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By eight-thirty, my list of performers for the audition were in an envelope and on their way to the theater. By nine Raoul, sent a note asking to reschedule to eleven so that he could have breakfast with his girls prior to his arrival. He also asked if they might be able to play with Lisette and Alex while he met with Claude.
Considering my home was expecting more traffic than city hall, I sent the messenger boy back with a response agreeing to Raoul's daughters accompanying him.
Two of Claude's friends arrived at my home shortly after breakfast, delivering with them Claude's bicycle from his apartment, a few of his belongings, and the funds from his final check issued by the factory.
"Eighteen francs," Claude said, sounding quite pleased with the meager amount he received.
One of the men smelled so strongly of alcohol for nine-thirty in the morning that I was surprised he managed to stumble up the stairs and into the study. The other, darker haired man with a prominent nose and mustache looked around the hall as though evaluating his surroundings. For that reason alone I followed them into the room and went about rearranging books, half-expecting the candlesticks would be missing if I left him unattended.
"Paul, Vincent, this is my sister Apolline," Claude said. "Apolline, these are two of my first friends Vincent Van Gogh and Paul Gauguin."
Vincent offered a slight raise of his hand before he continued staring at the rug.
"What a lovely young lady you are," Paul said, leaning forward in his chair. "How old are you?"
"Nine," Apolline answered with her face buried against her brother's shoulder.
"Ah, yes, nine years old. What a perfect age." He licked his lips and looked her up and down as if she were a leg of lamb hanging from a butcher's shop window. "Claude never told me he had such a beautiful sister. I bet you catch the eye of many suitors."
"Quit embarrassing her," Vincent said, waving his hands at Paul.
"When is telling a lady she is beautiful wrong?" Paul questioned.
"Vincent is correct," Claude said. "That's enough, Paul."
Paul sat back and crossed his arms. "Fine, I'll sit in silence as you two seem to prefer."
"Have you finished your portrait, Vincent?" Claude asked. "Vincent?"
The red-haired man slowly turned his attention to Claude. His heavy-lidded eyes closed and opened once more, but he appeared no more cognizant of his surroundings.
"Yes," he answered. "Yes, last night I put the finishing touches on it."
"How did it turn out?" Claude brightly asked.
Vincent sniffed. "I don't know. I can't seem to create work that others find enjoyable," he said. "I should burn it all, every last one. Douse it in gin and set it aflame."
"What a waste of gin," Paul muttered.
"This world pains me," Vincent whispered. "The suffering is unbearable, Claude. I do not know how much more I can withstand."
"You pain everyone," Paul said under his breath.
"Paul," Claude said. "Do not be unkind to Vincent. Please. You are both my friends and I would like to keep it that way."
"Claude," Apolline whispered, tapping her brother on the shoulder. She eyed Vincent, who sat staring out the window, his red hair uncombed and green eyes glazed over.
I wondered what he saw out the window, if anything. His gaze was distant, like a man caught in a daydream, but his features were taut as though whatever was on his mind caused him grief.
"Yes, sister?" Claude said.
"What happened to his ear?" she asked.
Vincent didn't react. I doubted it was due to not being able to hear her speaking and everything to do with being too damned drunk to function. As it was, I was surprised he still remained conscious.
"He had an accident," Claude answered.
"Like you did with the factory?" Apolline questioned.
"He cut it off," Paul said. He grabbed the shell of his own ear and pretended to do the same, making a guttural sound as he mimed slicing off his ear and holding it out. "Because he was angry at me. He's positively mad sometimes, aren't you Vincent? A mad fool who feels sorry for himself and gives bloody ears to whores."
Apolline pressed her face into Claude's shoulder, her eyes squeezed shut, to which Paul chuckled. "Ah, beautiful little bird, you needn't be frightened. Come, I shall offer my apology and comfort you," he said, patting his right thigh. "Sit on my knee, lovely."
"You'll do no such thing," I snapped, turning to face Gauguin.
Apolline gasped at the sound of my voice and stepped back. She grabbed Claude's arm and draped it over her shoulder.
Vincent sat upright, flinching at the sound of my voice. "Where are we?" he mumbled, his eyes darting around the study. "What has happened? Theo? Is Theo here? Where is my brother?"
"Claude," I said, tired of both men. "I am expecting company. Your friends must leave at once."
I didn't bother giving Claude a second to reply as I motioned to the two other men. Paul was slow to his feet and glared at me while Vincent had trouble standing upright without falling over. He was by no means a belligerent drunk. If anything, he appeared listless, a man attempting to drown out the demons, having no idea that they were the ones holding his head under.
"Out," I gruffly said, gesturing toward Paul. "Now."
The two men filed into the hall and I closed the study door behind me. Once we were away from Apolline and Claude, I blocked Paul's path while Vincent held onto the wall and continued toward the front door.
He paused once he reached the foyer and turned, teetering on his unsteady legs. "Paul," he said as he made his way to the door. "I do not ever want to speak to you again."
"Fine with me," Paul answered without looking in Vincent's direction.
Gauguin was shorter than me, a pig of a man with his greasy hair to his shirt collar and arrogant expression. I desired nothing more than to strike him until he was whimpering at my feet, begging for mercy.
"I beg your pardon, Monsieur?" he looked me over, his expression filled with far too much confidence and not nearly enough fear of what I would do to him now that we were in the hall. "What seems to be the problem?"
"Since you are apparently too stupid to realize it, Apolline is a child," I said through my teeth. "She is a little girl who plays with dolls and sleeps with a blanket for comfort. She is not a young lady or an object of misguided affection for a perverse adult male such as yourself."
"Come now, Monsieur. We both know girls eventually become women," he said. "With lips in need of kissing and wombs–"
"Not another word, you vile bastard."
I glanced down the hall to make certain Alex and Lisette had not returned home as I had no desire for them to hear my words.
"Paul Gauguin," I seethed. "If you ever so much as glance in Apolline's direction while I am present, you will never be able to paint again as every bone in both of your hands will be crushed to dust."
An arrogant smile found its way to his lips. "I should tell you, Monsieur, I have been a boxer."
I took a step closer so that his chest was nearly against mine and looked down at his fleshy, disgusting face. I dropped my voice lower, my words emerging as a growl only he could hear. "I don't give a damn what you've been as I guarantee you that you are outmatched. I can absolutely assure you that you'll never gaze with lustful eyes at another little girl as I will have pushed my thumbs into your sockets until your eyeballs are crushed into your minuscule, perverted brain. Have I made myself clear?"
The color drained from his face, expression wavering. "You are quite the generous host," he dryly said, mustering what little ignorant confidence he still possessed.
"You're leaving my home with your fingers and eyes intact," I said. "Quite generous indeed."
Once he was out on the porch and the door locked behind him, I returned to the study and straightened my sleeves.
"They are not allowed to return here," I said to Claude, who still had his arm around his sister. "And if Gauguin happens to be in the park when your sister or my children are present, he will be told to leave. Is that clear?"
Claude readily nodded. "Yes, Monsieur. Completely. I…I've never heard him speak like that before."
"If he ever does again…"
Apolline eyed me.
"It is in his best interest that he does not," I said for the child's sake. "Apolline, I believe it is time for your lessons."
"I only attend in the afternoon," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Today you will go for the morning."
Apolline didn't argue, preferring to slowly nod. She reached up and pulled herself out from beneath her brother's arm. I expected her to dash past me, but instead she lingered for a moment longer.
"Would you walk me to my lessons?" she meekly asked as she approached me. Tentatively she reached out, her eyes cast down. Before she stood in front of me, she dropped her hand back to her side.
"Of course. After you," I said, gesturing toward the door.
She looked up at me as she walked out of the room and paused in the middle of the hall.
"May I ask you something?" Apolline asked once I closed the study door, keeping her voice low.
"One question before lessons," I said.
"Am I in trouble?"
"Have you done something wrong?"
Apolline looked down and shifted her weight. "I'm not sure."
"What do you think you've done wrong?"
"I upset my brother's friend," she said, her eyes still cast down.
"Did you want to sit with that man?"
She shook her head immediately.
"Why not?"
Apolline drew her shoulders up to her ears. "Because I didn't want him to put his hands on me?" she said. Her answer was more of a question than a statement, as if she wasn't quite sure she said what I wanted to hear.
"Have other men asked you to sit on their laps?"
"Yes." Her lips twitched. "But only once or twice."
It didn't surprise me that a girl who had been living within a home meant for orphans had been subjected to leering men who found girls far too young of interest. I doubted anyone of authority took notice and if they did, for the sake of generous donations they most likely looked the other way.
Over the years in the theater, I had seen many patrons assume that their checks allowed them special privileges with the chorus girls and ballet dancers. They practically threw money at the managers and expected to walk freely into the dressing rooms or corner a young lady in the hall and steal a kiss or allow their hands to wander. They caressed thighs up skirts and roughly grabbed hips while the chorus girls lost their voices, afraid to speak up for fear of being reprimanded by the office managers.
Madeline interrupted as often as she could, but there were two dozen girls to keep track of at any given time and she was not at liberty to wander the halls as I did.
Accidents happened when I was around. Sandbags inexplicably fell from the catwalks, doors slammed in vacant halls, and torches were snuffed out when there was no breeze present. Those were the more benign acts that the superstitious theater employees credited to The Phantom. Sometimes deep-pocketed suitors fell down stairs mysteriously slick with oil or seats that had been perfectly fine the previous evening that suddenly gave out, depositing men onto the floor and into rotten eggs.
"What should I have done?" Apolline asked.
"If another man asks for you to sit on his lap, tell him no."
Her bottom lip quivered. "What if…what if he doesn't listen?"
"Then you tell Claude and if Claude isn't around then you tell me, my wife, or any other adult that you know. And if there is no one around, you stomp on that man's toes or you poke him in the eye and you run. When you find someone who will listen to you, we will make certain that person is dealt with appropriately."
"I wouldn't be in trouble?"
"No," I said firmly.
"May I ask another question?"
I raised a brow. "I will allow it."
"Would you really break someone's fingers into dust?" she asked. Her cheeks appeared flushed, her blue eyes wide. I couldn't tell if she was more frightened of Gauguin or my threat.
"I would do whatever is necessary to protect the children beneath my roof," I answered.
The slightest of smiles broke through her sullen expression. I suspected it had been quite some time since anyone had shielded the little rabbit of a girl from harm. She peered up at me as though searching for something or someone different, her gaze less cold than it had been previously. After a long moment, she simply nodded, then turned and darted through the kitchen and out the back door, her run more of a hop as she leaped across the stone pathway while I followed behind.
"I can walk by myself from here," she said once we reached the gate. "It isn't that far."
She started to reach out, but retracted her hand and pursed her looks. Deep blue eyes peered up at me as though she still felt uncertain of whether she was allowed to make decisions for herself.
"Tell Monsieur Lowry that his students will be taking their lunch at eleven-thirty."
"I will."
She scurried to the back door, turned, and shielded her eyes from the sun. Once she saw me still watching, she waved enthusiastically and disappeared into the house.
A/N:
It's factually accurate that Gauguin had a relationship with a 14 year old girl and fathered two children with her in Tahiti. There are other accounts of the numerous children he fathered with very young mistresses (13 to 14 years old) while also giving them syphillis. All while remaining married to a Danish woman with whom he had five children.
