L'Étranger, 1906--


Nini, slow down! Christian laughed into his coffee. You'll choke to death, I know you will!
I paused, chewing slowly and taking deep breath before swallowing, the thick bread and beans seeming to fall like cement into my empty stomach. I began, not really sure of how to start a conversation with him, what brings you back to Montmartre?
He groaned and leaned back in his chair, and this illicited a giggle from the girl sitting next to him. She was perhaps in her early twenties, with a moon face and a bush of blonde curls, and seemed enraptured with everything Christian said. Sucess, Nini, is what drove me back, he lamented. My story, our story, somehow without my knowledge, became a hit both nationally and abroad. Suddenly I had student pounding on my door, wanting to know how I'd done it, universities were inviting me to speak, and there's even talks of making a play of it. Apparently Sarah Bernhardt has taken an interest to it.
my voice trailed off upon hearing this. Sarah Bernhardt, the great Sarah Bernhardt, was taking an interest in Christian's story? Oh, what cruel irony that would be, to see her onstage, playing a woman whos greatest dream was to be her!
Christian continued, dabbing a scrap of bread in the dish of oil on the table. My editor was insistant that before the public forgets about me, as they so often do to new writers, I was to write another book, a new Moulin Rouge. He gave a florid sigh and looked around him, at the crumbling walls of the tenements and the ragged awenings of the shops. And where else could I write one besides Montmartre, where it all began? The moon-faced girl gave a little cough, and Christian smiled. Ah, yes! How could I possibly forget my manners in such a way? he motioned to her with a deep smile. Nini, this lovely little thing is named Constance. Constance, say bonjour to Nini.
Constance smiled and nodded, her cheeks reddening. Bonjour, Nini, she said, and looked back up to Christian. I did say that right, didn't I?
She's just learning, he explained to me, and nodded. That was wonderful, my dear, he said, and nodded towards me. Nini was a dancer at the Moulin Rouge, back before it closed. Weren't you?
Oh! The Moulin Rouge? Splendid! Constance clapped, her face bright. Christian's told me so much about it. Tell me, did it really happen like he said? Like it was in the book?
Christian cleared his throat, steering the conversation away from my answer. Now, there's no good living in the past, he said. That was six years ago, it may as well have been a lifetime! What I'm concerned about is here and now, and why shouldn't I be? he grinned, looking his arm around Constance's waist. With a hot cup of coffee in me and two lovely ladies by my side, the past can just fly away as far as I'm concerned.
I'll admit, mes amis, I was a little taken aback by his casuallness. Was this the same Christian, I wondered, who had vowed never to live again, never to love, only a few years before? He was a different man! I'm sure Satine would love to hear that, I couldn't help but say. God knows she never saw your affair as more than a flash in the pan.
Christian looked at me, his eyes darkening. Nini, I...no. Christian reached out and gripped my arm, leaning over to whisper in my ear, his voice sharp. I'm not going to discuss that with you, not now. He cast a glance to Constance, who was twirling a strand of hair around her finger, smiling vacantly. Perhaps on a later date, but not in front of her. He released me with a smile and straightened up, tearing off another piece of bread. Yes, well...Satine wanted me to work on my stories, such as they are. I'd like to think that I'm following her wishes. He held out the bread, and Constance smiled seductivly before leaning foreward and plucking it from between his fingers with her teeth. I averted my eyes as he planted a kiss on her cheek and she blushed a deep crimson.
Oh, Nini! she cried, her voice bubbling. What has your son got there?
I turned to where Henri pulled himself back into his seat, pushing his food around on his plate in a listless manner. Clasped in his hand was a red carnation, the petals dirty from the road but still full of life, a crimson splash in this dingy corner of the world.
And what do you have there, petit garçon? Christian asked, laughing. A present for your Maman?
Henri nodded, his little fingers wrapped around the stem of the carnation. I found it, he said quietly, his blue eyes blazing. I didn't steal it!
Shhh, Henri! I hissed between my teeth. I won't have talk like that from you, I won't stand for it!
Christian laughed and Constance giggled, her moon face blushing although she couldn't understand what we were saying. Ah, Nini, don't snap at the boy, he's just trying to be nice to his mother. Here, give it here. Christian held out his hand and Henri tentitivly pressed the small flower into his palm, watching as Christian wiped the dirt off the petals gently with his napkin. He admired it for a moment, then reached over and poked the stem into a hole in my dress, the crimson contrasting sharply with the dark material. There you are, he smiled, leaning back and examining it. To charm all the men of Montmartre.
Constance looked at her watch and frowned, putting her hand on Christian's arm. Christian, do look at the time, she sighed. I'm afraid we'll have to go if we want any chance of watching that play you're so insistant on seeing.
Of course, lovely Constance, he smiled and stood up, taking my hand. It was wonderful to see you again, and rather surprising. I'll be sure to find you again.
I was too startled to do much besides sit like an idiot, my mouth hanging open as the pair walked away, arm-in-arm. Mon Dieu... I whispered. What on Earth had happened to that man?
Henri pulled on my hand and looked up at me, his eyes wide and curious. Maman, who were those people?
I looked at Constance's retreating back, at Christian pointing with him umbrella to a balcony covered in flowers. I don't know, Henri, I admitted. I truly don't know.