Satine [ONGOING]

SATINE (II)

June 9th 1940, 22:12. Lights. stage. Right. Left. stop. Back. Cry. Laugh. Line. Line. Line and back. Give us a few notes Satine. Mind your step. You can do this. I can't do this. Every direction, every thought, every page of the script was muddling together inside Satine's brain. Her neighbours were packing their belongings, they had plans of moving south as quickly as possible, the men behind the radio were telling them to leave, to run, to stay and fight. Who could they trust? She was lost. She had gone past Florence's flat earlier that day, the blue shutters were still pulled across all of her windows mocking her once more. She had knocked twice before crumbling down on the floor forming a pool of her own tears to sit in for a good hour. She prayed to see her in the street, to understand where she had gone the entire time, to pull her into her arms and never let go. She needed someone to lean on during these conflicting times, she wanted to offer her a shoulder to cry on, she suspected Florence would need it. There was no one else she cared about in such a manner, unless the distance between them made her concern futile. Her family was a distant memory hidden behind the largest rockiest mountains of France, a few faded pictures in the back of her wallet, all outdated since the baby in their family photo had turned nine this year. The people in the theatre company were nice, or most of them were, but she had not formed a deeper connection with them beyond their shared experiences on stage. She was playing beside Marie, who had brought her son with her to play one of the parts. She had not quite been herself for a few days and no one expected her to be. That red telegram popped up in Satine's mind every time their eyes met, even under the stage lights. She had not asked, she had not dared, not been brave enough. The play they were putting on was tragic in so many ways, first off, it was a new production, and if there is anything that sells less tickets than a family centred melodrama with a female main character, it is a new family centred melodrama with a female main character. Therefore it was tragic because everyone involved was basically working for no-one and nothing. The audience was almost empty; it was strangely eerie to see all the beautifully cushioned seats all across the auditorium empty, facing them. The plot in itself gave way to everyone's raw emotional state in the light of recent events. Satine played a woman, nameless throughout all the acts, who's husband abandons her at the very start and leaves her to care for their very young son. The pair goes through thick and thin, only for the son to die in her arms at the end of their journey. Satine wept on stage at the end of her running time and everyone must have thought she was giving her best performance to the near-empty room, but in reality, she was only letting go of all of her emotions. All she had wanted to do for months was to weep, so she did for once. She wiped her tears in her dressing room after a good cry and was fast out the door. On her way home, the blue shutters over Florence's windows seemed to glow in the dark, doing everything to attract her eye. The young woman debated on trying to knock again, at this time, if she was still there, it might be still rough for her to hear, scary enough for her to care if someone were to ask for her, but after standing in front of the old building for a good minute she decided against it. She threw her shoes off at her door and collapsed on her sofa, too shaken and exhausted to move before falling asleep. That night she dreamt of the fields high up in the mountains where she would pick flowers growing up. The grass was bathing in the golden glow of the afternoon sun, swaying in the every-changing direction of the wind. She could feel the cold air against her skin, goosebumps spread up her arm as she took a deep breath. She could have stayed up there for eternity. In the distance, suddenly, there was a girl, no older than nine, long oak brown strands of hair caught in the wind trailing behind her. A light laugh, a few quiet words. Satine did not realise she was looking at herself until her head snapped toward a clear voice far to her right.

"Satine!" The familiar voice called, and the young girl ahead of her stood up from her spot in the grass, wearing her most cherished blue dress. Satine remembered never wanting to take it off when she was younger. The younger Satine did not turn to face or acknowledge her at all. The older voice called again and she bolted into the distance, as far away as she could get. "Satine." A light tap on the shoulder caused her to turn around, and as abruptly as she had turned, the scenery changed, the mountains were long gone, brick walls lit by bulbs around a wide mirror encapsulated her. Florence stood before her, a warm smile upon her lips, her dark eyes glistening. Satine said nothing as she gently took both of her hands into her and squeezed them tightly. The young woman felt her cheeks go red and warm. The intoxicating smell of lavender and smoke just managed to reach her before Florence suddenly dissipated,leaving Satine behind, alone and terrified, searching for an exit to this dark, closed room that kept getting darker and darker until her eyes opened.

"Mademoiselle Dumont!" Someone was shaking her awake, her eyes shot open and she scrambled up from the sofa in a sudden frenzy. Her neighbour Jean was standing before her terrified eyes, his hands raised in defence.
"Jean," She acknowledged letting out a relieved sigh, knowing he had probably not meant to scare her. Her ears were ringing, last night must have been tougher than she first thought.

The older man quickly helped fold the blanket she had slept under as Satine regained her senses.

"Mademoiselles," He started, "I thought I would make sure you were all right, it is chaos out there."

Satine turned to her window. "Chaos?" Courtesy of the ringing in her ears she could not hear the ruckus, the wheels against the gravel, the crying babies red faced in discomfort blended with the uneven march of hundreds of parisians. Once she caught a glimpse of the sea of people at the foot of the building, the shock of it hit her in the face like a brick. All of these people, with their own memories, their own lives, scarves wrapped around their heads, carrying as much as they could, in picnic baskets, mallets, prams.

"My wife and I are going to the train station, hopefully we can catch a train south. Do you have anywhere to go, Mademoiselle?" Satine stood in silence for a moment, her arms wrapped tightly around her figure. She shook her head. She didn't.

"Is everyone leaving?" She asked, starting to bite at her nails. Somehow, she thought it would all just blow over, she had convinced herself in her usual fashion that it would. It was typical for her to do this, to ignore a problem whistl still feeling the worry of it prickle in the tip of her fingers before it all just crashed down and buried her eventually.

"Everyone with sense." Jean gazed at her gravely. "God knows what they could do, Satine, only God knows."

She gulped, she could second that sentiment, she had heard of unimaginable atrocities across the continent, but it had a strange taste now that it felt so incredibly close. "I don't have anywhere to go, Monsieur."

"You're not from Paris,"
"No. I'm not." Satine whispered, wishing she could keep her ears ringing forever because she was finally starting to hear the absolute panic outside and it chilled her to the bone.
"Where are you from?" Though the older man had not meant it to sound that way and Satine was sure of it, it felt very accusatory to her. She cleared her throat and looked up at him.
"A small village in the Alps, near Chamonix."

"Why can't you go there?" Satine imagined the faces of her parents, their scolding gazes, their suffocating words. She would never be free of them if she went back, she would never be back in Paris, she would never see the stage again. That was why she couldn't possibly throw herself into their arms. Then suddenly, she realised that if Paris was truly done for like everyone had been saying for a week, she might never see that freedom again no matter what. Wherever she was, and if there was a single place in the world she would want to see before it was ravaged or stripped of its unconditional liberties, it was the Alps. The rocky mountains, tips covered in ice and snow, blending back into large fields of grass, blueberries and edelweiss encapsulating Servoz, her childhood home like a protective cocoon as well as an unpredictable perilous dragon. The picture she was painting was idyllic and somewhere deep down she was aware of the naivety of it, but she needed a picturesque optimistic scenario just to bear the noises coming from outside. Florence was out of her reach, gone somewhere no one could pin-point. What could possibly be left in Paris for her now anyway? Home had never been a location for Satine, it always related to people, and though she had not seen them for eight years and the guilt of it was gnawing at her brain constantly, slowly crumb by crumb occupying more and more space every day, she had a family that in these circumstances might consider accepting her into their household. Family is all you have at the end of the day, isn't that what they used to say to her?

KEY:

Monsieur: sir

Mademoiselle: Miss