Masson was not happy. Each day Christine and Anci spread a quilt on the floor, put Fahim and Miri-ange down, and encouraged Masson to join in. At first, he participated half-heartedly, but as time went by he displayed less patience with the ritual. It would have been difficult anyway; clever child that he was, the babies were boring, even if he wasn't consumed with jealousy.
I tried to bring up jealous and sad feelings in conversation with him. I thought it might help him to know that I understood, but he made it clear that he did not wish to discuss it with me. He turned sullen whenever I mentioned it, responding only with grunts and shrugs. One moment he seemed to be nursing his resentment, polishing and smoothing it as one tumbles a stone; the next he seemed only to want to ignore it, to put his disappointment behind him and go on about the business of being a little boy. I reassured him of our love constantly and neglected the theatre to stay with him. I confess I did not know how to help him.
I wanted to talk to Reza about it, but I felt that Christine and I should arrive at some understanding first. She still refused to hear my concerns. I understood perfectly; she did not want to hear any more about how very much like me Masson was. She was afraid, but the boy was bigger, stronger, and angrier every day. We had whispered arguments late into the night.
"Christine, we must put our heads together, we must do something," I insisted.
"What! What must we do? Lock him away? Lock her away to keep her safe? No. No, he'll outgrow this, Erik. Everyone does."
"If it was me, two years old, would you still say that?"
"Stop it! Stop! He's not you, he's nothing like you! He has a family that loves him; he's not being abused and neglected!"
It always ended the same way. Christine wept and censured me for failing to consider her delicate feelings. I shut my mouth, feeling thwarted and apprehensive.
Raoul and Manon had their child, also a girl, ten days after Miri-ange was born. She was a darling enough little thing, adorable in a common baby way; not an exceptional beauty like my princess. They named her Charlotte, and in due time Manon and Charlotte were joining Christine, Miri-ange, Anci and Fahim for outings and playtime. Those days when Raoul didn't have some Comte-ish business to be about, he spent time with Masson and me. It was a good thing for us to have each other to talk to about the fatherhood business. I had missed his company.
He was horrified when he learned that I'd actually been in the room when Miri-ange popped out. He scrunched up his face in the worst grimace he could manage. He was still fatally cute, the little fop.
"Oh, god, Erik. Didn't you spew?"
"NO, and you wouldn't have done, either. There was no time for spewing. I wish I'd had time for a good spew," I grumbled.
"God. I was downstairs drinking. I mean, I heard footfalls, and Manon hollering once or twice, but I never went up there." His dreamy eyes were huge as saucers.
"There's nothing for it, Raoul. You're just a lucky git. If you fell into a pit, you'd land on a pillow-soft mattress filled with gold, and a bevy of wanton lovelies would soothe your bruised behind. I'd land in glass shards, rusty razors, and bat guano and break every bone in my body twice. Still," I continued, "I must admit that I wouldn't trade it for anything. You really should screw up your courage and try to be there next time—I mean, just to spectate—don't forgo the assistance. You'll never experience anything like it. Women are magical creatures, Raoul."
"I don't know. Even now I feel queasy thinking about it. It seems it would take all the…romance out of life," my sensitive young friend worried. "How do you…I mean…look at her the same, after…"
"Christ, is that all you think about?"
"No," he whined.
"I'm sorry to hear that," I laughed.
"I never know when you're joking with that ugly mug."
"Don't blame my face. You never know when I'm joking because you're a dim-wit."
Hair mussed, eyebrow dimpled, lips pursed, and arms crossed tightly across her chest. Christine's appearance in the kitchen at one a.m. would have been sufficient evidence that I was for it, even without the body cues. I dropped my pencil and tried to smile at the unexpected pleasure.
"You don't want me anymore," she blurted. So much for a preamble. I was on my feet instantly.
"Darling, must we discuss this in the kitchen? Please," I guided her toward the parlor.
She snatched her elbow away.
"Don't! You don't want to touch me."
"Oh, Christine," I sighed. My chest was beginning to ache. She spun away from me as soon as I shut the parlor door.
"Why didn't you wake me? You promised!"
"Angel, if you could've seen how peacefully you were sleeping. Sleep is so precious these days. How can I bring myself to be so selfish?" I thought that sounded good.
"And you don't think you're being selfish now?" she demanded. "Why do you people think you're the only ones who ever get an itch? And the little woman is just supposed to await your pleasure—pigs, all of you!"
Egad; I was dragging down the entire brotherhood with me. I struggled for a response to Christine's venom. She rushed toward me; I cringed, sure I was in for a swat. No; she embraced me.
"Erik," she purred. "I feel so close to you since the baby is born; I want to be your wife."
"Darling, you are my wife."
"You know what I mean; come upstairs. I want to be your little girl." She tugged me toward the door. I waffled. She dropped my hand, disgusted.
"You don't want me!"
"Christine, please, you know that's not so," I groaned.
"What is it then?" Blessedly, she did not wait for an answer. "Erik, I feel fine. You won't hurt me, honestly."
"I don't know," I shrugged. It was a good excuse; I was hopeful she'd let me be. She slipped her arms around me again.
"Oh, Darling, it's alright. Ask Darius; ask Raoul," she encouraged.
"I know this will surprise you, Angel, but men don't discuss personal life matters with their friends as women do. I have absolutely no intention of asking Darius or Raoul anything." Perhaps she wouldn't let me alone after all; I was suffocating.
"Then come upstairs, and let me prove it to you." Christine pulled; I pulled back.
"You know, I'm not a carnival monkey," I snapped. "I don't perform on command!"
Christine stared at me openmouthed. "What's wrong with you?" she whispered, bewildered.
"I don't want to argue, Christine, but you need to give me some room!"
"You've had room for months," she whimpered. She ran upstairs, leaving me feeling like the most insensitive…pig. But what could I do? Truth telling has its limits.
I dragged myself upstairs. I put six drops of Reza's poison into my wine, tossed it back and hoped I hadn't overdrawn my miracle account.
"Go away!" the bump in the bed hissed.
I drew a deep breath and slipped in alongside Christine. I reached out to her.
"Darling…"
She snatched her shoulder out of my grasp. "No!"
"For pity's sake, Christine, make up your mind. I'm here now!"
"No! I don't want to—I won't have you feeling obliged to me, Erik!
"I don't feel obliged to you." Yes, I did. "I feel badly for having hurt your feelings. Christine…"
I hoped she stayed angry, actually. I was not feeling anything like desire from the stinking potion. I felt a host of unpleasant things like tingling, burning, and the need for a mad piss, but nothing that Christine would appreciate. I made a mental note to beat Reza to a bloody stump first thing in the morning.
Christine sat up abruptly and removed her gown; it appeared I was forgiven.
"Touch me," she purred.
Eeeeessshh. My mind was fish in a shallow stream, darting from rock, to branch, to water grass. Anywhere to hide? Anywhere to escape? I started to pray again—no, Erik! You don't pray for help with nasty stuff! Then I remembered I was married; it was completely legal. Somewhere I was certain I'd heard about 'Be fruitful and multiply', so I went with the rub-a-dub prayer again. It worked famously with the baby's birth, perhaps it worked on all baby-related endeavors.
"Erik," she whined.
All of a sudden the lust potion kicked in. It was horrible; it would have been the worst experience of my life, except it saved me the worst humiliation of my life. Christine reached for me and was duly pleased and impressed.
"Oooh, Erik!"
It may have been lovely, but it hurt like the devil. It was this huge, painfully throbbing beast. Still, I wasn't about to let it go to waste. Christine took my moans and grimaces as evidence of my ardor, which was fine. I have no idea how long we were at it. I couldn't finish. Ultimately we had to quit when Miri-ange woke up for a snack, God bless her. Christine seemed to have a wonderful time, but it was clear to me that she felt we had something to prove with this act. I was distressed that we each had something haunting us that we felt unable to tell the other about. Now she felt beautiful and secure in my love again, I hope she'd be able to tell me what it was she feared.
So Reza's potion worked splendidly, in a wholly disagreeable way. I was able to provide my angel with tangible evidence of her undimmed charms and my continued devotion. I had some difficulty getting the tangible evidence to go away when I was done with it. Christine nursed Miri-ange and they both dropped off to sleep, and I was still sitting there with the thing. Finally, I told it I was going to sleep, too, and it had better be gone next time the baby awakened me. Damned Reza was still going to get an earful, but at least Christine was happy. If ever I was conflicted about my mission in life, such was no longer the case. As long as Christine was happy, life was good.