Kire20
The silence within the study became unbearable. I wondered if Charles thought less of me following my confession, if he saw a man faulted by many weaknesses when he glanced in my direction, I wondered if he would look at me and think I was unworthy of Alex and Julia. I worried that he would question my place within the household and my ability to raise my son.
My stomach turned, my breaths shallow as memories continued to linger. My greatest strength had always been my illusion, however I had foolishly let down my guard and reveled far more than necessary.
"Do you know, Monsieur, my father balked at my desire for an education?" Charles said suddenly. "He often grumbled that submerging myself into books and studies was a waste of time. I was lazy, he said. My nights spent tucked within a corner reading and studying was nothing more than the signs of an ignorant and worthless boy."
I couldn't bring myself to meet his eye. "I appreciate your defiance," I replied, which was something I had never expected to say to Charles. In all the years I had known him—which I admit I had not known him well—he appeared as docile and cooperative as a man could be.
Charles grunted, his gaze set on his knees. "Not so much defiance as an insatiable urge for knowledge," he said with a chuckle. "I had a list compiled in the back of my mind of the places I would travel and the sites I intended to see. My father had no appreciation for my aspirations. When I was perhaps Alex's age, I was infuriated by his constant mutterings of how I would be a lesser man than him when I was an adult."
Absently Charles rubbed his palm against his thigh and momentarily squeezed his knee.
"What was your father's occupation?" I asked.
"He worked in the stockyards for as long as I can remember. Hated every moment he was there and always said I would follow in his footsteps."
I couldn't imagine wishing lifelong hardships upon my own son. Listening to Charles, I wondered what my own parents thought would become of me. No matter what, I suspected they would have been disappointed in me—if they had ever thought of me again.
My posture must have straightened or I made a sound of disapproval because he glanced up and frowned. "We had many disagreements, but we had many laughs as well over the years. Now that I think about our quarrels, I uderstand he worried for me. After my time in the military, I realized his words were not meant as an insult."
"How would his words be anything but an insult?" I asked suddenly, feeling defensive on his behalf.
"Well, Monsieur, I aspired to be more like my brother Thomas, who was fifteen years older than me. Thomas was not in my life often, but he dropped into the home much like a tornado, ripping through the house, causing a stir with our father, making our mother faint, and then disappearing once more. He would tell stories and show scars from his travels and each moment he appeared, I worshipped him. I looked forward to his stories as well as the books he would bring me from all over the world. I never cared if they were in Egyptian or Japanese, I merely wanted to devour and decipher every sentence and illustration. They were beautiful, Monsieur, works of art bound with gold thread and hand-painted by monks. I will never forget how I looked forward to his return and the new books he always carefully wrapped and delivered to me. Thomas knew how much I cherished these gifts. He always made certain he laid a new book in my hands the moment he walked through the door."
The way in which he spoke of his brother fascinated me. Having been an only child and living the majority of my life alone, I was curious about how Charles had lived before meeting Meg and becoming a part of my household.
I realized that I knew virtually nothing about Charles on a personal level, yet employed him to spend the majority of his time with my son. Many afternoons I overheard fragments of conversation followed by laughter from Alex as Charles entertained him with his stories.
"Thomas was not afraid of anything or anyone, least of all my father," Charles continued. "He was strong, confident, and apparently considered quite swarthy and handsome to the women in town. He was everything I wanted to be when I grew up." Charles paused and smiled to himself as he rubbed his hand against his knee. "Just the way he strode toward the house when he returned home…everyone would stop to watch him. He had a way about him, something very different from anyone else I had ever met."
My heart stuttered as I considered how my uncle had been the sole person I had envied as a child. In my life, I had known the cruelty of my father with his harsh words and heavy hand as well as the steady, calm strength my uncle possessed.
Charles pressed his lips together and shrugged. "Back then, I saw no fault in my brother. He lived the sort of life I dreamed of, brief as it was."
Charles sat back and took another sip of his drink. He stared into the distance, the slightest smile caught on his lips as he reminisced.
"What happened to him?" I asked, imaging disease had claimed his brother's life.
I watched him take a deep breath and exhale, which made me regret my uncouth prying into his past.
"My mother, father, and sisters had different stories as to how he died, but I suspect he was killed over his thievery." Charles fidgeted momentarily. He was clearly uncomfortable with the conversation, yet made no attempt to avoid answering. "I didn't realize when I was just a boy, but most of his visits home were to steal from my parents. He funded his excursions through the generosity of others—though his benefactors were never aware of how much they helped him travel throughout Europe and parts of Africa and the Orient until he was gone. A false idol, I suppose, though to this day I find it difficult to think less of him."
"His passing was quite unfortunate," I mumbled, unsure of how to respond.
"I loved him," Charles responded fondly. "No matter his faults, I still loved him. And I loved my father as well."
"You are a forgiving man," I commented. "Much more forgiving than I would have been."
Over thirty years had passed since I had seen my parents and I still struggled to truly forgive my parents, especially now that I had met my cousin. With Alex approaching the age I had been when my uncle had taken me away, I found I loathed my own parents even more than I had as a child. I could not accept, much less justify, their hatred and mistreatment, nor could I ever imagine punishing my son in the manner they had made me suffer.
Charles shrugged. "My father could have very well told me that Thomas was a no good thief who had stolen silver and valuables not only from his own mother and father, but the clergy, neighbors and friends, and anyone else who allowed him into their home. My father knew Thomas meant a great deal to me and that Thomas was very fond of me as well. I had good memories of my brother when I was growing up. I wish I had thanked my father when he was still alive and able to hear my words."
I tapped my fingers absently on the smooth fabric of my armchair and sat back. "My father taught me what sort of guardian I did not want to be to my own son," I said. Out of the corner of my eye I watched Charles, waiting for some type of indication that he had no desire to listen to me. "I cannot say he cared for me when I lived within his home. He showed me often enough that he did not want me as his son."
Charles didn't appear shocked by my words, but he offered a frown and nod. Perhaps he had come to his own conclusions or his wife had whispered that I had come to the opera house long ago seeking refuge from the violence of my youth. I assumed either he would have asked his wife or mother-in-law at some point or that one of them would offer up even vague details. I was, after all, no stranger to curiosity.
"You were closer to your uncle, were you not?" Charles continued.
His words came as a pleasant surprise. After decades of never speaking or thinking of him, I suddenly felt the desire to resurrect his memory once more. I needed him in spirit, wanted the mere thought of him in my mind as intangible comfort. "I was not with him nearly long enough, but yes, he was important to me."
Charles studied me a moment.
"What is it?" I demanded.
He looked away. "Your expression, Monsieur. Reminds me of when you speak of Alex. I know there is never enough time spent with someone you admire," Charles replied.
"I suppose not," I agreed, although I found it quite unfair that I had only had my uncle in my life for several months.
"What was he like?" Charles questioned. "Your uncle, I mean to say."
"He was a much better man than I will ever be," I answered honestly. "He took me in when I was undeserving of his kindness. I found music because of him and refuge from my…upbringing."
No matter how many years passed, I realized I would never feel worthy of my uncle's presence. I longed to be with him again, to have him rest his hand on my shoulder, to scold me for my wrongdoings and praise me when I deserved his kindness. I regretted the moments my stubborn side and flaring temper created a cavern of silence between us. I wished I'd been more mature and less quarrelsome. I wished I'd known of his illness and that our time spent together would be brief and his death more devastating than I could imagine. More than anything, I wished I had appreciated him and told him as much.
"A love for music must run in your family," Charles commented.
"I do not know much of my family," I said with a shrug. Internally I struggled to find true remorse over my estrangement.
"Perhaps you will find answers with your cousin," he suggested.
"My father was a vicious drunkard and my mother was nothing to me but a vacant title," I replied, my tone hinged with bitterness. "I was a terrible burden upon their lives and when I was gone from their home I doubt they ever thought of me again. There is nothing else to tell and nothing more I wish to know."
Once the words left my lips, I had no idea why I had spoken them aloud, especially to Charles. As ashamed as I was of my childhood, speaking aloud lifted an invisible weight.
"My apologies," I mumbled.
Charles studied his hands. "I understand," he said quietly. "I was quite angry with Thomas for many years after his passing. We cannot change the past, but we can change the way we feel about it. I will never be satisfied with my brother's passing, but I have forgiven him for his wrongdoings. That is all I can do. I understand the circumstances are much different between us, but the burden is the same." He paused momentarily and gripped his right knee with his hand. "I have many grievances, Monsieur. My brother's untimely death, my years spent at war, the loss of my mobility—I have felt very sorry for myself, but today, holding my son and daughter, I wonder if I could still walk if I would have found myself here with my Meg." His voice broke and he took a deep breath. "I am quite satisfied with the present, regardless of the past."
I considered his words and nodded. "I never saw past my grievances," I admitted. "When my uncle passed, I was devastated. I wished to follow him."
"I never saw past mine either," Charles confessed. "I suppose we are stubborn men," he said lightly. "And I will say to you, Monsieur, Alex was very eager to tell me he was named after your uncle." Charles offered a smile. "Other than his desire to embalm Madame Giry, I don't think I've seen him so thrilled."
His words made me chuckle. "You have great tolerance for my son and his exuberance."
Charles shook his head and took another sip of his drink. "When the idea of teaching him was first presented, Monsieur, I admit I was hesitant. However, I can assure you that since I have been under your employment, I have found him to be quite the challenge as a student."
I narrowed my eyes, unsure of whether or not he meant his words as an insult. I wondered if his drink had started to affect him, if the truth would escape him. "Excuse me?"
"Oh, I didn't mean a bad sort of challenge, Monsieur Kire. Do you remember how he first reacted when I met him?"
"He hated you," I answered.
Charles snorted. "I suppose that is the most direct way of putting it. And then when I returned to Paris..." His voice trailed off. There was sadness in his eyes.
"The situation changed," I replied.
He offered a nod. "So it did. There was never any doubt in my mind he was a brilliant boy, but with each passing year he became extraordinary. Some children who are exceptional tend to be difficult, but Alex has always been eager to learn. Your son is truly a remarkable child, Monsieur. I have no doubt you will hear people praise his intelligence and eagerness to learn more and more. Already I have expressed to my colleagues that there is quite the scholar blossoming in Paris."
In all the years Charles had lived within my home, I had not regarded him as anything more than a tutor. Looking at him then, seeing him as an educated gentleman that could easily hold a conversation regardless of the subject, I wished I had sought out his company more often.
"You have exceeded my expectations as a tutor," I replied. "And I appreciate your kind words regarding my son."
"Only the truth, Monsieur." He smiled pleasantly. "Teaching your son these last few years has been quite the pleasure."
"I thought you said challenge," I replied, failing at my attempt to keep my tone light.
He looked at me briefly, perhaps gauging my tone. A quick smile tipped the corners of his mouth. "I've held many discussions with scholars and professors alike and there are few conversations as enjoyable—and I admit sometimes as imaginative—as they are with Alexandre. His mind is like no other. Sometimes when he speaks I forget he is only a boy. His enthusiasm is unmatched. I cannot imagine a more engaged student."
"Charles, you remind me a great deal of my uncle," I said suddenly.
Charles sat up straighter in his chair and gawked at me. "Monsieur," he gasped. "That is quite kind of you to say. I hope you do not think I am seeking flattery. "
"Honesty, Charles," I corrected. "I say nothing out of flattery."
Charles placed his glass beside him, wiped his fingers on his napkin, and leaned forward with his hand extended. "It has been a pleasure making a toast with you this evening, Monsieur," he said. "Perhaps we may continue our conversation over tea next time," he suggested.
I accepted his handshake and nodded. "I look forward to it."
