Chapter 6 Where the fairies live.
Not wanting his education to be stifled by the limits of a public school or the narrow-mindedness of a parochial school, Gustave's father had chosen to employ a private tutor. After an arduous round of interviewing every type of educator available in every one of the surrounding states a young man had been hired.
Robert Patch had graduated from Harvard, and subsequently traveled the world studying the history, progression and bias of human law. He came to New York at the beginning of 1908 to begin writing his definitive work, an allegory of the financial and social struggle of the working man in America, and where better to study than the most industrialized city on the continent. Gustave's father had called him a man with some vision, albeit misplaced.
There were days when Gustave's teacher would have him sequestered nearly all day, but because of his innate intelligence and the speed and ease with which he completed his assignments, most of the time he was done with studies by mid-afternoon. He would then take tea with his father and unless they fell into deep conversation or had some kind of outing, more and more a rare occurrence, Gustave was free for most of the afternoon and early evening. It seemed a special torment to him that of all days, his tutor and father chose to break the norm in the week after his incident and took up all of Gustave's time.
Robert had been enflamed by the recent publications in the NY Times that bespoke of the benevolent leadership of the Republican Party. Having converted to the Democratic Party after a privileged upbringing made Robert a staunch supporter of the every man, and the implication that the government had the best interest of its people in mind sent the young man ranting. He spent many hours on a diatribe of how we were living in a fascist state parading itself as a democracy.
When Gustave had finally escaped, he found his father required his attendance while he went to oversee rehearsals for the latest exhibition at Phantasma. Gustave sat absentmindedly next to his father in the specially built Opera box of the theater while the man testily shouted out reprimands to the performers. Afterwards they toured and inspected the different attractions to make sure they were being properly maintained, especially if they incorporated some type of illusion to make the spectators believe the farce they were seeing.
Gustave's impatience didn't escape his Father's notice, and the man worked doggedly to keep his son's attention by plying him with questions. By the end of the week Gustave had to plot and plan an escape. He awoke early to walk the beach as was his habit, but instead of returning home for breakfast he made his way into town. He would wait outside the garden gates until a reasonable hour and ring the small electric buzzer Lisa had shown him. He hoped that the lapse of several days hadn't caused the invitation to be rescinded. Gustave was uncharacteristically nervous while he leaned against the gate, so that when a hand reached through the bars to squeeze his shoulder it nearly made him jump out of his skin.
"Mon dieu" He exclaimed, but when he turned there was an angel smiling back at him. Gustave was filled with warmth that reminded him of something from long ago and forgotten. In the fresh light of morning Lisa's eyes twinkled and were filled like a bright forest green. She unlocked and opened the gate, welcoming him in with a gesture and closing it carefully behind him. Gustave looked at her quizzically as she opened the gate. Today she wore a set of paint splattered denim overalls and her hair was covered by a blue headscarf. Why would a woman of means dress so strangely? He asked himself.
"I thought you'd forgotten us. How strange you should always appear when I take my constitutional in the gardens, but I don't believe in coincidences. Do you?" she asked as she linked her arm through his elbow, like a gentleman leading a lady on a walk. He shook his head in answer. "Good. I think it the sign of a small mind if you can't recognize those little patterns that fill our lives. I don't know if it's God or some intelligent force that weaves the thread of our lives, but the universe is so infinite I don't think we're meant to understand. So what kept you?"
"Um, my tutor had a busy week for me, and my father had a lot of business he needed to attend to. He wanted me with him to have my input." He responded.
"Really, does your father value your opinion and insight?" she asked.
"Yes, always." He said proudly.
"That's wonderful. It's good that he recognizes your potential and the genius only a child's mind possesses. And I know you must be a savant. Mamma is sleeping, so I think it's a good time for that tour. Would you like to see our little cottage?" Gustave visibly puffed up at her comments, and giving her a deep bow he extended his hand to gesture for her to lead on. They entered the foyer and climbed the stairs. Lisa opened door after door onto modestly furnished apartments, but nothing of any real interests. The west and east wings held little attraction, housing mostly normal quarters, storage space, and a tea room.
The north hall in and of itself was beautiful. The wallpaper here was the same sky blue as downstairs, but had been decorated with lacey and elaborate snowflakes. One side of the hallway was just a series of high windows that allowed the full light of day to fill every corner, and the other side had 3 sets of double doors. The first, Lisa informed him, were her rooms. She very demurely asked his pardon, but a ladies chamber should remain a mystery. She said it in such a joking manner that they both giggled at its absurdity, but she still didn't show it to him.
The next rooms almost made Gustave want to laugh out loud. It was a golden ballroom with a mirror for the ceiling and more windows making up the entire far wall. A white grand piano stood in the corner. Gustave's fingers itched to strike the keys and discover how the sound would travel and reverberate off the walls. Even their small footfalls echoed on the shimmering floor. Lisa pulled him back before he could dive for the instrument.
"One day we will dance here. Do you play?" she asked as she shut the doors.
"Oh yes, my mother taught me and my father is a great virtuoso." He said proudly.
"Really, I think I'm beginning to like him. Not many parents hold such high regard in their children's eyes, usually because they are blind to how amazing a child is."
"My father is wonderful." He said timidly, blushing.
"Come, there's more to see and I've saved the best for last."
"Do you mean the fairies? Isn't that what Madam Aguilar mentioned?" he asked. Lisa raised her index finger to her lips in a gesture of silence and grabbed his hand to lead him down the stairs. She didn't bother showing him the rooms of the first floor east and west wings, and merely pointed in each direction rattling off library, kitchen, washroom, mother's room, sitting room, etc. Then she led him down the first floor north hall. It was a mirror image of the second floor in location and size, but when she opened the double doors Gustave nearly fainted away at what he saw.
The room was full of light. For a moment Gustave thought he'd stepped into a strange garden. The entirety of the west wall was a series of windows that looked out on the overgrown jungle that surrounded the property. Three motorized fans moved slowly overhead to cool the area. But everywhere he looked there were paintings, murals, sculptures and some types of artistry he couldn't name.
There were the faeries, on almost every surface of canvas, chiseled or painted into pottery, formed out of clay. Paper cutouts of them hung on strings from the ceiling, swaying fancifully in the light breeze created by the fans. But these weren't just the standard cherubic forms currently popular in art.
They ranged from heavenly nymphs prancing in a variety of back drops, from the frothing waves of the sea to the lush green of ancient forests. Then devilish pixies writhed among flames or leaped among the twisted limbs of haunted forests. Some times in stark contrast they would appear together, one invading the others territory.
In one portrait they battled one another, in the next they danced merrily hand in hand, and still even in others they held one another in an obviously intimate embrace. Gustave moved his eyes quickly away from these. He wouldn't dare linger to inspect them while Lisa watched him. Another of the blushes that plagued him crept up his neck, but even that didn't lessen his pleasure in seeing such amazing sights.
And there weren't just the faeries, all manner of mythical beasts were portrayed on canvases stacked 4 and 5 deep. He recognized unicorns, satyrs, huge serpents and leviathans. For some he knew the stories that accompanied them, but others were strange and alien to any frame of reference even he had.
Gustave walked starry eyed amongst the images. In the world he knew, the world he shared with his father, the freakish was portrayed as a mockery of the norm; grotesqueness was treated as a satire of the ordinary. But here the "other" was treated with as much respect and seriousness as any religious work of art at the Louvre.
Lisa had settled into a cushioned lounge just inside the double doors, eyeing Gustave as he completed circuit after circuit around the large room. With each pass he discovered something more fascinating. Completed artwork had been stacked against each other and he started to discover entire series of paintings that followed themes.
One followed a progression of winged angels, naked and frolicking, but over the next few placards the angels descended past the earthly realm and fell into the welcoming arms of dark demons. In another mural a horde of wolf like beasts devoured a Pegasus, but although the carnage of the scene was immediately evident one could not help but notice the glee and ecstasy apparent on the creature's faces. Even the pups were portrayed licking droplets of blood from their mother's lips happily.
Another mural depicted the crucifixion, but Christ was turned into the wood of the cross. The deep rents in his flesh from where he'd been whipped curled and dripped blood on the group of disciples that had gathered below him. They raised their hands to bath in the crimson shower. One amazing picture depicted the eruption of a volcano, but the flowing lava took on the shapes of people as if they were writhing in the liquid rock. Tables were littered with charcoal sketches that had been used to study and experiment frames of the larger portraits.
The detail of every work showed that it had to have taken many hours of dedication to accomplish, so the sheer volume of creations seemed impossible in one lifetime for one person to complete. Suddenly he was reminded of the dusty library his father had that exploded with all the works of music he'd composed over the years, a room that had seen few additions in recent years.
Finally there was one portrait that gave Gustave great pause. It was of two figures; a woman with angel wings and long flowing hair that floated as it trailed behind her. The other was a man with gothic, reptilian bat like wings being licked with black flames. They held each other in a lover's embrace, their lips pressed together passionately. You could only see one side of each of their faces. The woman's beautiful and serene, but the man's was scarred and in pain. He stood there for many long moments staring at it.
Lisa became concerned, afraid she might have misjudged his sensibilities and offended him. She stood and approached him slowly.
"Does it bother you?" she asked in a whisper.
"No. I think it's beautiful, the most beautiful paintings I've ever seen, even in the louvre." Gustave gushed.
"I seriously doubt that, but I appreciate your compliments. I don't think the louvre would show any of my work, and I rather they didn't. I don't make them to please anyone but myself. Do you paint?" she asked, fingering the edge of the painting that kept Gustave's rapt attention.
"No, but I can draw a bit." He replied.
"I would love to see you draw something. Maybe you would like to try painting or sculpting. There are no boundaries or rules here. Whatever your mind wants to produce is both welcome and appreciated."
The rest of the morning was occupied with exploring the studio and discussing the different works. Lisa's inspiration came from nature and mythology. She'd studied history and lore from the ancient Egyptians, Greeks, Romans, and Hittites; even the Asian and Ottoman empires. She'd given life to gods and goddesses, angels and demons, mythical creatures and extinct beasts in her paintings. She even had a small kiln tucked away in a corner where she created pottery that she then etched with intricate images. One section of a wall was filled with pottery, small sculptures, and remarkable figurines of animals made of folded paper that Lisa called origami.
They spoke excitedly about the world. Gustave was delighted to discover that before the death of her father and husband, Lisa's family had traveled the globe. From as far back as she could remember they'd been south to Chile and Australia, then to Alaska and Sweden in the north. Her father, Mr. Armando Aguilar, had been a Spanish aristocrat who'd also been an officer on a royal galleon.
When he was a young man his overbearing father had exiled him to service as a sailor because of his romance with the daughter of a cleaning woman. When the old man died he rushed home to be reunited with his beloved. They were married after being separated for 18 years. In all that time they'd kept their romance alive by writing letters and constantly declaring undying love for one another.
It had been a magical romance, and Lisa told it with so much feeling that Gustave had to fight back tears. Her mother and father had been separated for so long, but she had waited for him. Madam Aguilar had been nearly 40 when she'd been married and given birth to her only daughter, but having a child with the love of her life had made it the greatest reward for her long dedication.
Lisa had been the center of their lives from that moment on. They denied her nothing and she'd been exposed to the world with very little censor or bias. Far from being spoiled she'd become a generous and humble young woman, encompassing her mother's unsurpassable spirit and her father's zest for living. She'd been taught to appreciate humanities beauty and ugliness so that she could understand its magic.
When Lisa was 18 years old her father had introduced her to a man who'd been a cabin boy with him on the galleon and a favorite friend of his. A dark wild-eyed Irishman named Charles Faolan, and it wasn't long before she and Charles had fallen passionately in love. When they announced their marriage plans, her father had been so happy he'd given his wholehearted blessing. Most men might not have welcomed their daughter's marriage to a penniless sailor, but his father knew the rarity of finding true love and celebrated their happiness.
They had only been married two years when tragedy struck. After the death of Mr. Aguilar's close friend Juan Margallo, the family had gone to the politically unstable country of Morocco, where it was intended that he would take the slain governor's place as protector of Spain's interests in the region. Their citadel was raided by a band of Berber mercenaries who, at the Sultans command, intended to rid their homeland of Spain's influence at any cost. Lisa and her mother had been able to hide from the attackers, but both Mr. Aguilar and Mr. Faolan were killed defending them. That had been 15 years ago.
Lisa and her mother then came to live in the NY house, an old property that had been part of her father's holdings from the time of his father. Lisa said she'd had all she could take of the world's violence and was happy to live here painting. She finished her story with such an air of sadness, that Gustave suddenly felt his own tragedies were small in comparison.
It was then that there was a knock at the studio door and a woman entered. Gustave had seen many people of color among those that had come to work at Phantasma, but this woman was truly the color of ebony. Her skin seemed to gleam against her starched uniform.
"My lady, lunch is ready and your mother is waiting for you." She said in a peculiar accent that Gustave thought the most beautiful he'd ever heard because of its exotic intonations. To the boy's surprise, Lisa laughed as if some great joke had been told.
"Goodness gracious Kara, what are you wearing and why are you talking like that?" she asked. The maid, who was almost as wrinkled as Mrs. Aguilar, gave a very exasperated look before answering.
"My lady, we have a guest and I think we should show him we are a proper household. I am a servant here after all." She said in a placid yet obviously sarcastic tone.
"Really Kara, do you think I'd invite anyone here who'd see you that way. You may have been brought here under the pretense of being our maid, but you know very well your part of the family. And where did you get that uniform." Although Lisa spoke jestingly, there was a note of hurt that Gustave picked up on. The boy didn't know why, but this little interchange made him even fonder of her.
"I've always had it, just in case it became needed." Kara had placed her hands on her hips as she explained. Lisa stood up, and taking Gustave's hand, led him to where the woman stood.
"Gustave, this is Ms. Kara Mundie. She has been my best friend for almost twenty years, not my maid." Gustave smiled at the woman, who up close was even more striking to him because she had bright brown eyes that were large and friendly. He smiled and took her hand to kiss the knuckles.
"Ah, you really are a lovely child. Well, even if I'm not the maid I'm most certainly the cook. I've prepared a lovely meal and I expect both of you to eat hardily." Kara gave him a friendly smile as she led them to the sitting room where he'd first met Madam Aguilar.
"The reason you cook is because you are excellent at it and I know you enjoy it immensely." Lisa whispered sideways to Gustave as they walked, and the boy chuckled. Mrs. Aguilar sat quietly reading at a round table that had been laden with so much food Gustave wondered if more guests were expected, but only the 4 chairs for those present had been arranged.
This room had also come alive in a flood of light as all the curtains had been pulled back. Gustave suddenly thought that it was really a house of glass, so unlike his home where light seemed to have trouble breaking in. He didn't mind the darkness, and even enjoyed its romance and mystery. The night had a music to it that was alluring, but light like this transported him to another world and warmed him from the inside out.
"Really Kara, I know Gustave is a little thin but we're not trying to fatten him up. It's not like we're witches living in a gingerbread house." She said, and the boy snickered at her joke.
"Ach, just eat woman. If there is anything here you don't like young monsieur just let me know, I can cook whatever you like next time." Just the smell coming from the bounty was enough to make Gustave's stomach growl as if he hadn't eaten in months. Before taking a seat, Gustave went over to greet Madam Aguilar. He bowed and reached out to take her hand, but the woman pulled him down into a warm embrace. It surprised the boy, but he couldn't deny the affection she was showing him because of the responding swelling of his own heart.
"Now don't fill up to quickly on one thing. If you don't at least taste everything and give Kara your review of her skill she'll start force feeding you bits of everything else." Lisa laughed out loud at the scathing look Kara gave her, but soon he had no trouble sampling every dish and finding that every single one was a gourmet experience. Kara held on to a satisfied smile as she watched him tuck in happily to the food.
Over the meal Madam Aguilar, who ate little, recounted the story of her love again. It was beautiful how she described the way she and her husband had fallen in love and how while he'd been exiled to the navy they'd written to each other for twenty years, always professing their love. The madam said it had been like they'd never been separated as long as she received his letters.
Even after they'd finally been married they had continued to write love notes. It was a game of theirs to hide them in strange places for the other to discover like hidden treasures. Even for a few years after his death she had still found some tucked away in her things. She'd kept every note he'd ever penned. Whenever she missed him she could read them and relive their love affair.
After they'd each had their fill, making only a small dent to the platters of food still left on the table, Gustave helped Lisa and Kara clear the remains.
"It seems such a waste to throw this all away." Commented the boy as they moved the food. He looked up to see Lisa giving him a curious stare.
"Actually, most of the leftovers Kara will pack up and take to the orphanage. Most children of the well to do wouldn't have considered such a thing. I'm pleased to see you have such a generous heart." Lisa said.
"Thank you, but it's my mother's influence that has taught me. In Paris she was part of a number of charitable organizations and often spoke of the unnecessary decadence and opulence of the upper classes." said the boy.
"Really, she must have been quite an amazing woman."
"Yes, she was. I don't know if my father does anything like that, but he takes great care of everyone working in the park. Whenever anyone is sick he pays for the doctor and medicine. He even brought in a teacher to make sure everyone can read and write. And everyone lives in apartments on the island that my father owns, and as long as they work they live for free. He says a happy employee is a loyal subject." said Gustave, gushing with pride.
"Really, sounds like his own personal Camelot." Gustave crinkled his brow at Lisa's comment, unfamiliar with the reference. "Don't you know the story of King Arthur and Lady Guinevere?" she asked. The boy shook his head.
Lisa and Gustave returned to the sitting room where Mrs. Aguilar waited, and joined her at a collection of couches that were set to bathe in the warmth of the afternoon sun. When they had settled against the soft couch cushions Lisa proceeded to regale him with the tale of Camelot, as well as that of Beowulf and Cuculin. Each woman took turns in telling parts of the stories, and Gustave laughed as whole heartedly as he could remember ever doing so when Lisa acted out Grendel's attack and Mrs. Aguilar gave a cackling voice to the queen of the wilderness. So caught up were they in the retelling of ancient tales that Gustave barely noticed when the sun had begun to dip into the western horizon.
"Oh no, father will be furious!" he exclaimed jumping up when he realized the lateness of the hour. He was just about to dart from the room when Lisa caught his arm.
"Hold on, does he have a telephone." The boy nodded in earnest, seeing some means of salvation. "Well then, let's call him." Holding the boy's hand warmly Lisa led him to a corner of the foyer where on a small table sat the instrument. He'd seen others use the device, and feeling very important lifted the receiver and relayed all the needed information to the operator. The silence as he waited became heavy as he feared not being able to reach his home, but then a deep voice announced itself with a deceivingly calm tone on the other line.
"Gustave?" asked the man.
"Yes father. Lisa is letting me use her telephone to let you know I've lost track of the time, but I am heading out now and will be home soon." Talking with his father while Lisa looked on made him feel nervous.
"No, I will come get you immediately. Give me the address." demanded his father. Gustave's eyes went wide with horror at the thought of his father coming to this place to collect him. Everyone feared his father and often in turn feared him. He didn't want to frighten Lisa or the others and risk his never being able to return.
"NO, I mean, I'll be fine. I'll make it home in about a half hour." responded the boy, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice.
"Nonsense, I'll send Gangle in the carriage to get you." Gustave heaved a sigh of relief. He gave his father the address and directions before ringing off the line. When he turned back to Lisa her eyes were filled with gentle concern.
"Is everything alright?" She asked.
"Yes. It's just… he worries, and I don't want to frighten him unnecessarily." He replied, hesitant to meet her gaze.
"Gustave, I know it's not my place but… are you afraid of him… I mean, does he treat you well." She asked tentatively.
"Oh yes. Don't get the impression he's any kind of monster or tyrant, just a little overprotective at times. I'm all he has you see, and he's all I have now too." Gustave couldn't identify the feeling that made him want to disclose such things, but he had an innate trust for Lisa that gave him the courage to speak freely. "My father is different than other people. He has to wear this mask, and well, it makes it hard for him to deal with other people, especially strangers."
"Oh, I see. Well, maybe you both can come here one day and we can all become friends." Although Gustave had sought to alleviate her concern, his use of the words 'monster' and 'tyrant' gave her pause. Perhaps if she were to meet him it would help the boy. She didn't really like the thought. It was one thing to invite a child into her home, but now to extend it to a masked man she'd never met would have been out of the question if not for the look of dismay on Gustave's face.
"Thank you, I appreciate your kindness." He said, feeling very thankful for her offer but not having the intention of sharing it with his father. He and Lisa waited with Mrs. Aguilar until Mr. Gangle arrived in what seemed like record time. As Lisa escorted him to the gate he kept a watchful eye for the presence of anyone else. When he was satisfied that his father hadn't hitched a ride, he allowed Lisa to give him an affectionate hug before disappearing into the vehicle.
Mr. Gangle, ever the showmen and probably appraising Lisa for Gustave's father, graciously introduced himself to the lady while bowing deeply. Lisa, acting much more accepting than most Gustave had ever witnessed, gave him back a graceful curtsy and smiled brightly. When the man, who'd become a great friend to the boy over the years, turned to take his place to drive the horseless carriage, he gave Gustave a knowing tip of the hat that made the boy giggle and blush to the tips of his ears. He felt the day had been perfect, and even felt a quiet rush of pleasure to go home and share some of his happy mood with his father whose sour attitude could in no way darken Gustave's good humor.