Octave

Chapter Two

        For hours I was soaked in the sun; the intense heat taking over the sharp atmosphere in our bunk. I scratched my stubble, stretched, and groaned with dissent as I realized my left sock was on my right. With a heartfelt yawn, I jumped off the bed, half-awake.

     It saddens me to think that everyday I would have to face waking up from the pestering of the neighborhood, not from the usual indications of an October morning. Paris is a completely different city as compared to Calvados. I would prefer the song of a dying albatross soaring outside my window over the overwhelming array of jackhammers pounding across the street right now.

     Minutes later I found myself brushing my hair into cowlicks in an attempt to compass my usual evenly-parted black curls. I stood by the mirror, scratching my chin. Paris is falsely delineated in the movies; apparently there are still sidewalks and houses with an inconspicuous view of the Eiffel Tower. I was drowned in deep thoughts. The sudden going off of a car alarm next door disrupted the silence, followed by the enflamed screams of women and the symphony of a faint commotion. I certainly did not surmise to witness such an overwrought community, especially here in Paris.

     "Bonjour, sweetheart!" Daphne called from downstairs. Her voice seemed to blow the uproar off the streets, the pounding of the jackhammers, and what I thought was the cry of a dying albatross outside the window. "Would you like your brioche with sugar?"

     Recalling the last time she prepared brioche for breakfast, I let out a laugh. Daphne could buck me up without even trying; her presence was a soothing oasis in the middle of the vast expanse of a desert. Well, at least there's someone I could turn to when things go staggeringly amiss.

     "Sweetheart," I called back. "I think I'll go with croissants."

*     *     *     *     *     *

 The cold evening air blew past our pickup truck as we drove by the lazy Sunday streets of Paris. Despite all the heaving, the day still went excellent.

     Jacques approved my commendation of a better product for the company, which means more prominent and better advancement of sales. For the first time in six months he actually acclaimed my propositions and made me feel like a great person, which I'd like to believe is true. He was quite captious, though; he always complained about how the cappuccino tasted like goat's milk.

     Daphne, on the other hand, got her self into closeouts, which I assume we wouldn't really be needing. Stacks of boxes loaded the truck as I impelled my way from store to store. We drove around Puces de Saint Ouen, stopping everytime Daphne goes, "Stop the car, they've got discounts!"

     The temperature dropped a good ten degrees outside as night approached. I waited by the car; I hope it wouldn't take as long as it did from the last ten stores we rolled into.

     Another five minutes passed by, and Daphne lost track of the time. No wonder, the monstrous build of the store contained no windows to remind her that. "I'll take a look inside, they might offer some bargains!" I remembered her saying an hour ago.

     Signs and street lamps were already lighting up, irradiating every alley around the block. I looked at my watch: 6:00 p.m. I lit up a cig and called for a smoke outside.

     "Aux Trésors du Passé", the sign on the store read; I wasn't even sure if Daphne understood what it meant. Knowing her, she probably might end up unhinged upon finding out that they don't sell home furniture. But then I'll have to discount it; she could have left an hour ago if she didn't find it entrancing.

     I checked the back of the truck. I don't know if my poor Morris Minor could hold it up any longer, especially with all the stuff Daphne packed in. So far we've got a few cans of paint, a bunch of curtains, an old rattan couch loaded inside a box, and possibly enough stuff to start a garage sale and buy a better house. Everything pretty much looked jerry-built to me; she totally rationed the cash and forgot to buy the newer ones. Chewing over the thought, I almost fell over when a cat ran past me. It let out a loud shrill and carried on; a dying stray cat is something you definitely wouldn't like to see in Paris. 

     I leaned back under the roof of the store, letting out a quick hack. Startled by a faint growl from the distance, I straightened up and glanced to my left. Another cat was glowering at me from under the truck, growling in a demonic undertone. I could clearly see the scars around its smudged fur, something Daphne probably wouldn't turn a blind eye to. "Cats," I whispered as I lit another stick.

     The moon was starting to crop up from the clouds. More and more people filled the busy night streets, but equally as many cats appeared on every corner. I looked at my watch: 6:10 p.m.

     I turned to my right. The snarls grew to grave howls as more cats appeared around the block, the sound of their symphony catching the attention of many people. The sound, unbelievably though, was becoming more and more deceptive by every second; was it Rachmaninoff?

     For a while I was in a state of reverie. Absentmindedly, I followed them into what seemed like a stretch of light across the dark shadows of the street. The journey took forever, the rotten smell of decay- which I assumed were the cats themselves- being the only connection I had with the real world.

     I knew from the second I stepped out of the line that something was out of game. I tried to shift my body, but something was keeping me from getting off the ride. I couldn't imagine anything worse than being forced involuntarily like this, drowning in bellows and sharp, evil glares.

     The trance was cut off as soon as we reached the far end of the street, the flickering lamppost being the only source of light. The cries, however, went on.

     "I see my children brought you here," a coarse voice spoke, which sounded a lot like my grandma. A sudden gush of wind had the cries die off, which was soon, however, replaced by a maniacal burst of laughter.

     On the other side of the desk, I saw her. She settled herself comfortably, and suddenly, everything was eerily still.

     "Welcome to my lair," the voice said. "Have a seat."