Chapter 61. The Emerald Fairy
I cannot breathe!
He unbuttoned his shirt awkwardly, popping a few buttons, and rolled up his sleeves. Sweat was trickling down his forehead.
The aggressive, humid heat of Atlanta fell on him like a leaden blanket as soon as the carriage door opened.
He cleared his throat. Bloody hell! I am so thirsty!
He frantically unscrewed the stopper of his silver flask. What a pity! Not a drop of whisky left to lap up after all the bottles I have swallowed on this journey!
The coach headed straight for Peachtree Street. Dropping the luggage and changing at the Kimball House Hotel was out of the question! The man who usually made a point of being well attired, especially in the presence of his wife, did not give a damn about that today!
He could hardly wait. His heart was racing to the rhythm of the horse's gallop, which seemed to be hammering out the tempo of "their" Irish ball song:
"I'll Take You Home Again, Scarlett,
Across the ocean wild and wide
To where your heart has ever been."
Oh yes! The time had come for him to take her home... He was her home!
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At last!
Pork almost stumbled, so surprised was he by the impetuosity of the former owner of the mansion, who unexpectedly stormed into the hall just as the butler was greeting the visitor.
"Is Scarlett here?"
Without waiting for an answer, he pushed open the office door.
The mistress of the house, standing at her desk with a book in her hand, stood still, her eyes wide. She dropped the ledger in surprise. But it only took a few seconds for her to come to her senses and turn into a ball of rage.
«God damn it! You are already back from France! So the Parisians of ill repute have had enough of your debauched behaviour... How dare you set foot here, you rascal? Leave my house at once, Captain Butler, before I order you expelled like the Charleston plague you were! Are you out of your mind? Breaking down my door like a... blockade-breaker!"
Then her cheeks flamed when she noticed that the impromptu visitor had his shirt half open over his hairy chest: "You are so drunk you have lost all sense of decency, with your disengaged look straight out of your brothel of choice."
A gargantuan laugh shook the porcelain cup resting precariously on the delicate pedestal table, echoed off the windows, and sent Prissy scurrying out of the kitchen in a panic at the din, so unusual since Captain Butler had left the house.
However, when she realised that the uproar was caused by her former employer, she decided to remain invisible and slipped away.
"Ah Ah, breaking the Yankee lines was child's play compared to the Thunder of Georgia's murderous injunction not to invade her sanctuary!"
Scarlett's emerald eyes widened like saucers at this insulting mockery. "You vermin! You are nothing but vermin!"
Not caring about her wrath, he remembered that he was dying of thirst. Without further ado, he grabbed the jug of water and drank large, sonorous gulps straight from the neck.
Astonished at his crass nonchalance, she cried out at the top of her voice, "Go séideadh an diabhal san aer tú! " (May the devil blow you into the air).
He was even more amused by the unusual Irish insult.
"Take it easy! Would the future heiress of the Vayton Empire lower her mask of respectability by swearing like a carter's daughter worthy of your boorish Irish ancestors?"
Oh!" Drunk with indignation, Scarlett gritted her teeth. She threw the file she was still holding in his direction. Flying leaves scattered, the account book knocked over the mug and the tripod side table, but... it landed benignly at the feet of a hilarious Rhett.
What a magnificent tigress! And those breasts that will make her bodice explode when she convulses with rage... ... Unable to control his impulse, he lunged at his prey.
He had just enough time to grab her arms with one hand and restrain her before she pounced on the insolent man, claws out.
Caught in a vice by her attacker, she struggled, but he dropped his mischief attitude and murmured softly, "Shhh... Shhh... It's all right... There... Calm down... Shhh...", like a horse trainer gently touching the head of a wild mustang... before placing the collar around her neck.
He must have been overconfident, because the rebel broke free and dug her nails into the captain's tanned cheek.
Droplets of blood began to trickle down his chin. He brushed them away with a finger, seemingly surprised that scarlet had stained the flesh. Red like the lace of Scarlett's blouse. Red like her lips, which formed an 'O' in surprise at the result of her attack. Red like the veins that had encircled his brain and almost caused it to explode. Red like the passion that made him lose his mind.
His arms - or were they claws? - wrapped around the light body and laid it down on the sofa like a porcelain doll.
The vehement and indignant protests came down like a hailstorm. But they did not affect him. The only thing that mattered were the graceful hands that buried themselves in the hairs of his half-naked chest as they tried to push him away.
She fulminated: "Let go of me now or I shall call Pork for help so he throws you out like an intruder!"
But the threat did not reach his ears. The blood was pounding beneath his temples, competing with the deafening sound of his heartbeat. Everything was revolving around him.
He reached with all his might for the only anchor that would keep him from falling into the abyss, this burning body that he hastened to knead like the finest flesh ready to be devoured.
He could barely hear her scream: "Let me go, you swine! How dare you touch me after rolling in the filth with that... that... Clementina? Go to your Italian whore at the Imperial. (*1)
What did she say? Who was she talking about? Tina? The Imperial? His brain could no longer analyse these nonsensical words, absorbed as he was in savouring the juicy curves that had made him fantasise for weeks, months, years...
He plunged both hands into her bun and pulled out the hairpins, disregarding his usual delicacy associated with this ritual. At last! The long, silky locks spread out on the sofa cushion. He buried his head in the glossy mane, intoxicated by the scent of gardenia and other more intimate aphrodisiacs.
He stammered incoherent words, interspersed with endless "My Sweet", as his arms and legs undulated over her with the mastery of an expert at arousing desire. They were becoming one, like a powerfully flowing torrent, content to frolic in the furrows of the rich, juicy earth that welcomed them.
Through the fabric of her bodice, he marvelled at the feel of her nipples hardening under the skilful teasing of his fingers. Soon she would give up her arms and give herself completely to him!
He scanned her face for any sign of surrender. Her lips were crimson, so much so that she pinched them to keep from giving herself away with a moan of pleasure. Lips he could not wait to crush beneath his own.
She was keeping her eyelids closed. But he needed her to open her eyes so he could read an emotion in them, the one he was waiting for...
"Scarlett! Look at me!"
She insisted, but her eyelids twitched against her will. Finally she gave in.
And then, brighter than a sunrise on the open sea, golden flakes ignited the green irises that nestled between long lashes that fluttered wildly.
His serenity was short-lived, however, for the jewels fired bolts of lightning so sharp they struck him in the heart.
For a quarter of a second. Then, enigmatically, she smiled. A smile he recognised at once, the one that usually preceded some hurtful remark she liked to hurl at him perfidiously for the fun of making him suffer. The one of the cat gently petting the mouse before mercilessly devouring it.
He held his breath, armed with the shell of indifference that had protected him for fifteen years, and stood ready to counter the blows.
They manifested themselves in her most seductive intonation, the one that had brought poor Charles Hamilton to his knees one day at the picnic in Twelve Oaks:
"At your advanced age, I doubt if you can match the vigour to which my young lover accustomed me in Philadelphia, Captain Butler! "
If she had been trying to destabilise him, to get him to let go, the effect was the opposite. The mere thought of the pretentious young man in bed with 'his' wife made him lose his senses.
A wave of nightmarish images washed over him. He could no longer see Scarlett, but alien arms trying to pry his treasure loose. Stripping her naked. Touching her breasts, her thighs...
"Hands off Vayton! She is mine! She is mine! Do you hear me?"
To get rid of the enemy, he vigorously kneaded her skin to remove all traces of the impostor. Like a man possessed, he unbuttoned her bodice, tore off the delicate organza chemise and seized her breasts like a bird of prey. Without mercy, he lifted her skirts and spread her long legs to better insert a thigh. His eyes bulging, he he trapped Scarlett's face with one hand. He did not hear her protests, for it was not she who was inches away from him, but his rival, whose arms crawled over her beloved body.
He swore in a murderous voice: "No, Vayton! You shall never touch her again! Woe betide you if you come near her again!"
Far, far away, he vaguely heard panicked protests: "Rhett! Stop it! You scare me!"
Scare... Scared? Scared of me?
Like a tidal wave, another frightened Scarlett came to mind: the one from the night of the Atlanta fire, when he had abandoned her on the road to Rough and Ready; Scarlett frightened the second she had seen herself fall into the he had killed their unborn child; Scarlett with the fateful premonition of that sunny afternoon when he laughed at Bonnie's stubbornness; Scarlett filled with horror as she watched their little girl gallop away like Gerald, followed by the wounded cries of both of them after he had killed their beloved child; finally, the shameful memory of the night of that damned Wilkes' birthday, Scarlett screaming as he threw her into their former marital bed to take her by force...
Bloody hell! What the hell am I doing? Rape her? Like the despicable man I am...
In an instant he stood up and slammed his forehead against the window. Shame! Shame crushed him like a leaden curtain. What demon has possessed me?
His voice was so broken with remorse that it was hard to hear.
"I humbly beg your forgiveness, Scarlett! It will never happen again. Never again will I frighten you!"
Still in shock at what had just happened, she adjusted her bodice as best she could, as some buttons had been torn off, and fastened it with a scarf she had left on an armchair. As she summarily pulled her messy hair into a bun, she watched her former husband's movements through the mirror.
He paced the room nervously, still not daring to look at her.
He grumbled: "It's the alcohol that's making me go off the rails... No! It's jealousy that's got me! I am mad with jealousy, knowing that you are with someone else... with him". He added, waving his head from side to side in denial, so lost was he: "Because I do not understand!"
Finally he stopped in front of her, searching for an answer to his torment. It was strange... for he suddenly had the impression of standing at the foot of a fortress with walls so thick that they blocked out all light, leaving him in the dark, helpless in the face of a medieval portcullis to which he would never get the key. Padlocked, like the hermetic face that shunned him.
"No, I do not understand!" He was at the height of exaperation. "Everything had been so wonderful! At last you had accepted my caresses. You even returned them. You cannot deny the shivers of pleasure that radiated from your skin, Scarlett! The few hours I held you naked against me would have been enough to fill the rest of my life. And then, without warning, when I woke up and could not wait to start our new life by asking you to become Scarlett Butler again... suddenly... there was nothing in front of me but an icy young woman. Mercilessly cold! Bloody hell! Explain this to me, Scarlett! What happened on the train while I was sleeping? What dark thoughts passed through your mind? Unless..."
The palm of his hand stroked his chin thoughtfully: "Unless... No! You would not have dared to be so cruel!"
And then, as if on a merry-go-round, furtive images flashed before his dilated pupils - or had they gone under his skull? - furtive images, so many that they intertwined, of all the times she had played him, manipulated him with extreme cunning, masked by her dimples.
He let out a choked, sarcastic exclamation that sounded very much like a sob: "Of course you dared! Only one woman in the world could be so cruel: the Scarlett I have known for fifteen years, the one who enjoyed breaking the hearts of every man who had the weakness to love her. Including myself, her favourite target".
Disgusted by the revelation, so logical in his mind, his eyes hardened with rage: "How you must have laughed under your breath at my endless litany of ridiculous, syrupy words of love. Finally, after all these years of failed attempts, you had managed to get me where you wanted me, at your feet!"
He moved even closer to her and concluded disillusioned: "I notice that you get bored with your toys faster and faster as time goes on. It only took an hour while I was asleep for you to realise that you no longer enjoyed the for you to dismiss me as one of the poor bastards of convicts that you held at the end of a pike in the dear sawmill of the incorruptible Mr. Wilkes..."
He stopped, out of breath from the tortuous peregrinations to which his reflection had led him. His dark irises blurred. "Well done, Scarlett O'Hara, you have won!
Having been silent since he began his fiery monologue, she stomped her foot angrily to put an end to it: "That's enough, Rhett Butler!" Jaws clenched and eyebrows knitted, she fulminated: "I won't take any more of this. How dare you pour out your torrent of insults and accuse me of manipulation on that fateful night when I almost fell into your trap? I knew you were vile and capable of the worst. But you manage to reach new heights of perversion by distorting the truth to hide your sickening misdeeds in Washington! "
It was Rhett's turn to frown. Washington's sickening misdeeds? What is she talking about? There was a buzzing in his head, adding confusion to the opacity of her words.
"My sickening Washington misdeeds? Is that what you call our tender embrace at the Willard Hotel? You really are driving me mad, Scarlett, forcing me to see through the incongruity of your irrational rage! Will you finally tell me what nonsense managed to turn you to ice that morning, just an hour after your moans of pleasure? For God's sake! What was that all about? How could you dare to give yourself to that vile seducer while you were still warm from my body on top of yours?"
He had deliberately used coarse language to drive her into a corner and force her to tell him the truth, but he had not expected his words to send her wild.
Trembling with rage, she grabbed a small vase of cut roses within reach and smashed it at his feet.
He froze, indifferent to the water splashing down his trousers. I am dreaming... Is it happening again? I am in the library at Twelve Oaks again. But this time I get up as soon as she comes in. I will stop her from throwing herself into the arms of that Wilkes puppet. And Vayton will never come into her life! The past is gone.
The creaking of the broken glass beneath his feet brought him back to reality. It was 1876, in the living room of the house that had once been theirs.
A few centimetres from him, Scarlett O'Hara's bright green irises shot deadly lightning bolts. As deadly as the insults she was hurling at him: "How dare I? Me? Your cynicism is beyond comprehension! You are the most amoral, cruel, vulgar, depraved and degenerate being on earth!"
He could not help laughing. A fat, admiring laugh to congratulate her on the richness of her vocabulary and her ability to paint a picture - admittedly unflattering to the average person - but one that satisfied him without making him feel an ounce of shame. "This string of sweet words fills me, my dearest!"
She lifted her chin defiantly: "I have dozens more at your disposal. But there is no need to waste my time giving you other labels. You would laugh at adultery, which is the summary of our happily dissolved marriage. By divorcing you, I thought I had put an end to the shame of having to put up with your infidelities and bedding down with that Belle Watling and her ilk. But on reflection, the word that best describes you on the night of the Irish Ball is hoaxer. How you must have laughed at me with her at the pretty trick you had pulled off! Lulling my new-found confidence, confusing me enough with your wandering hands to ensure that sooner or later you would get your way. But 'pretending' - as she wisely advised - was not enough. You had to plunge as soon as possible into the sordid fornication you had been indulging in since your banishment from Charleston. You did not need to take her advice to "find an excuse to get rid of me as quickly as possible". With your characteristic cunning, you slipped away to find your 'Piccolina Clementina' in her room at the Imperial". (*2)
He was petrified on the spot, stunned by these extravagant accusations. He stammered: "Clementina? The niece of the owner of the National Theatre? Why bring that name here? What are you talking about, Scarlett? What is all this nonsense? Have you lost your mind?"
Her dimples, which had always delighted him, deepened to accentuate her cruel grimace: "Amore Mio! Come to me! I am on fire! Your piccolina Clementina will be waiting for you, with her thighs open as you like them... " As you can see, although I only read this letter once before shredding it, its words have remained engraved in my memory. Was she wearing the 'transparent tulle negligee that you adore?»
He held his head in his hands. A vice gripped his temples. His skull was about to explode! I will wake up. Scarlett will be sitting quietly at her desk and she will laugh when I tell her my dream. Rendezvous at the Imperial... The letter...
"A letter? What letter are you talking about?" He grabbed her arm to wake her from this nightmare. "You are not yourself, Scarlett! Such vulgar words have never come out of your mouth. You are delirious! Why bring up an alleged conversation with Clementina? Good heavens! I barely greeted her at the artist's lodge, and in your presence! All I wanted to do was leave the theatre, take you dancing and embrace you!
She tore herself from his grasp, angrily.
" You do have the nerve to go on lying? It is no use, Rhett! I have read it. I read the letter she surreptitiously gave you in front of everyone, the actors, her uncle, and me, your supposedly still wife! You make a lovely couple, both of you having the same talent for vicious underhandedness. I am sure you were turned on by her trick of slipping the note into your jacket while you hypocritically held my arm. It must have added spice to your lovemaking a few hours later. But... I realise you have aged a lot since the days when you shamelessly cheated on me. You were more careful about hiding your bedtime at Belle Watling's brothel - at least at first. It tarnishes your reputation as an adultery expert that you made a rookie mistake by leaving the evidence of your betrayal lying around in your pocket. Remind me to send a letter to George Pullman congratulating him on the efficiency of his porter. Ironic, isn't it? It took 'our' George to meticulously check your evening jacket and place what was inside in the copper tray. And that a folded piece of paper fascinated me... Without the help of fate, which took the form of this brave employee, I would never have been able to decipher the messy, error-ridden calligraphy of your ''Piccolina Clementina''. Too bad... for you! Because let me tell you a secret: you were just about to catch me again in your net. All it took were a few scribbled lines to make me open my eyes and throw you back where I had put you: into oblivion. Do not offend me in the least if you think I was affected. You and your treachery were quickly forgotten in Duncan's arms. And his mouth... his mouth was a revelation in Washington... The hour is approaching when I shall legally share the bed and the life of this Prince Charming, this world-renowned artist, this handsome man younger than you, this billionaire far richer than you, this perfect son, adored by his family, this Charlestonian of honour, praised by those who were your peers and despise you. Last but not least, he is madly in love with me and will be eternally faithful to me - unlike you, of course. To close the subject and put an end to your pathetic sexual attempts, I might as well tell you that he is a vigorous and tireless lover. You should take advice from him, because his imagination for satisfying me is far superior to yours!
Her hagiographic tirade about her new lover, and especially the crude allusion to their lovemaking, had the effect of a cascade of raw scalpel cuts into his flesh. In protest against this unbearable torture, violent stomach cramps made him bend over backwards. Why was he suddenly trembling?
To keep from falling, he clung to her, for she had always been his sole centre of gravity.
He struggled to articulate: "Shot through the heart! You managed to finish me."
She tried to pull away from him again. So he wrapped his fingers around her neck.
His own voice seemed to come from beyond the grave, so pasty did it sound: "It's over. You will not make me suffer any longer, my flamboyant Scarlett. My sweet! My heaven and my hell. Look at me one last time before we leave this world forever... "
Instead of showing fear, as a final gift she offered him the most beautiful sight of all: a firework of the purest emeralds battling with streams of raw gold.
Was she speaking? He did not hear her, so hypnotised was he by the symphony of gems spinning exclusively for him.
He trembled more and more. His heart was on the verge of giving out. But nothing mattered anymore. The green emeralds had won, vaporising every last particle of gold.
But... what's going on? He blinked several times to be sure of the reality of the divine apparition before him.
It was Scarlett, of course. But, to his delight, she was completely... naked! With what pragmatism he had left, he wondered how he had managed to undress her. Her posture was as natural as when she put on a hat. Only instead of showing the pearly white skin whose memory had haunted his restless nights and soaked his sheets, the odalisque's flattering curves were powdered with an iridescent emerad cloud that made her silhouette diaphanous.
"You are a fairy, Scarlett. The Emerald Fairy." (*4)
The dazzling emerald reflections shone around her like a halo. Burning with desire, he gave in to the temptation to caress her. Beneath his fingers, the goddess-like figure was so ethereal that it was impalpable, to his great despair.
Frustrated, he checked his own arms to make sure they had not suffered the same fate. His veins were swollen with bubbling blood, red blood that was being replaced, drop by drop, by a green liquid.
Green everywhere! It was no longer just a carnation, but a gaseous phenomenon that had taken advantage of his stupor to take over the room, transforming it into a vast meadow of green moss.
All around them, in this oppressive new world, the green moss was multiplying by the second. It had grown on the windows and now covered the ceiling.
He was certain that this green creature would wrap them both in its protective mantle for all eternity.
Both of us? No, she has disappeared! What magic trick had she used to slip away like an eel?
He panicked: "No! Don't leave me! Scarlett, don't let me leave this world without you. I'll go to hell, that's for sure. But the worst hell will be not being by your side.
He wanted to go and find her, but was prevented from doing so. Horrified, he saw that the vaporous foam had mutated into a green hydra. And the mythological monster was strangling him. (*5)
A hydra in the form of Duncan Vayton...
He fighted with the energy of hatred he felt for his enemy, and let out a cry of victory as he managed to sever Vayton's head with the strength of his hands alone. "I have defeated you! At last!"
He had to take advantage of the situation to get to her, wherever she was! But the evil Hydra regenerated at Vayton's command. Another head grew. And another... And another...
Exhausted by this unbalanced fight, feeling his heartbeat slowing, he summoned his last strength and tore off the heads clinging to his shirt, one by one.
In vain! The green hydra wrapped its many tentacles around him, shaking him like a bundle of bran. He was nothing more than a puppet being shaken about.
As a final torture, the monster screamed so loudly that his eardrums burst:
"Tonnerre de Dieu!" (Thunder of God (*5) Wake up, Rhett!"
Who was talking to him?
With great difficulty, he managed to leave the world of the Hydra and obeyed the command by lifting his eyelids, which were as heavy as lead.
Another imposing creature leaned over him. This time a red one. Red hair and beard, at least.
A stream of words, a mixture of French and unintelligible English, poured into his ears, unable to shake him from his stupor.
"Where is she? Has he gone?"
"Who are you talking about, Rhett?"
He took offence that the other did not understand him. "Scarlett! The Emerald Fairy! And the Hydra, did I really manage to scare it away?"
Without waiting for an answer, he scanned his surroundings. Not a speck of green moss on the walls or floor. But a row of half-broken bay windows and a skylight above him, letting in the first pale rays of dawn.
And "the red-haired creature" was simply his new friend, the warmhearted Archibald Le Rouge.
"A fairy? A hydra?" The Frenchman gave a bracing laugh: "Oh là là! You have been drowned in a fantasy world. It is obvious that the absinthe you drank last night to celebrate your arrival in Montmartre has sent you into an oniric delirium! (*6) Considering your dishevelled appearance, it must not have been pleasant. You poor thing! Your shirt is in tatters and your torso is lacered with bloody scratches, not to mention your cheek, which is smeared with dried blood. Next time, I'll make sure the Green-Eyed Muse is more charitable with you" (*7)
So... it was all a dream... or a nightmare... I am in Paris, not in Atlanta. Because I remember that I was in Atlanta last night. With Scarlett. But everything is confused. There was a violent argument. I vaguely remember it was about a letter... That's all. Oh! Let's forget it! I have work to do at the Louvre!
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Notes on Chapter 61, The Emerald Fairy :
The painting which inspired me to write this chapter is «The Absinthe Drinker" painted in 1901 by Viktor Olivia, a Czech painter. Check on my blog: ( search on Google: the Robillard Boutique ,) to view it together with hundred of illustrations of The Boutique Robillard's novel.
(*1) Imperial Hotel, on Rum Row in Washington. It was there that Clementina, niece of the owner of the National Theater and an extra in Black Crook, had arranged to meet Rhett in her explicit letter, the very night he was with Scarlett.
(*2) Scarlett uses the exact words of Clementina's letter that she read in the varnish, chapter 50, Thirst 2e part.
(*3) "Tonnerre de Dieu, Thunder of God" old bad word used in Middle Age until the 1800s. Forgotten nowadays.
(*4 The Emerald Fairy: absinthe is in fact famous as the Green Fairy. In the 19th century, it was called the Green Lady, or the Green Muse, in reference to its green colour, which became cloudy when mixed with water, but above all because it was thought to have hallucinogenic powers. Absinthe, which was origninially reserved for the festive reception of the privileged few at the beginning of the 1800s, became, from the middle of the 19th century onwards, the most popular drink among artists on the Montmartre hill, who found in it, through the hallucinations it provoked, a source of artistic inspiration, hence its name of Green Muse. A few years later, the writer Oscar Wilde nicknamed her La Fée Verte - The Green Fairy. I didn't choose this title to avoid a temporal anachronism, since Robillard's Boutique takes place in 1876. I opted instead for The Emerald Fairy - which is the perfect way to describe Scarlett. Rhett calls the green figure a green fairy because he is immersed in a dream world.
(*5) the hydra, a creature from Greek mythology. The Hydra of Lerna was a water snake that Heracles had to kill as part of his twelve labours. Each time one of its heads was cut off, two new heads replaced it.
(*6) Onirism is a pathological mental activity involving visions of animated scenes similar to dreams. Onirism is a form of visual hallucination, often associated with states of mental confusion.
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