Heartsong (38 page)

T
he morning of Noël dawned crisp and clear and filled Charging Elk with a strong sense of nostalgia. The sharpness of the air and the sun that streamed into his window to make a bright patch of yellow on the cement floor reminded him of those mornings at the Stronghold during the Moon of the Falling Leaves when he would snuggle closer into his robe and bask in the airy light of the canvas tipi. It was always a contest to try to outwait Strikes Plenty to see who would build the fire. By the time the boys left their lodge, although they could still see their breath, the sun would already be warming the earth. Charging Elk could almost see the frosty buttes golden in the distance, could almost feel the dry grass crunch under his feet, could almost smell the frost turning to water and the toasty musk of High Runner as he bridled him for a day of hunting.

But now he heard the clanky sound of the bell of the small church in the next street and he was reminded of where he was and it was not unpleasant. He didn't have to work. That fact meant more to him than the significance of the holy day. In the four years he had been in this country he had had a holiday from work only on the holy day of Noël and the day before Pâques. Even on other holy days that some of the men took off, Charging Elk kept the fires glowing a bright orange beneath the cast-iron vats. He preferred work to the empty streets of holy days.

He glanced at the pocket watch on the stool beside his bed. Seven-thirty. He lifted himself onto an elbow and looked again. He had not slept this long in years. His first reaction was to jump out of bed, eat some soup and bread, then go for a long walk, perhaps out to the beach off the Corniche. It was always fascinating, and a little sad, to watch the fire boats going out to sea bound for other ports—America?—or the tiny fishing boats, drifting with the current like small pieces of flotsam in the silvery shine that hid their work. It would be nice and peaceful to do that, but this day he had another obligation, one that he looked forward to with less and less enthusiasm as the seasons passed.

From where he lay, he could see a patch of blue sky above the building across the street. Then he heard a child calling, and he thought this day would be like any other to them. They were North Africans, heathens, as René called them. Today, Charging Elk envied them. As he listened to another child calling back, he thought of the girl in Rue Sainte and he wondered how she would spend this holy day.

R
enés old widowed mother was at the Noël dinner, as were Madeleine s parents, who were not so old. Charging Elk liked Madame Soulas. A small, thin woman with a prominent nose, who always wore a shapeless black dress, with her white hair pinned up beneath a black cloth, she lived just around the corner from her son and his wife and came to dinner every Friday night. She had not been frightened or even apprehensive about Charging Elk. From the beginning, she had expressed a great interest in him and had talked to him as though he could understand her. When Madeleine pointed out that he was a savage and didn't understand the Occitan, and only a tiny bit of French, she resorted to a kind of sign language that Charging Elk seldom understood. When his eyes did
light up with recognition—as they did once when she pointed at him and made a downward fork with her index and middle fingers, then made the same figures with both hands, her fingers dancing from left to right, until he understood that she was making a man on a horse—she laughed, a high, thin laugh that was nevertheless genuine, and she would repeat the gesture and laugh until her eyes grew wet. Then she would talk again, in the strange language that was not French but Provençal, as though they shared a good joke on the family.

Of course, Charging Elk didn't understand anything but the occasional figure, but he shared in a confused way her good humor. Madeleine s parents were another matter. They came much less frequently—Charging Elk had seen them less than a dozen times in the two years he had lived with the Soulases—and they sat stiffly on the sofa or at their places around the table. They spoke French only, like good citizens, although both of them came from the Midi. They were much attached to Mathias and Chloé, bringing them expensive gifts and reaching out to touch their heads awkwardly or hug their thin shoulders when they could catch them. They ignored Charging Elk as best they could, but they ignored René as well, a fact which did not seem to make René unhappy. Monsieur Daviel was a furniture maker who employed fifteen craftsmen and numerous apprentices. He often complained that his business was getting too large and that he would one day have to retire or go mad. It was clear that he considered himself and Madame Daviel bourgeois and pitied their daughter for marrying a common fishmonger after the education and upbringing they had provided.

Madeleine had prepared a large
rascasse
, hogfish as the locals called it, as well as a ham haunch with lentils and sweet yams. René had joked that they would be eating ham until Easter; then they would have to buy a new one and start all over. As usual Madeleine scolded him, asking if he preferred that she cook a small capon for
her parents to nibble on. But dinner went well; even Madeleine's parents seemed to loosen up on the bottles of good wine (bought especially for them) and the high spirits of the children. Mathias in particular was happy; his grandparents had given him an expensive new spyglass, with which he could watch birds in the trees and shrubs of Parc Borely and the ships under sail from the battlements of Fort St-Jean. Chloé was more subdued, but nevertheless intrigued with a magic lantern that showed all the prominent features of Paris, including the miraculous Eiffel Tower. Charging Elk had once drawn the iron tree for her, but it was a poor substitute for the illuminated picture.

In fact, Charging Elk's presents to the children were rather poor. He had spent a large part of his savings on clothes and drink. He bought himself bottles of wine to drink in his room for the first time. It was cheap wine, to be sure, nothing like tonight's wine, but each bottle cost nearly half a franc. And he had bought a new set of work clothes, for he was tired of wearing the same grimy clothes every day. Each purchase, except for his new suit and shoes, had seemed small enough; but taken together, they had severely diminished the contents of the purse at the foot of his duffel bag.

And so he had bought Chloé a crude imitation of a Spanish-style barrette, which she thanked him for, then left in the box buried in excelsior. The colored pencil set he gave Mathias was not even thoughtful—the boy had no interest in making pictures. Madeleine had exclaimed over the colorful tin of candied apricots stuffed with almonds, and René had admired the craftsmanship of the secondhand snuffbox, but Charging Elk could tell that they were surprised and let down by the gifts. Only last year he had given Madeleine a filigree brooch to hold her mantle in place and René a burly fisherman's sweater to replace his old one, which had holes in the elbows and had been patched many times.

Charging Elk felt ashamed in his new suit and shiny brown
shoes. He had learned from his Oglala people to share with others, whether it was the pain of the loss of a child or husband or an abundance of meat and berries. Somewhere along the way, he had lost that desire to share, replaced by an attention only to himself and his own desires. His shame deepened when he unwrapped the gift from Madame Soulas and held up the black holy beads with the small silver cross. He had brought nothing for her. The fact that she didn't mind at all, her eyes shining with the act of giving, only made him feel worse.

After dinner, he sat with René and Monsieur Daviel in the parlor, where they smoked cigars and drank plum brandy. The children helped Madeleine and Madame Soulas clear the table and wash dishes. Madame Daviel sat at the piano and played a lively song for the season. She sat primly but somehow managed to make swooping movements with her upper body as her fingers danced over the keys. Charging Elk was amazed at her ability to make the piano sing so richly, as though it had a voice of its own. By contrast, the piano sounded hollow and abrupt under Chloé s fingers, as though it had a will of its own. After listening to the music and conversation, which consisted mostly of Monsieur Daviel's complaints over the lack of good kiln-dried wood and exorbitant wages, Charging Elk felt a sudden need to get out into the fresh air. He had never left the Soulases' home on his own volition before, always waiting until René gave him permission, but now he stood and wished the two men good night. Then he walked into the kitchen and said his farewell to the rest of the family. Chloé hugged him and thanked him for the barrette; Mathias shook hands and said the colored pencils would come in handy for drawing maps. Madeleine kissed him on both cheeks and wished him a
Joyeux Noël
, pressing a package of parchment paper in his hand. It was heavy with ham. Finally he bent over and kissed Madame Soulas on one cheek, then the other. He had never done that before, but the old lady, her
shabby black sleeves rolled up and her hands soapy with dishwater, laughed and made a gesture that looked disturbingly like the Lakota sign for fucking.

A
week after Noël, Charging Elk walked through a heavy downpour toward Rue Sainte. His shoes were soaked and the bottoms of his suit pants were heavy with dampness. The umbrella at least kept his upper body dry, but sudden gusts of wind blew the rain sideways, and he held his coat tight around his neck to keep the new silk scarf that Madeleine and René had given him from getting wet. The guilt that had weighed on him all week was now replaced by anticipation of another encounter with the girl in the blue wrapper. On the other hand, he was ready for disappointment. He had made up his mind that if she wasn't there this time, it would be his last visit to Le Salon.

But she was there, sitting on the same red divan. It was Saturday night and the large room was buzzing with talk, music, and laughter. The yellow-haired woman was at her familiar table, again surrounded by men, young and old. The piano player in the far corner with his back to the room played the same songs as before. One of the whores led a man in evening clothes through the curtains to the back.

Charging Elk gave his coat and umbrella to the short, broad man, who had not greeted him, and walked toward the bar, but halfway there, he turned and walked across the floor to the red divan. He realized that he still had on the white scarf but it was too late to do anything about it.

“Bonsoir, mademoiselle
,”he said, half-bowing before her. “If you remember—1 am François. How are you?”

“Well,” she said, not really looking up at him. “And you, monsieur?”

“I am happy,” he said.

“It is good for you, yes?”

“Yes. I have a new scarf. I have many friends.”

This time Marie did look up at him. The dark face with the slanted eyes and high, hollow cheeks seemed on the verge of smiling. Yet there was something tight, almost impassive about it, almost like a mask.

Charging Elk couldn't believe his good fortune. First, to find her by herself; then, to be able to say the sentences that he had practiced. And she understood! “I would like to sit with you,” he said, his voice suddenly trembling with a joy he had not felt since last time he saw her. But then, he had become almost sick with it.

And so he sat and spoke some more. Sometimes, she responded; other times, she looked at her clasped hands or toward the corner of the room where the piano was making music. A woman in a long black skirt and white blouse came with drinks on a silver tray, a stemmed glass filled with the sparkling wine for him, a tall glass full of amber liquid for her. Charging Elk was surprised that she had come without bidding, but he gave her the two francs, then lifted his glass and the girl did likewise. Neither spoke, but Charging Elk drank in the lavender smell of her along with the bubbly liquid. The combination made him unexpectedly light-headed, and he closed his eyes for just a moment. When he opened them and started to speak, he suddenly stopped. The girl was looking right at him.