The events of the night, under the bright light of the new day and the discovery that I had been robbed, assumed a new and terrifying meaning.
While I had assumed I was more experienced than the young priest – it then dawned on me that he might have been no priest at all! – and I could speak from a place of authority, while enjoying the rapt look on Gustave's face while he listened to me, I then realised that he had simply allowed me to believe myself the master with a lesson to teach and him the student eager to learn it.
I had been fooled!
How sad it is to see that a woman's innocence and her charity – for I had taken him in when he had no place to sleep – is so often and readily taken advantage of… And how sad it is that the poison of deceit will rob the World of any good will that might be in it…
I could only assume he had done this not to spite my good nature. He had probably designed to defraud me, even before I had shown him such courtesy. But that was a meagre consolation.
I knew I had two options then: one was to ignore Gustave's abuse of my inexperience, and to be an easy prey to men of his kind; another was to fortify myself, to become a cynic and stop believing I could trust my fellow human beings.
I had been raised not to harbour any suspicion for other people's kindness and good intentions. I had trusted my family and my friends. That appeared to be a very distant world indeed.
I had seen how my mother had been used and what she had had to do in order to survive.
What a life of cunning design to defraud the unsuspecting all I could aspire to?
As I debated this point, I stared at the few things I had brought along with me the day before. As Mlle Renouf and I could not carry my trunk to the inn, I had decided to wrap up some of my possessions in a blanket.
As I had no money for a stagecoach, I realised that bundle was too heavy for me to carry on foot to Rennes, I loosened its knots and contemplated its contents.
Dresses, a few books, the Stations of the Cunt, which had been donated to me by the other girls as a sign of friendship at the end of the term… Everything seemed at once very precious but also too frivolous to bring with me.
Our lives are not made of food, sleep, and any immediate satisfaction to our instincts. Our lives are made of what's frivolous and what gives us pleasure.
And yet, I had fallen so low that I had to worry about my immediate needs and forget any superfluous desire.
I was moneyless and I had a long way to walk to reach home to find out why my mother had neglected to show up at the institute upon my last day there.
I ran my hand on the frills and the little details of the clothes, on the spines of the books, and on the figurines drawn on the large instrument that had caused so much pleasure to many vaginas, as well as other orifices. Then, I resolved to leave.
I stepped out of the inn, my head bent, not wanting to attract any confidence from the innkeeper and his wife.
The road was a dry stretch of dust that rose with each step. The sun was high and already bit with famished ferocity.
A sign stood outside the famous building once visited by the late Emperor to show the way to the traveller.
I therefore began my long march homeward.
I will not indulge on the details of that journey. My reader will easily imagine my state of mind during that day: I hadn't seen my family for nearly a year; I had lost all my possessions; and I was left with my thoughts for many hours while walking alone through country roads and little villages, often losing my way and wondering if I was ever going to see my mother ever again.
My sadness on that day cannot be exaggerated. I cried as I stumbled and as I cursed my ill fortune.
I passed through little villages, where people looked at me with a mixture of surprise and derision, for my clothes, somewhat elegant, were by then very dirty, but, for the majority of the day, I walked in perfect solitude through fields and forests.
Now and then, I sped up my steps, almost running, such was my desire to arrive; other times, I slowed down my gait, as I felt too desperate to continue.
This motto has been a curse to the happy and consolation to the despairing, but all things will, sooner or later, come to their natural conclusion, be they pleasant or bitter, and eventually I reached my destination.
My whole body ached from the exertion and, having only had water from the fountains I found on my walk, my stomach turned and rumble from appetite for some food.
I arrived at the gates of LeClair's house in a state of great exhaustion, but relieved that my journey has concluded.
I rang the doorbell and awaited in trepidation.
The odious smile of Grin welcomed me. All those months had not been able to temper my dislike for that unctuous and servile ally to Mr. LeClair. All my hatred for him and his master welled up again as soon as I saw the servant.
'Oh!' he exclaimed in surprise. 'Mlle Eloise… What are you doing here?'
What was I doing there!
I laughed bitterly: unfortunately, my mother had had the misadventure of falling into the web of that great spider.
'Grin, let me. I'm much too tired to argue with you. I wish to see my mother, have a bath, and go to bed,' I said, restraining myself from saying what my heart truly wished to say.
Grin looked at me in disbelief and said:
'Eloise… Your mother is no longer here.'
What did he mean? What that some kind of joke?
'Let me in, Grin. I'm in no mood for your nonsense.'
I made to walk past him, but he restrained me, taking a hold of my arm.
'Mademoiselle,' he said, 'we have a new mistress of the house. Your mother hasn't lived here for a few months now.'
I stared at him, now meeting his gaze, which was at once derisive and incredulous, for I didn't know what had passed and was now receiving such unexpected news.
'Then, where is Mother?' I asked.
I didn't fully understand his meaning, and, for a moment, I feared she might be dead.
'You mother and August have parted. She is no longer here. I don't know where she is,' he added with some earnestness, now realising I didn't know how to find her. 'I believed you had gone back to her. Otherwise, I would have written to you.'
I was then overwhelmed with a great sadness, but I didn't want to bare my feelings in front of Grin, so I made to leave, but that man detained me, still holding onto my arm.
'Eloise, why don't we rekindle our friendship? I haven't seen you in quite some time.'
I looked at him with such contempt. The foulest words came to my mouth, but, before I could utter a single one, he let go of me and laughed.
'Don't worry, Eloise. I will not ask you for what you will not grant me out of your free will. After all, since you and your mother have left, the house has been filled with new, readier women who greatly enjoy the debauchery that imbues this house. In fact, they can sometimes shock even me with their requests and their suggestions! We've been most happy for the change, and I am given satisfaction so regularly and so fully by these ladies that I would have not a drop of juice left in me to give you.'
I left there and then, not wanting to hear another word from Grin's mouth.
Suspecting my mother, having been shunned by her former lover, had returned to our old apartment, I headed in that direction.
The sun was now touching the rooftops, and long shadows fell from the trees and the buildings. Throngs of workers, in their dirty uniforms, soiled aprons, and mended clothes, were leaving their places of work to return home. The cafes and the bistros were now starting to fill with customers.
The noise of the horses' hoofs on the pavement and the garrulous crying of the birds filled the air.
As I walked into our old street, I searched with my eyes for the little shop inside which I had spent so many happy hours. I wondered if they were still salting pork in the basement, if the cheeses had the same strong perfume, if the pots in kitchen still bubbled merrily.
There it was!
As the sign came into view, I felt such relief, knowing that I was close to my old friend, Maurice.
As I approached, I noticed his bulk, moving about, swinging, as the shop apprentice swept the pavement with a sorghum broom, moving the dirt away from the window.
But my initial joy in seeing him turned into the realisation that time had passed, and that things had changed, when I noticed a black band on his arm.
Someone must have died. Maybe the uncle, or the aunt. Possibly both.
I stood there for a moment, curious, and yet unable to get any closer to meet him.
I had nearly resolved to walk up to him, hug him, and tell him how happy I was to see a familiar face, when a woman walked out of the shop.
Maurice, my old lover, stopped what he was doing and looked at her with an air of great devotion.
The woman had look of great superiority on her face. She wore a very elegant silk dress, and her hair was all bows and curls.
Maurice gave her a kiss on the cheek, and she smiled at him with a tender look that, for a moment, revealed deeper emotions for Maurice underneath her haughtiness.
I then observed that this woman was expecting.
I concluded that Maurice had taken over the store after the death of the uncle, and that he had been able to call up his beloved Louise.
I then felt ashamed, not knowing why, and very desirous not to be seen by that man. I walked into the entry hall of one of the buildings and awaiting until the couple walked back into their shop.
At that point, I ran towards the building where my mother and I used to live. If I had nobody left in the world then, I still had my mother, I thought.
I climbed the stairs, two at a time, with a heavy heart, very conscious of my loneliness.
There I was, before that familiar door, outside that apartment that had been my home for but a few months, but which I regarded as my only safe harbour in that tempest that had arose around me.
I knocked on the door calling:
'Mother! Mother!'
A woman I didn't know opened the door.
'Is my mother home?' I asked.
The woman, who, from her way of dressing, appeared to be a maid, said that her mistress was home.
Having heard this, I then barged in walking across the corridor the few steps that separated me from my mother.
My surprise and shock cannot be described when I entered the drawing room, where a strange family was. A man was reading the newspaper and smoking the pipe; a woman was playing with a little baby of one; and two young girls were playing a game with their dolls.
'Who are you?' I called.
The man stood up.
The woman looked at him.
The girls giggled.
And the little baby cried.
'I am the master of the house. How are you?' the man called.
'I live here!' I protested.
But I knew already that I didn't.
I thought hard whether I had rung at the wrong door, but I knew I hadn't.
Everything in the room was different: the furniture, the paintings on the walls, the rug on the floor. And yet, this was the apartment I had shared with my mother and my brothers.
The maid had by now returned, and I had to lean on her for fear of fainting.
'I believe…' I said, 'that I used to live here… I cannot find my mother.'
At these words, the outrage of the family at seeing me in their house turned to concern for I appeared to be lost.
I was offered to sit down on an armchair. A bottle of fortified wine was brought. A piece of cake was offered when they discovered I had not eaten all day.
Eventually, they informed me they had purchased that apartment more than six months prior and then wrote down the forwarding address the previous owner had left them.
I thanked those people, holding that piece of paper in my hand, not yet understanding the meaning of that change.
I had a vague idea of where the place was. I walked towards it without any certainty to find my mother there, as I had been disappointed twice already: first, when I looked for her at Mr. LeClair's place, and then when I knocked at the door of our old apartment.
I hoped that she had been able to marry a well-to-do man, as she always had wished for. She must have finally seen through Le Clair, she must have finally accepted his cruelty, and, ultimately, she must have found him an unsuitable companion.
I wondered what sort of man she had replaced LeClair with. Rich undoubtedly. I suspected, also very elegant. And devoted to the arts.
My mother was a bright, fashionable, beautiful woman, and she wouldn't settle for any less. August LeClair was nothing more than a way to indulge her taste for finer things, while she looked for the right man.
I entertained those hopeful thoughts, as I walked towards the address that had been given to me as a means to rejoin my mother.
I do not know why I wished for something that was so fantastic and so unlikely. I can only explain it by saying that, as I hadn't crashed against reality yet, and having sustained many disappointments that day, and unable to tolerate any more, I took refuge in my imagination.
But, when one fools themselves with such impossible dreams, one should also prepare themselves to sustain the hits and cuts that reality will inevitably impart, but, such is the sweet power of dreams, one always seems to fail in this respect, and always seems to get lost in these impossible dreams.
Nothing could have prepared me for what I found though: a low, dirty building in the outskirts of town, in a dark street that was flanked by barracks, factories, and warehouses, that inspired fear and disgust to the unaccustomed traveller.
I stared at the address in the fading light, hoping to spot some mistake, and then, not finding any, looked up at the writing that was painted on the flaking façade:
Martin - Linen and yarn