everything that has happened this morning I tell her, every thought, every feeling, and I sink onto the grass, burying my face in my hands. I am something disgusting, contaminated, something that should not be looked upon. Clara sits beside me and is silent, allowing me to cry.
"You have been here three months?" she finally says. I look up at her and nod, brushing away the tears. Clara bites her lip and looks at the ground. "I am not going to lie to you, Christine." Her voice wavers slightly. "That worries me. You know the whole purpose of your being here, do you not?"
I nod hastily, and she says, "Those who cannot...fulfill their purpose do not last long." She is quiet for a moment, and then says lowly, "I suppose you...are trying, aren't you?"
Outraged, I give a shriek-like laugh and glare at her. "Are there any other ways to lie down on a bed of which I'm not aware?"
She smiles abashedly, and, for one glorious moment, we both laugh.
----
My failures have been pushed aside momentarily. There are other things on their minds. Clara tells me all one night after a dinner. A member of the Oligarchy has been killed in response to treason.
"This happens all the time," she says quickly, seeing my horrified expression. "Why, just a month before you came, someone new was put in. But it has never taken them long to induct someone. I do not know why. We do not have to worry about our husbands." Her smile is grim. "Theirs is the real power. The Oligarchy is merely a sham to cover their control. Well, perhaps not Raoul so much," she adds after a moment of silence. "But he is easily impressionable. Philippe will make sure that he knows his place."
Two days later, our unasked question is answered. At dinner, Philippe addresses us during the meal for the first time.
"The Oligarchy has decided that it will now reduce its members to five. Six is simply too many; the Oligarchy cannot risk any more disloyalty from its own members."
"Their circle is growing tighter," says Clara later, looking very worried. "It is only a matter of time before Philippe and his supporters are in complete power. They are picking off one by one those who oppose complete power by one man. It will soon be a monarchy – a dictatorship. This is what the Oligarchy has opposed from the beginning. Its very foundation of belief was based on the fact that one single man cannot rule a million people." She gives one of her grim smiles. "This government has gone astray. It is turning against its own dogma – ruling the people with the people, the equality of rights, the building of a better society. It has been decaying for years, and now its true colors are showing."
I twirl a leaf between my fingers before saying, "Now, how do you think your husband would act if he heard you saying such dreadful nonsense?"
"Take her head off!" Clara shrieks, and we laugh, though I am not entirely sure that it was the right thing to do. Then again, I am not sure that anything we are doing is the right thing.