Ch 79
Nothing brought me quite as much shame as the ten months of unmatched hell in the traveling fair. Repeatedly I had searched for Amelie Batiste within the crowded tent, and each performance that I did not see her face, I was both relieved that she did not witness my humiliation and saddened that I was still alone.
I thought of Amelie often as the gypsies left one town and made camp in another. While rain beat down on the canvas tents or sweltering heat made the night air sticky and uncomfortable, I recalled how we had shared a meal and danced together. I imagined my hands gently resting on her shoulders, my fingers barely touching the fabric of her dress out of nervousness and fear that I would somehow harm the girl dressed as a swan princess.
For a single night, I had a friend who was my age. Prior to meeting Amelie and the years that followed, there had been no one, and I cherished each second of our short-lived friendship. My feelings for her had been platonic as I had no experience speaking to let alone dancing with the fairer sex. In what had been the most wonderful night of my life, there were no stolen kisses or attempts to caress and seduce her. At the age of twelve and painfully awkward around others, it had been enough to simply share in her company. From start to finish, the evening had felt like a dream.
I had spent my ten months with the gypsies longing to return to Tormage and a friendship that had come easily to me at a time in my adolescence when I had been at my most vulnerable and insecure. With the loss of my uncle followed by imprisonment and further isolation, I had clung to the memory of a girl who had been kind to me and the hope of returning. I had always thought of Amelie as the last living person who had known me before I had been transformed into a bruised, frightened source of cheap entertainment. She was not supposed to know of what happened after I left her town.
My God, she had known of my fate and chosen to keep her knowledge hidden from me. I wondered if every time she looked me in the eye, she thought of the hood yanked from my head and my misshapen face revealed to the crowd. I shivered at the thought of each strike of the club at my back, of how I had attempted to suppress each yelp, but the pain had often been overwhelming.
Deep inside I hoped that if she had truly seen me within an iron age, it had been at the earliest show in the day as by the sixth time Garouche walked the crowds of onlookers through the display of strong men, tattooed ladies, and the living corpse, I often struggled like a cornered animal fighting for a scrap of dignity, desperate to be left alone despite knowing the outcome never changed. I hated Garouche for his showmanship, myself for being born so wretchedly deformed, and Amelie and her brother for seeing me helpless and cowardly pressed into the corner of my cage.
I wanted her to think of me as a successful composer, a provider for my family, and a loving husband and father. Instead, I was a monster living a life I had scraped together. I had not flourished; I had somehow managed to survive.
"Alexandre Jean Kire, you walk like a proper young man and not a...not a…" Julia scolded, her voice quite loud and clear down the hall.
"A donkey after an apple!" Lisette quite helpfully said to her mother.
I placed the unopened letters in the pack and hastily stuffed the flyer in between the front cover and first page of my uncle's journal before I stood and walked the length of the room to unlock the door.
"We brought back flowers!" Alex announced, thrusting a small, rapidly wilting bouquet at my chest the moment the door opened.
"Where did you get these?" I asked, eyeing the ragged collection of cornflowers and daisies.
"The planter in front of Solan's," Julia answered over her shoulder with an exasperated sigh.
I raised a brow. "Alex?" I questioned.
"Monsieur Batiste said it was fine."
"After you pulled them out," Lisette added. With her hands behind her back, she rose up on her toes and rocked back on her heels, then stuck out her tongue at Alex.
"May we return to the Batiste farm so that I may give them to Madame Amelie and her mother?" Alex asked.
"No, Alex, we left an hour ago," I said.
"But the flowers are already starting to wilt-"
"Alex, we are not returning."
"Father-"
"Alexandre, not another word," I said, slamming my hand onto the desk. "I said no. You will not argue with me, is that understood? Your insolence is exhausting and will not be tolerated a moment longer."
Alex's face turned bright red. He looked from me to Julia and bowed his head in response to my outburst of anger. "Y-yes. I apologize, Father."
Behind him, Lisette silently padded into the adjoined bedroom and peered through the doorway at me, her face taught and eyes wide and fearful.
"Alex, why don't you and Lissy see if the children you met earlier would like to play?" Julia suggested. Despite speaking to our son and daughter, she kept her gaze pinned on me.
"They went home," Alex said under his breath.
"Then walk down to the little shop next to the cafe and look at the clocks and toys," Julia said, clapping her hands twice. "Both of you."
Lisette clearly hesitated before she emerged from the other bedroom and headed straight for the door leading into the hall. "Alex," she said quietly. "Do as Mother says."
Alex looked to me first, his dark eyes wide and pleading for answers. I thought he would attempt to continue the conversation, but instead he frowned and shuffled to the door where he dropped the flowers into the waste receptacle.
Lisette shut the door behind her, and the usual giggling shared between two children was replaced by silence that weighed upon me. It had been quite some time since I had raised my voice at Alex and Lisette had not witnessed my temper first-hand.
Julia remained unnervingly quiet for a long moment, but I felt the heat of her gaze upon me and dreaded her first words.
"That was a bit harsh," Julia said at last.
I scrubbed my face with my hand. "I will apologize when they return."
She crossed her arms. "Jean-Marcus was not angered by Alex pulling a handful of flowers from in front of his store. A bit surprised, but he seemed to think Alex was quite thoughtful with his gift giving."
I exhaled hard, frustrated with myself as it seemed unfit for polite society still rang true. "It was not the flowers."
Julia sat in the wooden chair opposite me and silently waited for me to elaborate. Reluctantly I reached into the leather pack and handed her the flyer.
"What is...?" Realization flickered through her gaze as she registered the image and words. I watched as her expression darkened and lips pursed. "Where did this come from?"
My stomach tightened. "It was with my uncle's belongings."
Julia continued to study the flyer. She pinched the edge as though it were a sullied piece of paper she had no desire to touch. "It's from Rouen," she said quietly.
"This one, yes. They were all the same. Only the name of the city and date changed."
"You've seen them before?"
I nodded even though she didn't look directly at me. "They were everywhere. Glued or nailed to every possible surface in each place the fair traveled."
The memory was truly nauseating as those ten months still haunted me thirty years later. When I walked late at night through the streets of Paris and heard raucous laughter in the distance, I often shivered despite being fully aware that I was not the source of their amusement. Sometimes the smell of cabbage, which Garouche's wife seemed to serve with every meal, turned my stomach.
"The first time I had seen one of the posters had been the same day a man reached through the bars and grabbed me by the arm. He yanked me forward with such force that there was a goose egg from my face hitting the cage."
Julia's eyes swam with tears, which she hastily brushed away. She placed the flyer onto the table and took my hand. "I cannot imagine how this must make you feel."
"Sick," I answered. Anxiety continued to vibrate through me, the sensation increasing with each rapid beat of my heart. My fingers felt numb, the sound of blood rushing through my ears loud as a stampede.
"I don't understand how this flyer ended up with your uncle's belongings."
"Amelie. Or more likely her brother."
"They...they saw you in Rouen?" Julia asked, her eyes wide with alarm.
"Jean-Marcus told me on the first night we arrived that he saw me in Rouen. He claims Amelie was not with him."
"But you think he is being untruthful?"
I shrugged. "What reason do I have to trust him?"
"What reason does he have to lie?" Julia asked.
"What reason does he have to tell me the truth? He did not care for me thirty years ago and made it quite clear he did not want me in his mother's home or near his sisters. The moment he laid eyes on my mask, he wanted me removed by whatever means necessary."
Julia's eyes widened. "I had no idea the two of you were not on good terms. He has seemed quite cordial the whole time we have been here."
I grunted and adjusted my sleeves. "Cordial indeed. Merely for show, I assure you."
Julia silently looked me over, I recognized the concerned look in her eyes from the dozens of times over the years she had suffered through me grousing over her uncle's latest review of my work. She remained quiet for a moment, mulling over my words as she always seemed to do.
"What did you say to Jean-Marcus when he said he saw you with the fair?"
"I said he was mistaken."
"Did he believe you?"
"I don't care what he believes," I said tightly.
Julia turned her attention back to the paper. My chest tightened, an invisible vise clamped down on my heart and made it considerably harder to breathe. I knew the stages of my own panic quite well and braced myself, dreading the overwhelming sensations that left me nearly paralyzed.
"Perhaps if you talked to Amelie-"
"No," I said sharply. "I have no desire to discuss this with anyone from the Batiste family."
Julia sat back and studied me a moment. "Why not?"
Because, I wanted to childishly respond and leave it at that.
"What does it matter?" I retorted.
"Amelie will not think less of you," Julia offered.
"I think less of me," I snapped.
Julia did not appear surprised by my words. She simply frowned at me and pulled at a thread on her skirt. "You shouldn't," she said quietly.
"If you had witnessed what I was all those years ago, you would reconsider your words," I angrily answered. "I was an abomination."
"I mean precisely what I said," Julia said quite adamantly. She ran her finger across the text along the top of the flyer. "This does not impact how I see or think of you and I think if you spoke to Amelie you would know that she feels the same."
"Do you know what is missing from this depiction? An iron cage more suitable for a gorilla than a rail-thin boy with a ruined face," I told her. "People came to see a child sired by the devil himself and when they exited the tents, they either pitied the pathetic boy they saw beaten or they wanted him dead. What would you have felt, Julia? Overwhelming pity?"
Julia didn't entertain my agitated state. She searched my gaze and shook her head until I could no longer bear to look her in the eye. I turned away, my hands in fists and every fiber of my body tense. The room felt far too confining, small as a cage, suffocating as a coffin six feet beneath the earth.
"I didn't want their pity," I said through my teeth. The physical pain had not been committed to my memory, but the emotions I had felt were sewn into the fabric of the man I had regrettably become. Words hurt a great deal more than any beating I had ever endured. "I didn't want…I didn't want to be loathed and feared by every single person who gawked at me. I didn't want any of it. Every night I went to sleep thinking of how I would return here and be content and every morning I woke beneath a wagon further and further from what I desired."
Julia placed her hand over mine and the sensation was like fire. Without thinking I pulled my hand out from beneath hers and settled it onto my thigh.
"I apologize," I said under my breath. Cold swept over me and goose flesh rose along my arms. Involuntarily I shuddered and stared at the leather pack. "It was easier when no one knew about the traveling fair. Or when I thought no one knew."
"Knowing about the fair did not stop Amelie from wanting us to visit," Julia reminded me. "It did not prevent Jean-Marcus from tending to your uncle's grave or Marie and her mother from welcoming us like her family."
"I'm ashamed to look them in the eye," I admitted. "I am ashamed of the person they will see looking back at them."
"I wish just one time you could see the person I do," Julia said. She looked at my hand resting on my thigh and I reached for her. "The person I see is sometimes gruff and highly irritated, but he is a good man."
"Not often enough, I'm afraid."
Julia shrugged and squeezed my fingers. "Well, if he listened to his wife, she would remedy this..." she teased.
Down the hallway I heard footsteps accompanied by my son's voice. His words were muffled, but judging by his excited tone I assumed he was not speaking to Lisette. I hastily reached for my mask and placed the flyer back inside the pack.
"That door," Alex said. "And don't mind the flowers in the refuse bin. They were wilted anyway."
Julia and I exchanged looks before there was a light tap on the door. "Erik? Julia?" Marie said.
Julia was on her feet at once and walked the length of the room to answer. "Marie? Is everything alright?"
"Yes, perfectly fine. I was going to speak with my brother when Monsieur Guillet stopped me." She looked past Julia at the empty service cart. "He said he had delivered a tray…" Her eyes scanned the room until she saw the chest of drawers and the food I had placed out of Bessie's reach. Once she spotted the silver tray, she shook her head. "Oh, that man! I said I would speak to you and your husband."
"I beg your pardon?" Julia asked.
Marie sighed, her cheeks flushing. "Monsieur Guillet would like you and your husband to be his honored guest at the Ruby Pony theater."
Julia furrowed her brow. "There is a theater in Tormage?"
"To us it is a theater, but to Parisians it's a little wooden platform where people stand and sing." Marie couldn't help but chuckle. "I would say the not very famous Ruby Pony comfortably seats twenty-five. Uncomfortably it seats twice as many. My husband and I perform twice a month to a raucous crowd of about eighteen loyal patrons." She turned to me and smiled. "When Guillet heard that you were visiting our family farm, he was quite adamant about inviting you, but there was one problem."
"You perform tomorrow night," I said.
Marie frowned. "Unfortunately, yes."
"Oh, Marie, we apologize," Julia said. "We would love to hear you sing some time in the future."
"I am glad to hear you say so," Marie replied. "My husband I will be performing tonight at the Ruby Pony if Monsieur and Madame Kire would be so kind as to accept the invitation."
"What does the owner want in exchange for our attendance?" I asked.
Marie shifted her weight. "To say that he hosted one of the most prolific and admired composers of our time in Tormage. Currently he can only tell his friends and family that he sent a tray of food to your room at the Golden Hen Inn, which I am sure you shared with your dog."
Bessie pawed at the chest of drawers and the tray that was out of her reach.
"I will consider attending the performance," I said.
Marie didn't attempt further persuasion. "We hope to see you tonight, but I understand if you'd prefer to relax after a busy day on the farm."
I nodded. "I am flattered by your personal invitation."
"As you should be. In Tormage, I am the most famous performer. Do not take into consideration that I am the only performer unless you count my husband, which I do not because he hides behind his piano."
I grunted at her words. "Of course."
"I will tell you that I have been practicing my rendition of Pretty Girls ever since my sister said you were visiting," she said with a wink. "If you do not attend tonight, then you will just have to take my word for it that I have improved immensely since I was seventeen years of age."
"Pretty Girls is the folk song you sang at the party?" I asked.
Marie grinned. "You remember?"
"Fondly," I said. It was a simple folk song that was accompanied by an eruption of off-key singing, laughter and dancing that had suited the evening. Never had I heard such merriment in my life, and the thought of colorful, rough-spun clothing and people clapping along to the music stirred the good memories I had carried for years.
Marie turned toward the door. "Ha! Amelie said there was no way you would remember the song."
"My memory is impeccable."
"Of that I have no doubt, but Amelie says even for a folk song it's quite plain. She may be correct, but I am flattered that the famous E.M. Kire remembers my favorite song and trust me when I say my sister, whom I love dearly, will never hear the end of this." Marie gave a smile of satisfaction. "If you plan on attending tonight, have the innkeeper send word to Guilett. He will make certain to reserve the best seat in the house for you and your family. The best seats in the house, in case you were wondering, are directly in front of where I stand on the stage."
Once Marie walked out of our room and closed the door behind her, I pulled off my mask and rubbed my face. When I opened my eyes, Julia stood staring expectantly at me.
"Take Alex and Lisette," I said before she asked. "Enjoy the entertainment."
"What will you do?" Julia asked.
"Read," I said. "And perhaps compose if the mood strikes. I haven't written a single note in at least a week."
"I understand your work is important, but Marie would be quite disappointed if you did not hear her sing tonight."
"Perhaps."
"Perhaps indeed." Julia gave an exasperated sigh. "She is singing on a Thursday evening instead of a Friday in hopes that you will attend."
"To appease the owner of the theater."
Julia cocked her head to the side. "Is that truly what you believe? That Marie is simply doing the bidding for the theater owner? She is thrilled for the possibility of us being in the audience and you know it."
I grunted.
"I married an impossible man," Julia grumbled.
"And I married a tenacious woman."
Julia smiled at last. "Yes, you did, and she will be horribly disappointed if you do not sit beside her at the Ruby Pony. Come with us," she pleaded. "Your wife and children want you there and that should be reason enough."
I looked from Julia to the wicker trash receptacle with the handful of discarded flowers at the bottom. Undoubtedly Alex's feelings would still be hurt while Lisette would most likely be cautious of my temper.
"I'll fetch them," I offered.
"Do you want me to go with you?"
I started to reach for Bessie's leash, but the dog had situated herself in front of the chest of drawers with her nose pointed upward toward the tray of food out of her reach. Her focus was impeccable and I was certain she wished to stare at the tray and will it to rain down upon her.
No, "I'll do it," I said, leaving the leash behind.
