Ch 120
Music had always been as vital as blood in my veins. When there was nowhere to go, no kind word or gentle caress, I turned inward and surrendered to the melodies I heard in my head.
Notes flowed through my mind as though an invisible spigot had been turned on and I was the willing recipient of the deluge. I felt alive when I composed, when the music came to me with its sweet melodies only I could hear. Apollo himself had chosen me, I was certain of it.
The sounds I heard were a living being to me, pulsing with life, vibrant and wild in nature. It swept over me like a storm, but also lulled me to sleep like the rocking of waves. The notes and tempo were whatever I desired them to be; obedient to my command while still powerful in their insistence that I give them a voice.
I loved creating music and wanted nothing more than to have my compositions heard. Solitary as a craft could be, when I composed, I felt as though I shared myself with others in a way that was both intimate and still distantly safe.
Playing my own work in the park had filled me with terror and elation. The longer I played, the more I allowed my mind to wander, to feel the surge of emotion as the music flowed freely. I felt at one with the notes, sound and soul indistinguishable.
In the span of three different pieces of music, I was not the Phantom nor a man crippled with the weight of so many years of hatred bearing down on him. I was simply a violinist entertaining a small and appreciative crowd on a sunny, late summer afternoon. If only briefly, I had stepped past the precipice of ghosts and shadows and stood where I had longed to be: in the shoes of a musician and composer.
Once I finished performing Lizette's Waltz, the crowd applauded and I was left breathless by their response. I took a bow and turned my attention to Alex and Lisette, who were seated directly in front of me. Alex offered a nod of approval while Lisette grinned up at me.
"Well done, Papa!" I heard her say. She waved to make certain she had my attention, and I offered a bow to her in response.
Some of the bystanders perused the art on display, much to the delight of the artists. I watched my brother walk around from one easel to the next with his hands behind his back. The artists whose work he examined stood nervously beside him, their lips pursed as they waited for Phelan to offer advice or praise.
"Without the beard and the bird, you look like a totally different person," Pierre said.
"Appearances can be deceiving. I'm still the same person on the inside."
"Is that a warning?" Pierre questioned.
"Do you still need warnings?" my brother retorted.
"Leave him be, Pierre. Can't you see he's injured? My poor, poor artist," one of the women cooed. She purposely drew her lips into a deep frown and shook her head.
"Favorite artist, Calista," Phelan said, biting off his words as though she insulted him. "You mustn't forget the favorite part."
The woman smiled, kissed the tips of her fingers, and gently touched my brother's head. She wrinkled her freckled nose and giggled to herself. "Now you will feel better."
Phelan scoffed. "That is quite enough of your doting, particularly in front of these new recruits. You," he said, nodding at the young lady from Bloom's. "Step forward, state your name, and tell me how long you have been attending the art sessions."
"Delphine Detlow," she said, standing straighter as though she were a soldier reporting to her superior. She held up her skirts and offered an awkward courtesy. "Six months."
It was truly fascinating to watch my brother in his element, surrounded by familiar faces that clearly held him in the highest regards as well as unfamiliar faces vying for a moment of his time. The three people he knew teased him over some prior incident that had taken place at the salon and he made comments that sent all of the younger artists into fits of laughter. His tone was always gruff, his face almost always in a scowl, but he still managed to garner their full attention.
"You must bring your brother to Carlisle," Pierre said to Phelan as the others began packing their supplies. "Or send him instead of your surly self."
"Surly? I assure you, my friend, you would be begging me to return after a night with my brother," Phelan replied. "He is as surly as they come."
"No one compares to you, Kimmer," Pierre replied.
"And no one ever will."
I smiled to myself at their exchange and fished the coins and banknotes from my violin case, feeling quite at ease in their presence. There was more money than I expected, and instead of adding it to my own trouser pocket, I instead removed several banknotes from my possession and handed all of the money to Claude, who was conversing with several people kneeling beside him.
"What is this?" Claude asked, squinting up at me once he realized what I'd handed him. He shaded his eyes with his injured hand as he gave me a puzzled look.
"Lunch for your friends."
"But–"
"In celebration of your pending sale. I insist."
"Sale?" one of the ladies questioned as she tucked her easel beneath her arm. "Claude, you didn't tell us you sold a painting."
"More than a painting, Bev. I have been commissioned for a theater program on behalf of Monsieur Kire himself," Claude answered quite proudly.
He turned the page in his sketchbook and revealed the rough draft he had shown to me earlier. The lines were darker and more sure, the background filled in with new details–including Bessie's unmistakable snout positioned at my right elbow.
"Celebrate tonight," Claude said, handing the coins and banknotes to Delphie. "At the Carlisle Club."
His words were met with a rumble of cheers and exclamations from his fellow artists as well as handshakes and several hearty pats on the back to congratulate him.
"Without you?" Calista asked. "No, Claude, that wouldn't be right."
"We will celebrate again when the programs are out," Claude said.
"We should be thanking you not only for lunch, but for entertaining us and being Claude's patron," Delphie said, nodding at me. "You are not simply famous, but generous as well, Monsieur."
"Oh, don't start with all of that, Mademoiselle Detlow," Phelan groused. "His ego has been thoroughly stroked as it is."
"Will you stop by tonight?" Marco asked Phelan. He was a full head shorter than my brother and appeared to be one of the youngest in the group. Standing at my brother's side, they looked like father and son with their matching dark hair and broad shoulders. "The head of the table is open for you as always. The salon is not the same in your absence."
"Flattering as your words are, Marco, I'm afraid I cannot attend tonight," Phelan said. He turned to Lisette and Alex. "I must visit with my niece and nephew a while longer before I board the last train for the evening and return home."
"Brussels," Pierre groaned. "Aren't you tired of that dull city yet?"
"Hardly dull when I'm there," my brother answered as he stepped behind Claude and gripped the wheelchair handles. Claude lifted the corners of the blanket draped over his legs to prevent the wheels from running over the fringe. It was much too warm for a blanket, but keeping his legs covered prevented questions regarding his bandaged leg and torn up trousers.
"Neither is Paris," Marco said as he shook my brother's hand. "You will visit soon, yes?"
Phelan hesitated. "As soon as I am able, which never seems soon enough."
"May we pay you a visit in a day or two?" Delphie asked Claude. "If you're feeling up to it?"
Claude offered a weak smile. His eyes appeared glassy and his expression strained. I couldn't tell if he was tired or if the pain had started to return, but it was obvious that he was no longer feeling well and needed rest.
"I would like that," Claude answered.
Marco squeezed Claude's shoulder. "Take care of yourself, Claude. We will bring the club to you when you are up to it, how is that?"
Claude's smile widened. "I have no idea how I am so blessed with such wonderful friends," he said. "Truly, it is a mystery to me."
With that, the artists returned to their bicycles or walked away on foot, waving and thanking us before Phelan pushed Claude back to the physician's office.
We were ten minutes later than expected and Dr. Khan was well aware of our tardiness. He snapped his pocket watch closed, cleared his throat, and looked quite sternly at all of us.
"Gentleman," he said, sighing to accentuate his disapproval.
"I told you seventy-five minutes, did I not?" Phelan said. "We're five minutes early, if you ask me."
Dr. Khan shook his head. "You are intolerable, Monsieur Kimmer, truly intolerable."
"You'll hear no argument from me, Dr. Khan."
"Would you please escort my patient to his temporary room so that he may rest?" Dr. Khan requested.
"We can do it!" Alex said as he gladly accepted the duty of delivering Claude to the rear of the building. "Lissy, you stand in front and guide the way. I shall maneuver."
"What about me?" Apolline asked. "I would like to help."
"You clear the office so that there is a straight path."
Dr. Khan waited for the children to walk down the hall before he spoke again. "I have arranged for an ambulance service to transport Monsieur Gillis to the University of Sorbonne for the surgical procedure," he stated. "I am quite pleased to announce that the surgery will be performed by none other than Dr. Elizabeth Garrett Anderson."
"A female physician?" Phelan questioned.
"A very capable surgeon and colleague of mine who has my utmost respect," Kamil replied. "Sorbonne agreed at once when I inquired about their facility and mentioned one of their former students would be the head surgeon. If you would like to see Dr. Anderson at work, you are more than welcome to view the surgery from their observation area."
Phelan and I exchanged looks before I turned my attention down the hall where Claude was preoccupied with three assistants. I thought of my own recovery in Persia, of how I had been placed face-down on a table, sedated, and examined by dozens of people whose faces I never saw, but who were allowed to view me in a most vulnerable state.
"Not without the patient's permission," I said.
Kamil offered a solemn nod and I could have sworn he knew my thoughts. "Of course."
"What time is the surgery?" Phelan asked.
"Dr. Anderson shall arrive promptly at five and will begin at six-thirty once she has completed her assessment. From there Claude shall spend the night in their facility and be released when healing seems satisfactory." Kamil paused and took a step closer. "If you do not wish to attend the surgery itself, I would advise that you stay with him until he is sedated. After that, he will not remember much until the following morning when the anesthesia has worn off."
"How confident are you that the surgery will be a success?" I asked.
"Highly," Dr. Khan answered. "However, it is quite clear that Monsieur Gillis does not have a shred of confidence in his future. I believe it would settle his nerves to have company if you are able to spare an hour of your time."
I considered Dr. Khan's suggestion. Had my brother not been visiting from out of town, the answer would have been quite simple, but as it was, I wished to spend as much time as possible with my brother before we were separated again for several more weeks.
"I will see what I can do."
Dr. Khan appeared disappointed with my answer, but not surprised. "If you would excuse me, gentlemen, I would like to discuss the transport and other details with my patient before he rests a while."
We followed him in silence down the hall where the room had fallen strangely silent considering Alex was present.
"Are you comfortable?" Dr. Khan asked as he took a seat by Claude's side.
Pain had etched itself back into Claude's features, but he still smiled. Apolline had handed her doll to Lisette so that she could place her arm around her brother.
"As comfortable as one could be in such a state," Claude answered. He turned and kissed his sister on the cheek. "Did you enjoy the park?"
Apolline nodded. She tightened her grip on her brother, her eyes searching his face.
"Good," he said. "I am glad you were able to meet some of my friends. They enjoyed meeting you at last. I've told them all about you. Did you know that?"
"I don't want to leave you," she blurted out. "Not again."
Claude reached for her arm around his neck and engulfed her hand with his, squeezing her tightly before he looked at the back of her hand. "What happened?"
"Nothing," she answered quickly.
Claude didn't press for an answer. "Apolline, please understand Dr. Khan must take me to a different place so that I can get better."
"Why can't I go with you?"
"There isn't enough room in the ambulance, I'm afraid, and surgery is no place for a sweet girl like you. But I will see you when the physician has put my leg back together. Then I will be chasing you all around like I used to do. Do you remember that?"
Apolline swallowed. "Claude–"
He smiled back at her. "Please, my dear, brave sister, I need you to do this for me one more time. Then no more being apart, I promise."
At last she conceded and turned away, wandering toward my brother with tears in her eyes. Phelan held out his hand and nodded to her, guiding her out of the room. Lisette followed behind, leaving Alex to linger a moment.
"I will look after Apolline," Alex vowed. "Until you are able to do so yourself."
"You are a wonderful friend, Alexandre Jean Kire, a truly extraordinary individual."
"I would like you to chase me as well when you are healed, if you wouldn't mind."
Claude chuckled. "Of course, my friend. I would be honored."
"Well, then…" Alex flung his arms around Claude and hugged him tightly before he composed himself and walked out, closing the door behind him.
Claude took a deep, shuddering breath and absently felt along his cheek where the scar was nearly covered by his beard. "Hearing you play this afternoon was a gift, Monsieur," he said, pushing his hair back from his face. "Truly a privilege to witness your musical genius in the park."
I took a seat beside him and placed my violin case on the floor beside my chair. "The privilege was mine to play before such a talented and cordial audience."
"We are no ones, Monsieur, merely a small group committing their dreams to canvas."
"You are fortunate to have friends with whom to share your work."
"We would be honored to have you join us at the salon one evening if you were not preoccupied with the theater and your operas. Which I suppose you are always preoccupied with the theater and your operas," Claude rambled. "But if you had an hour or two to spare, and your wife didn't mind, and Bessie didn't need to be walked–and even if she did–"
"I accept your invitation," I said.
Claude's cheeks reddened. He nodded and bowed his head before he spoke again. "How often have you played in the park?"
"Never," I answered.
Claude's blue eyes widened as he looked up at me again. "Never? As in not once prior to this time?"
"The last time I played in public was around eighteen sixty-two."
"But that's twenty-seven years ago."
"I am aware and no, you do not need to remind me that you were not yet alive at that time as I am well aware."
Claude chuckled to himself and I studied my violin case, which had not left the house since I'd purchased the instrument years earlier. It was in pristine condition, not a single scuff or scrape from being placed on cobblestones. I had kept it to myself, allowing the violin and the case to travel only between rooms. It seemed a great disservice to such a fine instrument that I had kept it all to myself.
"Why so long?" Claude asked. He immediately looked away from me. "I suppose that is none of my concern. I apologize for inquiring."
I hesitated, thinking back to what Phelan had said to me regarding Claude's impression that I didn't trust him as I shared few details of my life.
"Honestly? Because I doubted anyone would want to hear me."
"Why?"
"I had played in public a handful of times when I was much younger, typically one original composition and several that the crowds would recognize," I replied. "After a while, I decided to submit one of my works for publication and it was swifty rejected not only once, but by three different theater directors all in the same month. After that, I lost confidence in myself and in my music and had no desire to share my music with others," I confessed. "In hindsight, it was one of many decisions I regret."
"What was the name of the composition?"
"Beloved Uncle," I answered.
"Do you still play that song?"
I shook my head, feeling somewhat ashamed to reply as it felt as though I had done a great disservice to my uncle. "I unfortunately lost the original composition and no longer remember the song in its entirety. Once I was informed that the music was not satisfactory for publication, I was too embarrassed to play it ever again."
Claude looked quite offended on my behalf. "They were mistaken, Monsieur," he said. "I have no doubt in my mind that it was perfect, but they were not able to understand the true genius. They were fools."
"It was no great musical feat, but it was something that I cherished due to the personal nature of the subject matter." I sighed, wondering how my uncle would have felt by my carelessness with the music I'd written for him.
"You were close to your uncle, I assume?"
I nodded and smiled at the memory of my uncle. "He was more of a father to me," I answered honestly, allowing Claude a part of my past that still meant a great deal to me. "Our time together was unfortunately limited, but I loved him dearly, so dearly that I named my own son after him."
Claude smiled fondly back at me. "Did your uncle have the pleasure of hearing you play the violin?"
"He did," I answered, recalling how he had encouraged me to play twice before crowds in the brief time we traveled together. "He gave me his violin, taught me how to re-string it, hold it properly, and read music. Nearly everything I learned regarding the violin I owe to him."
"He must have been very proud to hear you play," Claude replied.
"I often wish he still could."
Dr. Khan watched me from the corner of his eye as he jotted notes on a paper secured to a clipboard. "What made you decide to play today, after such a long time?" he questioned without looking up.
"My brother made a request that I do so."
"Did you want to play?" Claude asked.
"I've always wanted to perform again, but…" I felt my stomach tighten as I considered my next words, a confession of sorts that reduced me to the nothingness I was accustomed to feeling. It was strange to come off the high of playing before an appreciative crowd only to crawl back into the blackness of self-doubt. "Who would ever desire to hear a man in a mask play?"
Claude's lips parted. "I would," he answered swiftly. "A thousand times over I would love to hear you play again."
"As would I," Dr. Khan mumbled. He glanced at me from the corner of his eye as he finished his notes. "I've not had the pleasure of hearing you perform."
Claude leaned toward me and offered a reassuring smile. "If I may say so, Monsieur Kire, the mask is not important to me, but the person behind it is."
oOo
Phelan had taken the children not only outside, but to the store across the street for candy. Given that I was with Claude much longer than I would have anticipated, I wasn't surprised he had chosen sweets to keep them occupied.
"One at a time, one at a time," my brother grumbled. "Are you feral?"
"Yes!" Alex answered. "Feral safari animals!"
"I regret asking," my brother said with a shake of his head. He held out a white paper bag, which the three of them had inserted their small hands into at the same time before furiously unwrapping their treats as if they hadn't eaten in ages.
"Chocolate?" Phelan offered, holding the bag out to me once I approached. "Alex assured me these are your favorite before proceeding to eat three of them."
I accepted a piece while taking one last look across the street, unsure of what the future held for Claude. Surgery had its risks, but not proceeding as planned guaranteed him the life of an invalid left in constant physical pain.
"May we play safari again?" Alex asked as he took another piece of candy from the bag and made a sound that was part growl and part giggle.
"The giraffes have retired," Phelan said. "Wipe your face, Alexandre, you look like you've been swimming in chocolate."
Alex grinned with his lips covered in chocolate as I handed him my handkerchief and shook my head at him.
Julia would not have been pleased with the amount of sugar their uncle allowed them to consume. I could only hope a sprint home would release some of their pent-up, sugar-induced energy.
"You may guide the zebras home as long as you take utmost care crossing the streets," I said. "And stay together."
There were no complaints from the children, who trotted to the corner neighing like horses while Phelan and I followed behind at a swift pace as to not lose sight of them.
"I promised Claude I would see him before the surgery," I mentioned as we crossed the street. The sky was starting to cloud over, the air more humid than I thought possible.
Phelan nodded. "I should hope so."
"You don't mind if I pay him a visit?"
"Of course not as I intend to be there as well."
"That is kind of you."
Phelan shrugged. "I would like to contact Marco and inform him of how Claude does so that he may relay the information to the rest of the group. It will put their minds at ease to know one of their own is receiving good care."
"They are fond of you," I commented.
Phelan bristled. "Well, they have no one else, so I suppose they must be fond of me by default."
I glanced at him briefly. "How did you come to be acquainted?"
"Art," he answered.
"I would have never guessed," I muttered.
Phelan grunted. "Actually, Pierre I met in jail."
"Jail?" I questioned. I blatantly stared at my brother, unsure of whether his words were said in jest. "For?"
"Val didn't tell you already?"
"No, he did not."
My brother shrugged. "I'm honestly surprised."
We rounded the corner where Alex made Lisette and Apolline wait for us to catch up to them. Once Alex spotted us, he gave the girls the signal to run once more and the three of them circled a lamp post twice before they proceeded down our street.
"I suppose I will inquire about the situation when I see our cousin next."
When Phelan put forth no attempt to elaborate, I decided to change the subject, but before I could speak, I found Antonio Le Blanc not fifty feet ahead of us. He waved the moment he saw me, then apparently noticed Phelan at my side and looked far less pleased to see my brother.
"The esteemed composer!" Antonio said, holding his arms out admirably. Again he eyed my brother. "And one of our long-time season ticket holders. How are you, Monsieur Kimmer?"
Phelan sighed heavily. "Never better."
Antonio extended his hand to me. "I was just coming from your home. Madame Kire said you had stepped out."
"I apologize as I was not aware you intended to pay a visit today," I said.
"Not an official business visit," he said. "I merely wished to deliver an invitation to you for a small gathering taking place next week."
"For?"
"The upcoming season," he answered. "Nothing in need of an immediate response. Simply a time to discuss details with our principals, director and conductor."
"I will read the details and respond once my brother returns home from his visit."
"Ah, your brother is in town?"
"I am," Phelan said.
Antonio blanched. "I didn't realize…" he looked at both of us, his gaze flitting back and forth as he compared the two of us. "I do see it now," he said with a nod. "Enjoy your stay, Monsieur Kimmer. I look forward to seeing you at an upcoming performance. Monsieur Kire, good day to you, sir."
OoO
I expected Alex, Lisette, and Apolline would protest our departure for Sorbonne University, but the sugar high resulted in a swift crash and they were more than content to spend a few hours drawing in the dining room with Bessie keeping watch over the dolls swaddled in blankets beside her.
"Would you like to join my book club?" I overheard Lisette ask Apolline while I finished buttoning my shirt upstairs.
"How many people are in your book club?"
"Well, for now it is just me and my papa, but if you joined, we would have three people."
"What if you can't read very well?"
"Oh, well then we would have to read together," Lisette answered without missing a beat.
"Then I would like to join, please."
"Wonderful. We will start tonight."
I met Phelan in the parlor where he stood gazing at his reflection in the mirror. He examined the scrape to his temple with his brow furrowed and head turned to the side.
"I would like a bit more of that salve if there is some to spare," he said.
"Madeline always has a spare jar on hand," I answered. "I'm sure she will send one with you."
Once my brother was satisfied with his appearance, we walked out to a waiting cab with a displeased older driver.
"Eight francs for the wait," he grumbled.
"You pulled up not five minutes ago," Phelan argued.
"It has been eight minutes. One franc per minute," the driver replied.
"That is absurd," Phelan groused.
"Not nearly as absurd as an hour's walk to Sarbonne," I reminded him.
Phelan grunted. "I'd rather walk than pay eight francs," he said under his breath.
"I would not," I replied before I turned my attention to the driver and ignoring my brother's astounding obstinate tendencies. "What is the full fare?"
"An even fifty," he answered with a mouthful of tobacco lodged between his back teeth and cheeks.
I handed him the full amount and climbed into the carriage behind my brother seconds before the wheels lurched forward and the horses took off at an unexpected trot.
I had never walked the university grounds, but I had seen it from afar and had been impressed by the architecture and sheer magnitude of the campus. It looked like a palace with its arches, magnificent dome, and blue rooftops that gleamed in the golden light of the setting sun.
When we arrived, however, clouds had steadily moved in and the buildings looked more dark and imposing than a welcoming beacon of knowledge. We stepped out of the carriage and stood in front of the main entrance, both of us silently studying the arched blue doorways.
"Gentleman, if you would follow me," Dr. Khan said as he emerged from the doorway to our left and ushered us inside.
The main building was more impressive on the inside than the exterior, the high ceilings and tile floor reminded me of the Opera House foyer, only much larger. We followed the physician up a wide, curved staircase, the sound of our footsteps echoing through the massive space. We passed a handful of people sitting on benches or leaning against the walls, but for the most part the university was quite empty given the time of year.
"How is Claude?" I asked, my voice echoing off the walls and tiled floor. The acoustics were near perfect, and I found myself impressed with the unexpected richness.
"Physically he is fair."
"And mentally?" Phelan asked.
Dr. Khan didn't reply. He briskly guided us down a gilded hall and through a doorway that led into what appeared to be a circular auditorium. There were no seats; the steps led down to a surgical table and three shelving units with various items as well as another table with linens and additional supplies. The air smelled of citrus and another scent that I couldn't identify but was burning in nature to my nostrils.
Claude breathed so hard that I could hear him the moment we walked into the theater. He was seated in a metal chair, his good hand nervously tapping the arm rest. His trousers had been cut off to his upper thigh, the bandage over the puncture wound as white as his legs. His boots were placed beside him, his injured ankle swollen and almost black from bruising while his toes were so enlarged that I had no idea how his boots fit. Beside him was a small leather pouch and his tattered sketchbook.
A woman in a white blouse and dark skirt glanced over her shoulder at us briefly before she returned to her own notebook, where she rapidly jotted down notes. She was seated in front of Claude on a wooden stool.
"Age nineteen?" she confirmed.
"Yes, Madame…I mean to say Doctor," Claude said. His rapid breathing made him sound as though he had sprinted across the campus.
"Known medical afflictions?"
"None."
"Are you aware of a reason why you are so emaciated?"
Claude refused to lift his gaze. His lips twitched and he swallowed. "Poverty," he answered.
The physician's expression softened. "Where I practice, that is all too common."
Kamil cleared his throat. "Dr. Anderson, may I introduce you to Erik Kire and Phelan Kimmer?"
Dr. Anderson looked nothing short of unimpressed when she glanced at us. She was younger than I had expected, her auburn hair pulled back in a tight bun that added to her severe expression. Her stern demeanor instantly reminded me of Madeline when she was in the prime of her days as ballet mistress.
"Welcome," she said without looking at us. She scribbled into her book while Claude forced a smile. "Are you related to Gillis?"
"We are not," I answered.
She turned a page in her book. "You are?"
"Erik Kire," I answered.
It took her a moment to look up from her writing. "What is the mask for?" she asked.
My lips parted and I blinked at her. "I beg your pardon?"
"The mask," she said, nodding at me. "What affliction plagues you that it must be kept concealed?"
"It is a scar," I answered.
"From?"
"Birth."
"Were you born diseased?"
"N-no," I stammered.
"Show me," she commanded.
"I will not," I said firmly.
"I can confirm he was not born with any disease," Phelan added. He stepped forward slightly as if he wished to place himself in front of me. "However, Dr. Anderson, with all due respect to someone of your high education, I do not see how inquiring about my brother's mask is relevant to Monsieur Gillis and his procedure."
"That is a burn to your hand?" she asked, ignoring his question.
"It is," Phelan said. "From childhood, if you must know."
Dr. Anderson seemed satisfied with our responses. "I do not want disease near my patient," the surgeon sternly replied. "Not when I will have him under a scalpel in thirty minutes. My instruments are clean, my patient will be as well. You have five minutes to converse and then you shall be escorted into the theater suite," she said, pointing to a window above where we stood. "Are there any questions?"
"None," I answered, matching her tone.
With that, she marched off toward a sink that I hadn't previously noticed and put her full weight into the pump handle until water gushed out. I watched briefly as she rolled up her sleeves and scrubbed her arms from the elbow down with a bar of soap, then nodded to Dr. Khan, who dried her arms and then sprayed her hands with a clear liquid that she allowed to air dry.
"Are you cold?" Phelan asked. "Your legs look like a plucked chicken."
Claude swallowed. "I am too frightened to feel anything at all," he mumbled.
Phelan frowned. "You brought your pencils and sketchbook?" he asked.
Claude absently looked at his drawing supplies near his swollen, discolored foot and ankle. He looked somewhat surprised by the injury and I wasn't sure if he'd seen it previously.
"I did," he answered. "I thought it would give me something to do, but my hand will not cooperate and my mind is unsteady."
"May I?" Phelan said, motioning to the sketchbook.
Claude hesitated only briefly before he bent and grabbed the sketchbook with a trembling hand and gave the book to my brother. Phelan purposely touched Claude's fingers and nodded.
"You've no need to be nervous," he said. "I've critiqued your work for years."
Claude forced a smile. "Yes, Monsieur."
Phelan turned and walked several paces away toward a lamp for a better look at Claude's work.
I took Dr. Anderson's empty stool and pulled it closer to Claude. Once I sat beside him, I had no idea what to say that might console him.
"You must regret that day in the park," Claude said absently.
"Not so. And I should say that was my wife's doing," I said. "I'd barely had any sleep the previous night and wanted nothing more than to relax in bed with Bessie, of course, but Julia had other plans for our day."
Claude allowed the slightest of smiles to touch his lips.
"No sensible man tells his beautiful wife that he would rather sleep the morning away than take her out for a walk, so I kept my grumbling to myself and obeyed her wishes."
"I recall you startled me," Claude replied. "I was deep in thought and then suddenly you were standing beside me critiquing my work."
"Admiring," I said. "Your work caught my eye the moment I saw the canvas."
Claude offered a genuine smile. "And then I insulted you by insisting you were not who you claimed to be."
"You severely tried my patience," I admitted. "Thankfully, I was not willing to leave the park without purchasing your painting."
He searched my eyes, his lips quivering. "Why mine?" he asked.
"Why not?"
"There is better art available. Paul, Vincent…they are the real artists, the ones that have greater technique, better knowledge of color and balance."
"But they lack pianos, dogs, and artists with whom I appreciate conversations and company. They do not pay my children in candy for their assistance nor speak of fanciful situations involving pits of flying snakes," I replied. "And thus are of little interest to me."
Claude ran his hand over his hair, then paused and looked at his palm. "It is strange not to be covered in paint and turpentine," he said. "I miss it. You were correct, Monsieur, the art is who I am. I am a painter."
"I will dip your hands in paint while you are under anesthesia if it would make you feel like an artist again," Phelan offered as he returned with Claude's notebook opened and extended it toward him. "You drew this at the park?"
Claude looked quite embarrassed. He hunched his back and bowed his head. "It's a start," he offered. "More of an idea, really, something I would like to explore further at a later time."
Phelan rolled his eyes. "For God's sake, sit up straight and cease your mumbling, Claude."
Claude nervously looked up and swallowed. "Yes, I drew it at the park," he said, his voice still trembling.
My brother inhaled. "It's very good," he said. "Quite possibly the best thing you've drawn in the six years I've known you."
"I don't believe I've known you quite that long, Monsieur," Claude said.
"Regardless, I would like to purchase it once you consider it complete."
Claude's lips parted. "Y–you wish to purchase my sketch?"
Phelan turned the sketchbook so that I could see the page as well. In the hour that we had been at the park, Claude had drawn a picture of me playing the violin while his artist friends stood before their easels. Phelan was at my side with his arms crossed while Lisette, Alex and Apolline sat at my feet. He'd added a bit of color to the trees, but the rest was mostly graphite pencil.
"Of course," Phelan said. "I would like to add it to my collection if you would be willing to sell."
At last Claude seemed to relax. "I would give it to you, no compensation required."
Phelan shook his head. "You are a terrible salesperson, Claude. We will discuss marketing your work at a later time."
Dr. Khan cleared his throat and stepped up beside Claude, startling him once he placed his hand on his patient's thin shoulder. "Gentleman, if I may interrupt," he said. "Dr. Anderson is ready to start."
