Christine stirred as the bouquet's perfume reached her nose. She stretched, smiling. Her loving gaze still made me weak-kneed. It should be like this for all my children, Lord, I prayed. Please see them safe and healthy; but most of all let them be loved as I am.
"What is this? How lovely! Erik, the lilacs and muguet make the most intoxicating fragrance." She offered a kiss.
"Mm." I reflected that there's no fragrance like Christine's for making one giddy, but I kept it to myself. She scooted upright and over, making room for me. I settled the breakfast tray on her lap and stretched out by her feet.
"This is a delightful surprise, Erik; thank you," she beamed, slathering obscene amounts of butter onto her croissant. "You're—what's wrong?" she frowned.
"Nothing," I swore, admittedly a little teary-eyed. "It's just that twenty two years ago today, you brought me breakfast in bed and told me life is good."
"Oh, Erik!" Setting the tray aside, she crawled into my embrace.
"Life is good, Christine," I murmured.
"Yes; it is very good, my Angel."
"Would you like to sing today?"
"I would love to sing today."
-0-0-0-0-
We spent a perfect day with our younger children; full of music, a picnic, and games on the lawn. In the evening, Masson and Carmen took charge of the tribe, freeing me and my bride to go into Paris. I offered her the Opera Populaire, the ballet, a proper opera; anything. She wanted a carriage ride around the city and to go dancing. Imagine that.
"You won't let me spoil you no matter how I try, will you?"
She slid closer and laid her head on my shoulder. "But I am spoiled; kiss me." I complied happily. "You see? You do anything I ask, and plenty I don't," she insisted.
"And that is a good thing?" I wondered. She removed something from my lapel; a stray hair, spun gold from my angel's head.
"Oh, well, of course you were a bit of a scoundrel until I got you in hand, Darling, but you've been an absolute lamb since…" she considered. "I suppose it's been since we moved to Perros! You've been such a good boy since you've settled down."
"'Settled down' sounds pathetic; sounds as if I'm too old to stir up any trouble," I grumbled. "But I rather like the idea of you getting me in hand."
She squealed in scandalized delight. "Erik, you heathen! What will the carriage driver think?" she whispered.
"I told him to mind his business; we're newlyweds."
-0-0-0-0-
We had regular letters from Miri-ange. Her tone brightened as time wore on, especially in the letters she sent to her siblings. I suspect she wanted me to suffer awhile longer, believing she was still pining away for her One True Love, so she remained suitably glum in her notes to Christine and me. More reliably, Reza reported that she was feeling better; he realized he was for it when Miri-ange actually deigned to acknowledge the swarm of handsome young swains which materialized whenever she appeared. He hastened to add that she evinced no preference for any of them, and seemed to regard them as one would a boisterous pack of hound puppies. Sounded like she was indeed on the mend; we could only pray that her reputation followed suit. I was concerned that after all her difficulties, Miri-ange would still not be induced to take a look at her behavior and make the necessary changes. I hoped we'd be able to chat honestly when she returned home, when the passage of time had provided us both with some perspective.
I missed her terribly. Christine seemed so much better prepared for the eventuality of our children moving on. I asked her about it, hoping for some insight, some magical trick which would help me accept my children growing up so disgustingly quickly. Sometimes my bride is so matter-of-fact about things, it astonishes me.
"Oh, Erik, my poor sentimental sweetheart, it's nature! The babies must fly from the nest, you know that."
"Yes, I know, but…couldn't they stay a few more years until I'm gone?"
-0-0-0-0-
If Miri-ange remained unaffected by it, his sister's trial seemed to have a profound effect on Masson. He began staying closer to home. Not that he abandoned the ladies; heavens no, but he seemed more sober and thoughtful. For a fleeting moment I thought I might be able to breathe freely in my dotage, but I happened to wander into the conservatory one day and there was my Amazon, reading with a dimpled brow and nibbling a finger absently.
Carmen had taken to wearing riding culottes almost constantly, to her mother's abject despair, and she sat with her right heel on her left knee like a goddam field hand.
"Carmen Amelie, if your Mother walked in here now she'd hang me for how you're sitting! You'll sit like a girl or I'll switch you. God's teeth!"
"What does that mean, 'sit like a girl'? If I'm sitting like this, it must be how a girl sits."
"Don't you take that Suffragette Revolutionary tone with me, Miss; I've had this nonsense from the best before you were even imagined! SIT PROPERLY!" I roared.
Carmen rearranged herself grudgingly.
"And I want to see you dressed for dinner, do you hear? Dressed; as in a proper skirt, foundation garments, and the whole rig."
"How will you know what's underneath; are you going to inspect me?"
"YOU WON'T SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT AS LONG AS YOU LIVE!" I scared her; I did. Her eyes flew wide, but I didn't care; I was livid. I thought the top of my head may fly right off; just explode on the spot. Or, I could turn the little shrew right over and wallop her bottom; imagine the outrage. Poor girl; it was going hard with her since her sister's catastrophe. Deep breaths…try to be the adult.
I sat with as natural a smile as I could manage. "Darling, why would you want to treat me so disrespectfully?"
"Sorry," she relented. Something was eating her; I waited.
"Are you quite sure?"
"Papa, marriage is slavery! Why did you and Mama ever marry?"
All I could think to say was 'Sweet Suffering Christ!', and I was positive Christine would not approve, even under such extraordinary circumstances.
"It's expected that men and women marry, you know that. Anyway, I take exception to the suggestion that your Mother is a slave. You ask her yourself if she's unhappy and oppressed."
She shrugged, sullen and unconvinced.
"We wanted to marry, Carmen; we love each other. It's not so terrible when it actually happens to you. You see the problem here; you read Mama's books—what have you got there?"
"The Subjection of Women."
"There, you see: The Subjection of Women. You read this nonsense—"
"It's not nonsense!"
"There, settle yourself, Valkyrie; it was just a poorly-chosen word. You read these things all out of context and get an utterly distorted picture of what it's like between men and women. I don't say there's no woman out there who's mistreated, but you've got it all wrong if you give up on men altogether. Why don't you have an adult talk with Mama?"
"She won't. She says I don't need to know anything about marriage and men yet."
Ah; Miri-ange repercussions.
"Hm. Perhaps I'll have a chat with her—of course, I won't say anything about our conversation here. Would you like that?"
She nodded, but the faintest eyebrow crinkle remained. "Papa, I need to ask you something."
-0-0-0-0-
"I can't hear you…" my beloved wife sang from the bath. I rushed in, slamming the door behind me.
"You mean you're not listening. I'm telling you I had to explain the whole thing to her, and it's not my job. I do the boys; you do the girls."
"Erik, how old-fashioned you sound."
"Old-fashioned indeed. Christine, Carmen did not want to hear that from me, and I nearly keeled over."
"Why did you tell her anything, then?" She sponged her shoulder diffidently.
"Because she asked me!" I wailed. "If you'd told her when she approached you, I wouldn't have had to. She told me you said she doesn't need to know anything yet. Christine, that's not right, and it's not what we agreed."
"I changed my mind. Masson and Miri-ange were far too precocious sexually; surely you don't want to go thru that with Carmen and Gustave, Jeanette and Sophie?"
Egad. The thought of my little Sophie getting a sex talk made me woozy. I was grateful the wall was there when I needed it. After reminding myself that the Pickle was only six, I was able to focus on the parental disagreement in progress.
"So you're saying you want Carmen to go to her marriage bed ignorant, Christine?"
"Of course not; but I'd prefer to tell the girls about things on their wedding day. That's how it was for Manon, and for me, sortof; except of course from hearing talk."
I paced, dazed and incredulous. "In the first place, Madame, I find that frankly barbaric. In the second place, I'll be obliged if you'll inform me when you change your mind about how you intend to raise my children. And finally, it's unworkable. You said it yourself just now; you heard talk. Christine!"
"It's a little different growing up in an Opera House," she shrugged. "Manon had no idea what Raoul was up to."
"God help us all," was all I could say to that. Extraordinary.
"Erik, Carmen's fourteen and she doesn't give a fig about boys! She couldn't be more different than Miri-ange, and I want to keep it that way."
"Oh; so fencing lessons are alright now?" I dodged the sponge neatly, further infuriating Christine and amazing myself.
"Get out! How can I have a peaceful bath with you tormenting me?"
I retrieved the sponge. "Scrub your back?" I grinned.
She snatched the sponge from me. "No!" she growled. I was encouraged; her eyes were twinkling.
"Your front?"
"Beast; why do I put up with you?" She worked hard not to smile.
"Because I'm irresistible?"
"That must be it." She waved a hand, indicating I was to shuck my clothes and join her in the suds. "Erik, Carmen is right you know; it is slavery."
"Whatever you say, Angel." She slipped onto my lap; I was feeling ready to agree to anything.
"I'll be your little slave now, if you like…"
-0-0-0-0-
"Masson! Masson!" I hissed.
He approached, baffled. Once he was within range, I caught him by the arm and dragged him to the cellar.
"What, Papa?"
"Don't you 'What Papa' me! What the devil are you doing sitting in the garden with Soraya? Are you trying to kill me?"
Soraya: Anci and Darius' fifteen year old daughter. Daughter of an extremely Muslim father who didn't like me very much, not to put too fine a point on it.
"We were just sitting there."
"Do you think I'm an idiot all of a sudden?" I gasped. "You don't just sit with a girl; you've never just sat with a girl. You were flirting ten minutes after you were born."
"I like her. She likes me, too."
"No no no no no," I chuckled nervously. "No Sir. No sitting; no liking. She is Reza's manservant's daughter, and not for you in any case." I turned away, having said my piece. I needed a brandy; bugger it was eleven in the morning.
"Papa, I didn't want to say anything yet, because of everything with Miri-ange, but we want to marry."
I froze in my tracks, never turning to face him. "Masson, no. Just, no. She's not for you. You share neither faith nor station in life."
"We don't care about that!"
"I don't care whether you care. I can assure you that Darius will care deeply about it. Leave it, Masson. Now, you tell that girl it's impossible and let that be the end of it. Don't say a word about this to your Mother, and never, never speak to me about it again."
I made for the parlor as fast as I could without appearing to run from the boy.
"You say you want me to be good! How can I be good if you won't let me marry?" he called after me. I ducked into the parlor and slammed a brandy.
Sweet suffering Christ; sweet suffering Allah? The boy fell in love more often than I changed my underwear; one would think that he'd have to choose a suitable girl sooner or later. First a whore; now a servant girl, and how many dozens in between? True, Darius was working to educate Soraya and her brother, and she was a gorgeous thing. She'd inherited her father's dark looks and her mother's lush geography. But she was Muslim; Christine would never stand for it. Masson was my son; Darius would never stand for it. I didn't care much about the servant girl thing, but everyone else would; it was just a sad reality of life among the hypocrites.
I poured another drink, lit a smoke, and damned all the raging hormones under one roof.