The next day, I wanted to stay home and worry over Christine, but she wouldn't hear of it. She promised to have a doctor in to look her over, and to send for me if she was anything more than bruised.
"Erik, remember your promise," she yawned.
"I do, my treasure."
I do indeed. I promised not to go after the demonic Creole. But she'll come to me, sooner or later, and I shall kill her. I secreted a trusty little Persian knife on my hip; there was plenty of rope at the worksite that I could fiddle into a lasso in my spare moments.
I wanted to spend time planning; there were so many nuances to review. Would I do her there, or would I persuade her to meet me elsewhere for a proper tryst? Beat her or not? I would not use the knife unless she was in danger of escaping. I prefer the knife to the gun because of proximity to the intended, but I am not a stabber by inclination. I yearned for the delicate pleasure of the rope, particularly with that mad bitch in my hands. When I thought of it, I felt—well. Never mind; likely you wouldn't understand, but…I was looking forward to it. First time I'd ever done a woman, and what a woman to do! I've been a good boy for much too long.
Just after lunch I felt the tremor we all dread in underground work. Before I ever heard the rumble, I shot toward it instinctively. Jules and his assistants were busily herding people in the other direction. He caught me scrambling past him and we did an interesting battle dance. I insisted I had to get to whoever was trapped; he insisted I could do nothing for them anyway. Ultimately he carted me out and dumped me unceremoniously before falling beside me. When we'd finished coughing our lungs out, I got to my feet and began dusting myself off. Ridiculous; I was going right back in, but dusty clothing is hard on a nitpicker such as myself.
Jules snatched a handful of my cravat and swore I'd wish I'd perished in the cave-in if I ever again attempted anything so foolhardy. I knew he was right, but I've always tried to help in a cave-in; I've never been afraid for my life. All those men have wives and children. Until Christine came along, there was nothing for me to live for; old habits die hard. Jules lurched off angrily to determine who was missing; I wandered back underground to see what I could of the collapsed shaft.
Thankfully, it was not the main corridor, but a relatively new side shaft that had given way. Jules and I would make a full inspection tomorrow to ensure that the rest of the site remained safe. Today, we had other chores. Jules' paw clapped me on the shoulder and spun me around.
"Will you wait for me? Damn fool!" he thundered.
"Who is missing?" I didn't want to know.
"Thierry. Big Jean and little Jean." I darted for the ruined cavern and began tearing at the rubble wildly.
"I have to tell a woman she lost her husband and her son today? NO!" I screamed. I darted for the ruined cavern and began tearing at the rubble wildly."Jean? JEAN! THIERRY!"
Once again Jules dragged me away.
"Let me go, man! I hear something!" I struggled against him vainly.
"You don't hear anything, Boss. Let my moles come in." Moles are the men with uncanny ability to dismantle the puzzle of a cave-in without causing more chaos. Also, they would recover the bodies if they could.
We dismissed everyone who was not working on the cave-in, telling them to return in three days, by which time we should have everything shored up and know how to proceed. Go home, enjoy your families.
Next, we located the dead men's addresses and began our rounds. I thought of offering to see to it alone, but Jules would have taken umbrage at the suggestion. These were his men, after all; I was just the gentleman in charge.
Thierry's wife was a gaunt, tired-looking woman with at least five dirty, screeching children. She appeared to have been expecting us for years. She nodded once at Jules and shut the door in our faces without a word.
Big Jean's wife invited us in. Her home was clean and simply furnished. I was glad to see she was religious; it seems to help people at such times. She offered us tea, which we declined.
"So there's been an accident; that is why you're here?"
"Yes, Madame," I replied.
After a moment, I realized she would not ask.
"I regret to say that your husband…and your son—"
"Oh no. Not little Jean, not without seeing his child born!" Jules caught the widow and guided her into a chair. I offered her my handkerchief, so as not to feel utterly useless.
She continued. "I'll just be a moment. I must accompany you to Annie; poor Annie. I've had a good life, but…now I've buried all my children." She talked about anything; it helped her. She expected the knock on the door about Big Jean, always, she said. Her eldest, a girl, had died in childbirth; her other two children died young of fevers. So little Jean was it; expecting his first child in a matter of weeks.
"Well, come along. I'm sure you gentlemen wonder why I can't tell Annie myself—but I can't!" she sighed, matter-of-factly, as if there was something trivial and silly about her grief, like not being able to remember an address. "Come, she's just down the street."
I wanted to drown myself in the Seine rather than face this girl. Jules seemed to sense this and put a steadying—perhaps restraining—hand on my shoulder.
Annie was an improbably delicate blonde; a doll. She looked so young that it seemed little Jean should have been imprisoned for having got her how she so obviously was. She looked about to burst. Her eyes were open and trusting, if a little disturbed by me. Smiling, she invited us in, but before I could begin to speak, Annie read something in her mother-in-law's eyes. She yelped and waddled from the room as quickly as she could; admittedly not very quickly.
"I wish I had another handkerchief," I mumbled impotently.
Jules tugged me toward the door. "Are you safe to get home?" The way he put it to me was more a threat than a question.
I nodded.
"I'll see you tomorrow," he growled. "Oh, and don't be so morbid when you get home. Have some wine and make love to your Comtesse."
Christine was up and about, a bit slow-moving and achy, but alright. I got hot every time I saw her beautiful face marred with bruises and abrasions. Combined with the day I'd had, I was feeling monstrous.
"Hello, love," she sang. After the kiss, she searched my dead face with a frown.
"We had a cave-in today. I had to tell three women their men were not coming home." I closed my eyes and rested my forehead on hers. She was warm and alive in my hands. I hadn't realized it so plainly until then that I really did have something to live for now. Something to live for…the realization didn't feel as I'd always imagined it would. It didn't feel soaring and joyful. It didn't feel as if I was completely human at last. It frightened me, and I didn't understand why. The confusion made me irritable. I wished I was in my cave. Christine began to loosen my cravat and I shrugged her away. "I'm going to bed."
She caught my hand. "Shall I bring you some tea?"
"No, thank you."
"Food?"
"No."
"A brandy?"
"Will you stop nagging me? If want something I'll ask for it!"
She dropped my hand, stunned by my ferocity. Instantly I wished I was dead.
"I'm sorry," I sighed, rubbing my eyes. "I need to be alone." As I headed for the stairs, Christine called to me once again.
"Erik?"
"WHAT!"
"I suppose it wouldn't help to talk?"
"No, it wouldn't help to talk."
I stripped to shirt and trousers, slid into my coffin, and shut the lid all but a crack.