The Wedding of Mephistopheles

IX

Winter has come. And, as much as I wanted to, I couldn't excuse myself from family responsibilities.

For the holidays I left Paris for the countryside.

The countryside has never been anything more to me than the place where I used to live. Yes, I had some good memories associated with it, but I felt better living alone, in a place supposedly more populated, but therefore more anonymous. In the provinces, everyone knew everything, and since I was a child, I valued my privacy.

My throat didn't hurt, but I did get migraines. I actually felt unsteady the whole time, like I was about to faint, but you could get used to that.

Before leaving, I did as much as I could - I finished four outfits. During my free time I didn't want to think about work... But it was the only thing that filled my mind. Sewing machine, Anna and Enfer - these three threads were constantly mixing in my head. Occasionally I was reminded of Clarté, in my living room, helpless and crying.

After three hours on the train and two in the carriage, I stood on the porch of a large brick house with a sloping roof and empty pots on the windowsills. I grabbed the knocker.

My mother opened the door for me.

She was a petit woman with short auburn hair and a surprisingly young face. She looked a little older than me, to be honest. In terms of appearance, the only thing I inherited from her was a slim build and high cheekbones.

Without a word, she hugged me and then led me into the living room.

Despite the rural decor, our house was well-kept and clean. I liked its straw-like smell. I also liked, as you can imagine, the sounds it made - logs burning in the fireplace, raindrops hitting the tiles, the creaking of wooden floors and the slightly changing throughout the year but constant birdsong.

There were already a few guests in the house. Everyone stayed here, the house was big enough.

I went to my attic room, which my mother had left me for this sojourn.

It was easy to guess that someone was cleaning here regularly. The air smelled fresh, too, and I couldn't see any dust in it. Still, it wasn't cold - the chimney was clear and working well. Even here I could smell turkey with baked potatoes and chestnuts coming from the kitchen...

I dropped my bag on the high dark wood bed and, undoing my tie, walked over to the window. I only glanced at the orchard and a patch of my neighbor's garden. Nothing to see here.

The next day was Christmas Eve. In the morning my cousin Elisa arrived with her family.

I always got along very well with Elisa. Better than with my own sister, who died of tuberculosis four years ago anyway, leaving behind a one-year-old daughter, Marie. So Elisa and her newly wed husband took her in. In fact, I should adopt my niece. And don't get me wrong - I loved that kid. But I'd rather shoot myself than let that demon into my house.

Children can be indescribably stupid, but at the same time insanely smart. That's why I never underestimated them. Personally, I think they are more aware of some things than adults.

I kissed Elisa on both cheeks and shook her husband's hand. I didn't know him at all and I didn't care. Marie, on the other hand, clung to my leg, so I took her in my arms. Something stung me dangerously in my lower back.

Elisa looked at me indulgently.

"Don't bother like that."

"Will père Noël give me a dress this year?" Marie asked, wrapping her arms around my neck, almost suffocating me.

"We'll see," I fixed her on my shoulder.

We always ate dinner after mass. So we went to the church first.

I couldn't breathe well throughout the service. I could already feel it at home, but if I hadn't gone, they would have thought I was Freemasonry or something.

Then it was time for supper, and although I was feeling better, I'd rather stay in the church all night than have to be here.

There were about ten people in total around the table, not counting the children, who, even though it was late, refused to stay quiet in their rooms, playing loudly under the table and between our legs.

I sat down between Elisa and one of the aunts.

At the top, of course, sat René Aiguille - the father.

I resembled him too much - hair color, height, deep-set eyes. But he was much burlier than me, and his face had something of an owl about it. I wouldn't be surprised if one time he would turn his head three hundred and sixty degrees and hoot.

We prayed and sat down to eat. I focused only on the food, trying not to draw attention to myself. I was wearing a really beautiful tailcoat that I made, but I'd rather take it off now to avoid attracting the eyes of the family.

"Elisa, Hubert, how are you doing? Have you sued Mr. Voisine?" asked the father.

Elisa and her husband began to vaguely explain the intricacies of the land on which they were building the house. It was more interesting to listen to the snow falling off the roof.

Then one of the aunts started talking about some distant relative who had become an actress in Bordeaux and was bringing disgrace to our family. Then the topic turned to the industrial situation of Gironde.

Later, of course, they began to talk about politics, but soon it was only two uncles who could not agree on it.

"Antoine."

I jumped like a schoolboy called to answer. I turned towards my father. His deadly serious face didn't fill me with optimism.

"See how happy Elisa is? You should start doing something about this."

"A long time ago," added a relative sitting next to me. I wish I could kick her ankle with all my might.

"I'm focused on work," I replied quickly.

"Well ah... I heard what happened with Credit Mutuel. Is your shop still running?" father asked slowly.

"It is. But I have another job now."

"Oh. But you don't want to leave your family without an heir, do you?"

I smiled. I felt a migraine coming on.

"Of course."

"Otherwise, you wouldn't have anyone to give this signet ring to," he nodded, looking at my hand. "And this is a matter of great importance."

I had an overwhelming urge to argue. To stand my ground that I don't want a wife or kids. I decided a long time ago that my companion would be a person who shares my passion and understands my tastes. But making a fuss at a time like this wouldn't be the most mature, would it?

"Of course, I know."

"My son is not a playlady, is he?" my father raised an eyebrow in a way that implied that if I was a "playlady" he would be proud of me. "Although..." he leaned back in his chair until it creaked, "I don't know what they do to men in Paris. They are becaming womanish, that's what" he answered himself. " You've always been a bit of a pansy, but ..." he waved his hand, and there were giggles at the table. "But!"

He began to tell a story about an acquaintance who, under the influence of the big city, began to wear earrings.

I laughed along with the others while closing my eyes in embarrassment. Some time later, I announced that I had a headache.

I wanted to go back to work, right now. I wanted to feel Anna's hair gently brushing my face and Enfer's steely gaze.

I wish I could kick my door open and then they wouldn't tell me I should get treatment. I'd like to hit the desk against the wall to the right so hard I'd sprain my wrist and to break the flowered wooden shutters.

But I didn't do any of those absurd things. Even though it was long past night, I drew the curtains, though I had to resist tearing them off, kicked off my shoes, and climbed into bed in my shirt and waistcoat. The headache projected bright, pulsating patches across my eyelids. I was almost asleep when I heard a knock on the door.