I obsessed about Masson and Soraya. It was a catastrophe. God, I missed Reza. It really had nothing to do with who Soraya was, though it certainly didn't help. My son was almost twenty; plenty of people married at twenty. But Masson was as playful and unprepared for the world as any puppy. Likely my fault again. It made no sense forbidding him Soraya; they'd find a way if they were determined, and if Soraya faded away, some other lovely would fill her place. I had to find a way to put Masson off the idea of marrying anyone. It's true I'd told him to be good, so I understood his confusion. But when I thought it through, I didn't really expect him to be good so much as I wanted him to be careful. I certainly didn't want to see him make a premature marriage.
"Do you like being married, Raoul?" He gave a start as he lit my cigar.
"Hm? Of course! How else would a man live?"
"Bachelor; like your brother."
"Mm, true." He puffed and considered briefly. "No. I like it better this way. Well-bred children, a wife to be proud of, and a bit of strange fluff now and again. I like the security, knowing someone's there. Manon's a good girl."
"My son is not ready for marriage. I can't see him being ready for marriage anytime soon. I need to find a way to talk him out of it. I don't want to put him off it altogether, mind you; I just want to get the idea out of his head for the foreseeable future."
"Who is it this month?"
"It's a disaster, that's who. Soraya—you know, Darius and Anci's—"
"Yeow," he winced.
"Indeed. But that's not the point; he's just too young. He thinks it's all having your little playmate right there, day and night; hand-holding and lovemaking. God knows I love Christine, but it's not all bread and chocolate."
"You're a fine one to say that, after the torture you've put her through," Raoul cracked.
"Shut up. I saved her from you and your poxy python."
We meditated on our cigars.
Finally Raoul broke the silence. "So, what are you going to do?"
"Don't know," I admitted.
"Want me to have a word with him?"
"What would you say?"
"Don't know, but he might be more inclined to listen to me," he suggested. That was too much for my old paternal heart to bear.
"I can't even talk to my boy anymore," I burbled.
"Oh, Jesus, don't go maudlin on me. It's normal, Erik; they get a certain age and they think we're stupid. Stop it; I'm not hugging you like Reza does."
"You're just worried I'll grab your ass," I sniffed.
-0-0-0-0-
"May I please be excused?"
I had a quick look at Jeanette's plate; except for onions meticulously separated from the peas, she'd eaten well. She had to be watched, as she was a skinny, picky little thing who'd subsist on oranges and shortbread if you let her.
"Of course. Take the Pickle with you; see if Darius has a treat in the kitchen."
"Yay! Shortbread!" Sofie was off like a bullet from a pistol. Adorable plump little pigeon; she was my prize, and a champion in the clean plate competitions. Sometimes I feared for the pattern on the china.
Her mother, my other prize, was not so hungry.
"So will you tell me what it is now, Angel? Trouble with the girls? Do you need money?" I prodded.
"I'm fine."
"I see; you're fine, but you've not even touched your frangipane tart."
"I'm just not hungry," she fussed, eyebrow twitching.
"Alright."
Sometimes I irritate Christine just as much when I'm agreeable as when I'm argumentative. She leapt up and paced the length of the dining room, wringing her napkin silly.
"I'm not saying I agree or disagree, I'm just saying," she opened.
"Of course."
"The tutor called on me today; it's about Gustave."
"What? What about Gustave? Is it his hearing?"
"No! Will you stop imagining the worst all the time?" Gustave's hearing had leveled out as well as we could expect, and he was doing alright. He heard muffled sound in his bad ear; if the room was quiet and he concentrated, he could even make out words. The other ear was normal. It could've been much worse; still, I suffered it.
"He says Gustave is very clever with math; Algebra. He's got nothing to offer him anymore, Erik, the boy is that bright!"
I started to smile until I beheld the agony in Christine's eyes. "What is it, Angel? Why is it a bad thing if the boy is clever?" I moved to her side. "You've made me such brilliant babies."
She snatched her arm away peevishly. "Will you stop and listen?"
"I'm sorry." I returned to my seat, baffled.
Christine returned to her pacing. "He has a friend in Liege, at the University; he took the liberty of sending some of Gustave's work to him. He thinks Gustave should go to Liege and meet M Le Paige. He's a big mathematician and astronomer there at the University."
"Good grief!"
"But he's just a boy, Erik! What if they want to keep him?" The napkin metamorphosed into a handkerchief.
Ah-ha.
"Christine, aren't we getting ahead of ourselves? Perhaps M Le Paige will suggest some books to give the boy until he's ready to go to university; perhaps he can put us onto another tutor. We mustn't assume he's going to take him from us."
"I don't know why you're being so calm about this. I expected you go take to your bed at the thought of losing another baby," she complained.
"I'm sorry my good health offends you. Anyway, I'm trying not to think too far ahead; it keeps my raging panic under control." It was a feeble attempt at humor, but Christine was too deep into her own drama to notice.
"If this continues apace, I shall have to start having babies again," she frowned.
What?
"Angel, aren't you the one who's always telling me that the birds must leave the nest?" I reminded her gently.
-0-0-0-0-
Masson called Raoul 'My Father's Mouthpiece' and rejected everything Raoul tried to say out-of-hand. Another plan was wanted, and soon. The clock was ticking on Romeo and Juliet. I went for a last resort; I asked Anci to meet me in the parlor and be quiet about it. I'd eliminate the immediate threat of Soraya, and then find a way to put Masson off marriage until I was eighty.
When Anci joined me, her eyes were huge, her cheeks pink. I hustled her into the room and we huddled on the sofa, the better to whisper. She sensed my urgency, and was more than clever enough to understand the need for discretion. When I'd assured Darius he'd have no trouble from me, it was understood that I'd never again permit myself to be alone with Anci, perhaps even speak to her unless the house was on fire.
"Anci, there's a situation, and I need your help. But it needs to be just between you and me, Child, hm? I don't want to trouble Christine with it, and I'm sure you won't want to trouble your dear husband."
She nodded and smiled warmly. It almost appeared she'd become smarter with time.
"Right; I'll just come to the point."
"You don't have to say if you don't want to. I don't know why you waited so long," she whispered.
"Well, I only just realized there was a problem. If you suspected, why didn't you come to me, Anci?" Perhaps we'd have nipped the thing in the bud if she'd come to me sooner; she was no smarter after all.
She looked completely baffled by my question. "I…thought you wouldn't want to hear about it."
I had to check my temper from flaring in case she was still timid about that. Stupid child. "Of course I'd want to hear about it, Child," I smiled indulgently.
"Good. I want to help." Her hand alighted on my knee.
Right; old times, I supposed. I plucked it off, cradled it in my bony paw and gave it an avuncular pat. "Good. Now then—"
"Do you want to do it now? We should go somewhere else, shouldn't we?" She was all cow eyes.
"What?"
"You want to do it here?"
"Do what here?" How I could be having trouble following Anci's train of thought evaded me. I was losing control of the conversation, and I was the clever one.
"You know," she insisted. For emphasis, she moved closer; far too close. I scooted away as surreptitiously as possible…and then it hit me. I am forced to admit my faculties have diminished with age; I am a moron.
"Oh, no. No, Anci, you've got me all wrong. No, no." I leapt from the sofa like a marionette. "It's about the children, Soraya and Masson."
"Soraya?" I could see the thoughts whirling through her brain; painful to watch. Soraya, my daughter; Sir doesn't want to play, he wants to talk about the children. "Soraya and Masson?"
"He told me the other day that they like each other. He says they even want to marry, but you know that's not possible."
"That's not possible," she parroted, obviously still reeling from the realization that she'd not be getting a bit of the bag of ancient bones.
"Yes. That's not possible because Soraya is a good Muslim girl, and her Papa wants to find her a good Muslim boy, hm?"
Anci nodded.
"So what Erik needs Anci to do is talk to Soraya, and make her understand that Masson is not the boy for her; he's a naughty Christian boy. Will you do that for me, for all of us?"
Anci nodded again. "I thought you wanted to play," she whined, fifteen again. Welcome to the Theatre of the Absurd, my life.
"Anci. Dear. You're so pretty, you could have any man you wanted. Why would you even look at an ugly old man like me?" No answer was forthcoming, so I continued my propaganda as I shepherded my buxom little indiscretion toward the door. "Darius loves you so. You have four beautiful children. Is there some trouble, Child? You must tell him if he doesn't please you; I know he would do anything to make you happy."
Anci threw herself at me and began snuffling. Right; I patted her gently and pressed a handkerchief on her. Let her weep a few minutes and we'll get it all sorted out. Alas, I didn't get to the bottom of it as I thought I might.
At precisely that moment, the door flew open.
"Eri—"
From the look on Christine's face, you'd've thought she'd caught us in flagrante.