Authors: Roman Payne
I used to paint when I was younger, but in recent years I
lived only for my own pleasure: wine during the waxing moon,
opium, and women. There is much pleasure in that, but nothing
admirable. Yet Saskia saw something in me to love that I didn’t
see myself; and so I decided that night after Saskia made her
confession about her uncle, and about the amount of trust she
would need to have in a man before she could let him make love
to her that, from then on, I would devote myself entirely to her. I
would not treat her like those women in the past I often seduced
for a single night of pleasure. No, I would in all respects be a man
of virtue and honor with her. So thinking this, I smiled with
pleasure and felt the softness of her hair with my hand, as her
head lay sweetly on my shoulder in the dark.
“I promise,” she whispered to me, “that the next time I am
with a man, you will be the first to know, because it will be a very
important night in my life.”
“My maid, remember?, the one I sent away. Her bed is
behind a door in the staircase. It’s really small and
claustrophobic, but I’m afraid Andrea might have a spy watching
my apartment while he’s in town.”
I touched her face with my fingers and smiled, and the two
of us stood up in the darkness and went through the stairwell to
sleep in Golya’s bed. Now, just as before when we were in her
bed, she put her face on my shoulder and her hand on my arm.
And I kissed her on her closed eyelids and she clung tight to me
and said goodnight. That is how we slept on our last night
together in Barcelona. As we drifted asleep, I told myself I would
protect her as though she were my child, as though she were my
wife. And that night, I truly began to love Saskia as a woman. I
like to think that it was that night she began to truly love me.
The events that happened during the short time Saskia and I lived
in Paris together were strange and extraordinary. These events
seemed to arrange the architecture of our destiny—assuming our
destiny could have been otherwise. I often wondered why I
agreed to go with Saskia to Paris and live with her there. True, I
did
want to help her with her, “assumed,” plan to find Adélaïse,
although I was skeptical of this mysterious “Fortune” she spoke of.
I didn’t go out of charity—of course not. Charity meant nothing
to me then. I think it was
simply put
… Saskia had succeeded in
seducing me. Without knowing why or how, I found myself in
love with this strange Wanderess. Maybe I was just in love with
the dream she was selling me:
a life of destiny and fate
; as my own
life up until we met had been so void of enchantment. Those
things:
mystery, fate, enchantment…
they are things that young
people offer us as soon as we get close to them. And if we’re not
careful, we can be seduced by, and drawn back into, the youthful
world they preside over. Regardless of how or why… as soon as I
knew Saskia, I found I could no longer live without her.
It was there in Paris that the great mystery that bound the
two of us together began to unveil itself. That city was our wine,
our poison, our pleasure and pain. We loved Paris …that is, until
it led us to ruin. Here is how it started…
Following the incident at the theatre in Barcelona, Saskia
and I departed immediately for France—it was Sunday morning. I
was charged with my two valises. Saskia had only her guitar case
and a large suitcase containing her favorite clothes and
possessions. Everything else, she left behind in Barcelona. We
arranged for a messenger to go to Andrea’s hotel with the lie that
Saskia was travelling to Portugal with a group of female tourists,
and that if for any reason he had business in Lisbon, she would be
“most thrilled” to see him there (although she left no address as to
where she would be staying)… The message was scheduled to be
delivered only after we had crossed the French border…
We arrived in Paris eight days later and rented a lavish
apartment on the Rive Gauche
1
side. Our balcony overlooked the
river Seine, as well as the tip of the Île de la Cité
1
. From Saskia’s
dressing table, one could see much of the Île Saint-Louis, the
island where we were sure Adélaïse was living. We planned to go
there every day to look for her; and in the evenings, we would go
to the theatre at the Comédie-Française. We knew it was a risky
affair to frequent the theatre together. It is known that Paris is
the crossroads for adventurers and opportunists, and all the
colorful characters of European Society as a whole; and if gossip
were to travel to Andrea from anyplace, Paris would send it faster
than any other town. Yet Saskia couldn’t live without the theatre
and society. And my greatest pleasure was pleasing her. Imagine
the two of us: she, a wild spirit, and me a man of liberty; not for a
minute were we to become housebound slaves to anyone, not
when the splendours of Paris were outside to be tasted.
1
RIVE GAUCHE:
(Fr)
“Left Bank” (The section of Paris south of the river Seine which
flows from the east to the west. The neighborhoods north of the Seine form the Rive
Droite [‘Right Bank’].)
Madame Gazonette
2
, our landlady, was a flamboyant and
sentimental woman of about sixty years who spent her time
reading fantastic novels and creating gossip about other
Parisians—from the famous to the fictitious. She said she loved
what sorts of bizarre lives people lived, although most of her
stories were perfectly impossible. She caught me in the hall once
to inform me that the famous Marquis de G***, who supposedly
lived near us, had been caught a month ago by a fish: a bottomfeeder in the Seine. She admitted that such a capture was, quote,
“most-likely fiction, invented by people who wish the Marquis de
G*** harm”; but she upheld that it was perfectly possible. The fish
made the marquis his prisoner in the Seine, although he offered to
grant the marquis one wish. The marquis said to the fish: “A
wish, eh? I wish I hadn’t met you today!” …That day was a Friday;
and the fish being more clever than the marquis, he granted him
that wish for that day, but none the rest. So once a week, every
Friday, the fish let the marquis out of the river so he could run
errands in Paris and enjoy his favorite activities: that of
promenading in the Tuileries Gardens, and going to the theatre at
the Comédie-Française. I laughed through my nose at her story
and wondered what marvel she had put in her laudanum that day.
1
ÎLE DE LA CITÉ: The larger of the two islands in Paris, in the Seine river, on which
the cathedral of Notre Dame and the Palais de Justice are situated. The other island is Île
Saint-Louis, where Saskia seeks her friend Adélaïse.
When Madame Gazonette met Saskia, she fell devoutly in
love with her. She would comment on her beauty constantly, and
on the beauty of us both as a whole… “And if that isn’t the most
handsome couple!” she said often, clasping her hands to show
how profoundly she took all of this, “and you both speak such
amazing French! And with these adorable accents too!…” I
informed Mme Gazonette that I had learned French before any
other language, it being my mother’s native tongue. Mme
Gazonette was impressed to learn that Saskia learned French in
London from her friend Adélaïse…
“The two of us were glued together in England,” Saskia
told her, “We spoke in English every day before six in the evening,
and after six we spoke in French. But this is my first time really
‘living’ in France.” Madame Gazonette wondered why on earth we
were in Spain when we met—no bother, she left our apartment
after inviting us for the
apéritif
and a
souper
1
at her home any
night we wished.
I feared for good reason that the Gazonette would also fall
in love with inventing gossip that involved Saskia and me. And
since at least half of her stories were believable—when they didn’t
involve things such as time-travel, witches, magic fish, or the
transforming of male facial hair into diamonds—I couldn’t risk
her inventing gossip about the two of us, and I knew warning her
was not enough. The second day in our new place I paid Mme
Gazonette a visit at her apartment beneath ours...
1
APÉRITIF AND A SOUPER:
(Fr)
The words ‘apéritif’ and ‘souper’ now figure in
modern English after having been borrowed from Classic/Modern French. As for the
word ‘apéritif,’ neither the meaning nor the spelling were changed, whereas the French
word: ‘souper” was modified to become the English word: ‘supper’; and with the change,
went the meaning. ‘Souper’ as a noun in French means ‘the evening meal,’ which is the
last meal eaten at night. The word appears more in Classic French: Used primarily by the
noble, the wealthy, or the educated classes, it means: Any nighttime meal shared between
friends; or if eaten between strangers, a meal shared by people of compatible values, who
seek the intimacy of others present. The word is still used to refer to a ‘dinner after a
night out (
soirée).’
“I’m sorry, Monsieur, most of the maids for our building
live in the same house as their employers; but if you don’t want
another woman living in your house, which I can understand, I
can arrange for a maid to come afternoons to clean, etc. I can find
a maid who is honest… they are rare, but I can find one!”
I told her that it had nothing to do with a maid and told
her firmly to remain discreet about what I was going to say. I
invented a tale about Saskia coming from a very conservative
household, and that her father’s position in the government made
it necessary that she stay out of the press. I informed Madame
that Saskia’s life was of nobody’s business, and that as far as the
public was concerned, she lived alone in our apartment. I insisted
that Saskia’s name was to be the only name attached to the
apartment, that my name appear nowhere.
“If anyone asks you about Saskia and me,” I told her, “you
say that I am her tutor in French, and that I live elsewhere. That
is why I asked you if there is a vacant room somewhere in the
building where I can throw a mattress. The smallest possible. I
will pay an extra gold louis every month for the rent.”
Madame Gazonette liked the idea of an extra louis every
month and said that throwing a mattress down wouldn’t be
necessary, as she had a room that already had one. She led me up
to the top floor of our building: a dim corridor of student flats,
building maintenance closets, broom closets and the like. She
unlocked a stoopy little door at the end of the hall, opened it, and
I saw inside the perfect alibi: a miniscule space of three by two
meters with enough dust to signify that someone hadn’t been
inside it for a long time. In the center of the floor sat a floppy old
mattress. A nightstand of common pinewood stood by the table.
There was also to my great satisfaction something that would
make it believable as a place where someone might live… a foot
below the ceiling, casting moonlight on the mattress on the floor,
was a tiny window looking out over the city.
“I am very happy too, Monsieur, shall I prepare the room?”
“On the instant,” I told her, adding that she was to abide
by certain conditions for this deal to work out: one, she and I were
to remain the only two people on earth to have a key to the room;
two, every day she would heat the room so it would be warm
enough to make someone believe a person could live there. She
would also sprinkle men’s
eau de toilette
on the sheets… “Don’t
scrimp on quality,” I said, “our tutor is a real dandy—
I think he
makes extra money on the side!
Ruffle the sheets a bit then, and
put a candle that has been burnt all the way down on the night
table, changing it often so the room will look constantly fresh and
used.
“…If someone rings at the gate,” I continued, “asking after
Saskia or myself, make them wait. If we decide to be available to
see them, we need time to be each in our place. If someone asks
for me and I am out and around town, don’t make them wait;
invite them up to the sixth floor, enter with your key without
knocking, and let them glimpse at my lifestyle—show them into
this shabby, little cubbyhole
where only I live, remember!
Prepare
official rental papers for this cubbyhole for me to sign tonight;
we’ll have them notarized. We’ll also notarize the agreement for
Saskia’s apartment to have legal proof she lives alone… I count on
your discretion, Madame.” I then gave Mme Gazonette an extra
louis to find a Catholic cross for the wall and to buy some books
on ecclesiastic law and theology. I wanted anyone who visited my
room to believe I was an
Abbé
at seminary school studying to
become a priest. I reminded her again to keep the room smelling
like men’s
eau de toilette
and fresh burnt wax.
Madame Gazonette was a good woman, and a real Parisian
in the way that she thought neighbors, and neighbors’ neighbors,
should either know nothing at all, or else only things that aren’t
true. She grew up in the days of make-believe, and my request
didn’t startle her in the slightest. She was fond of the theatre;
many of her friends were actors. She too would have been an
actress if her husband hadn’t forbade it while he was alive. So
after hearing me cast her in the role of ‘landlady,’ Mme Gazonette
swore on the soul that she swore she lost long ago that she would
perform her role well. She laughed and changed her mind about
her soul, “No, Monsieur, I’ll swear on my health. That means
more to me! I am honored.”
“Very good,” I said, “I will leave you to clean my
garçonnière
1
. And remember all that I told you about Saskia’s
privacy.”
When I returned to our apartment, Saskia was seated at
the table writing something down on a piece of brown stationery,
which she quickly hid from me, sliding it into the book of Homer
I’d given her. She jumped-up and asked me if we would go look
for Adélaïse then, or if I wanted ‘to help her understand her
fortune…’ I told her that I wanted to take a walk. “This is my first
time in Paris,” I told her, “I want to explore.” She could come or
stay, I explained, but I wasn’t happy about the way she phrased
our plans:
either search for Adélaïse, or help her with her fortune.
“Once we find Adélaïse, you two will be in your own little
world together,” I told her, “Like lovers, you won’t need anyone or
anything from outside. You two can go abroad together. Leave
me here…”
“Oh, my poor Saul… please don’t be so sensitive!… I will
never leave you, no matter what happens with Adélaïse. She is my
best friend, yes, and my only tie to the past. But in a way, you are
more important to me now… You are part of my fortune, and my
fortune is my only tie to the future. It is my destiny. Just as you
are helping me now, I will help you. I will always help you, Saul
My Fortune. Once we find Adélaïse, you will see what I will do—
once we find her!”
I took her hands in mine and sighed, “Oh, unhappy
Wanderess!” It was really something to pity. “You will never
navigate in this world if you talk to other people in this way. You
call me your ‘fortune.’ You say, ‘
Once’
we find Adélaïse, not ‘
if’
we
find her… Adélaïse could be dead. As for your fortune, that could
merely be the ramblings of a woman who believed herself a
visionary because she ate the mushrooms growing in her garden.”
Saskia pleaded with me then. She said that this gardener
woman
was
a visionary; that she didn’t eat mushrooms—that she
couldn’t possibly have
… ‘It is the middle of summer,’ she told me,
‘Mushrooms only grow in the autumn time… when the weather is
damp.’ She said that she’d memorized her fortune, and that a
thousand times she’d written it to paper, destroying it each time
so that all that remained was the copy engraved in her memory. I
listened to her tell me that she considered the words of the
gardener woman as true as nature, and as inevitable as the
changing of seasons. She believed in this fortune more than she
believed in anything else in the world, even herself. ‘Unhappy
Wanderess,’ I thought to myself, ‘This beautiful child, wandering
the world and suffering; cursed to wander and suffer …and all for
some mischief told to her once by a madwoman in a garden—
sprinkling seeds, surrounded by weeds.’