"No."
"Do you want me to go away and leave you alone."
"For heaven's sake no."
"I am awfully sorry that I have made you so unhappy."
Miss Hortense against the edge of the high grey marble table where she put back her arms and pressed the heels of her hands. And her fingers whitening as they tightened around the cold hard stone.
"O God it's crazy. It's crazy. In fact it's far too funny. Here I am, good Lord, in love with a twelve year old boy."
Miss Hortense turned from where she leaned and slowly rolled herself over the arm rest and fell deep into the green brocaded sofa of eiderdown. This still night the end of June.
Faint horns honking along Rue St. Honore and the memory of an afternoon three years ago when I went down into the Metro of the Palais Royal, past the blue smocked woman at a desk with her plateful of centimes and stood to wee wee elbow high to a nearby man. Upon whose gleaming patent leather shoe I peed. And he reared backwards stamping his foot, his own pee crazily sprinkling his trousers and tiled floor.
I quickly buttoned up and ran. Out past the phalanx of dark brown cubicles and up into the street into Miss Hortense's arms. And when she asked what did you do I said I peed on a man and there he is now with his black briefcase shaking his umbrella. And Miss Hortense turned and smiled and made him a fluttering curtsy.
"Bella why do you say this when I have told you that I love you too."
"Balthazar it's not your fault. I can't expect you to understand. What could you ever know about women."
"I want to learn. I have read some most unseemly books."
''God you're so sweet. And I mustn't say I could kiss you."
The tinkling eight thirty chime of the gold mantel clock.
Miss Hortense's brown long legs shooting akimbo on the gleaming parquet. Her big toes upturned from her sandals. A great heaving sigh whispering out her lips. And back now these years. For all the hushed little nights when Beefy said across bedsides. Of what girls were for, and what you could do to them. More than botty bashing. More than pulling or playing put it in the ring. That his granny's maid said she had a hole like a penny slot and one day he would have hair there too. And out of his horn a white hot syrup could come. And Beefy would whisper as each urgent piece of news arrived about girls. That they had their own little knob upon which you could play. That nipples could get big and hard but he was not positively sure of this yet. And girls were of two types.
One to whom you did the vile and odious thing and whom you would not love. She would be a servant, a waitress or a maid or be in a back alley of the town. But girls you loved were cousins at the race meetings or partners at dancing school or at aunts' and uncles' houses in their pretty dresses.
You married them and always and always they had their own bed and dressing room and you would not go in there unless it was desperately necessary. Beefy never said what he knew about nannies for each one he had departed after a few days.
"I don't like you staring at me like that Balthazar. Do you think you should go and find something to do."
"Why."
"Because I think it would be proper."
"Why."
"Don't ask me why."
"Then I will not go and find something to do."
"Don't."
"I won't."
"I don't care if you don't."
"And I don't care that you don't care that I don't."
"Then don't."
"I'm not."
"Then I am going to go and sew."
Miss Hortense standing. Her sandals making
Miss Hortense standing. Her sandals making a flapping noise on the floor. Passing by Balthazar as he stood near the door. His blue jacket closed and his flannel trousers long and white. Miss Hortense went by the fruit basket on the dining table and snatched out a pear. The strong muscles in the backs of her legs. And the thin tapering ankle and tendon down into her heels. Her bedroom door closing. I tremble and my heart thumps. Tight and hot in my head above the eyes.
When I made a squeaking noise on a leaf between my palms, Bella laughed and said I can do that. I said beware my spit, Fll find a new leaf. O no I like your spit. On a bench near the Trocadero after I showed Bella my father's tomb. And I said I would not want a germ to harm you. She laughed and suddenly threw her arms about my shoulders and squeezed me tight and said I could eat you all up.
Balthazar turned off the lights of the salon, save one by the window and bookcase where he knelt and pulled volumes from the shelves. A faded green spine which faintly read The Neighbourhood of Dublin. His father's large scrawled signature inside the cover. Tales Uncle Edouard told. Of the noble and splendid blood of the Celt flowing through our veins.
After the battle of the Boyne our ancestor fled in the Flight of the Wild Geese from Ireland to France. They were brave men of unquenchable principle. And he was one brilliant fellow, a Royal Astronomer of Ireland. He knew much of ether and even electricity. And from this great house he watched by telescope out into the solar system. It was only because of the clouds that he did not get much chance to see the stars.
Remember always you are of Irish kings as well as of France, and all Irishmen are kings but not all kings are Irishmen.
With four tomes under arm and Paris bells tolling eleven o'clock Balthazar passed along the dark hallway to his room.
The dry creaking of the boards beneath the feet. Miss Hor-tense's door with a bright dot of keyhole. To pause to knock.
And no. She may never like me anymore. And tomorrow we were going to go to Sevres. To see the porcelain in the museum. All our splendid days we wandered here and there.
Along the banks and book stalls of the Seine. In and out the alley darkened streets, Huchette, Suger, St. Andre des Arts, passing under grey peeling walls, buildings like full old bellies, buttons bursting and washerwomen's eyes staring sullenly down. Often they stopped at St. Germain des Pres for citron presse and all the young gentlemen giggled at Miss Hortense's horsey elegant beauty, twitching their shoulders as they went by and laughing in their little groups to catch Bella's cool grey green eye. She would rise up tall between the cafe tables. Her white beaded summer bag tucked neatly beneath a breast.
And with the other cool hand to throw her hair back upon her shoulder and putting aloft her head, the tiniest smile across her lips, she stepped out on the boulevard, her hips gently shifting to and fro. A grin on her face as a cry went up from the cafe table, long live mademoiselle so magnificently callipyge.
Balthazar bent an eye to the keyhole. A yellow light and golden drapes at the end of the room. To be shut out from all her warmth and love. Across the polished floor and persian carpet hangs her light blue dressing gown from a chair. And a night three summers ago I awoke to rumbling thunder to stumble afeared out into the corridor. To say outside this door. Nannie, o dear I am most frightened. But not loud enough for her to hear. Too shy to knock and too shy to show my fear. And suddenly her door opened and lightning whitened her window and flashed behind her. Her body so long and slender and outlined against the light through her sleeping gown. She held me there and then said come, get into bed with me, put your head on my pillow and I will tell you why there is no need to be afraid. Because they are playing skittles in the sky and when they want to throw a ball, it's only that God puts on the lightning so that they can see. And then there's the big boom and the rain comes down to wash away all the mess. And in sleep I snuggled and clutched to her and dreamt I flew on a white horse up steps right into the sky and jumped over clouds and put my fingers into soft crushed berries and cream. And at morn to wake and see her brown long hair streaming across the pillow. As the triangle of sunlight rose up the green wall. And the clutch of deep dark small freckles on her back and I put a finger there to rub one away and she rolled over and smiled, her eyes so gaily alight and sparkling and she slowly withdrew one of her long long arms from under the covers and reached out and pushed me on the nose and said hey you, you must get out of he
re now.
"Balthazar. Is that you out there."
"Yes."
"What are you doing there."
"Looking through your keyhole."
"What can you see."
"Nothing."
"Come in then."
Balthazar turning down the handle on the door. Opening it into the soft light and blinking his eyes. Miss Hortense in her bed. The blue linen counterpane drawn to the bottom and up into the soft peach blanket stuck her knees and toes. The pillows piled high, a book clipped open by her elbow and shiny needle in her hand.
"Goodness Balthazar what are you doing with that awful pile of books."
"Reading."
"Sit down. Reading what."
"This one is about tunnels and railways. And this, it's a book about Dublin. Have you ever been there."
"No. My father has, he was born in Belfast."
"What is that."
"That's a city in the north of Ireland. Where they march and beat great drums and say they are up to their knees in catholic blood and up to their necks in slaughter."
"That's not awfully nice."
"No. It's not."
"Did he ever talk of Dublin."
"Yes he liked it there. And the pints of stout and chunks of 78 cheese that he had in the mornings in a pub. He read Divinity at Trinity College. He said it was the happiest time of his life.
And he always said, that there in Dublin, the sun shone in on our lives.'
''Bella, you're not cross at me are you.'
"No. Of course not, why should I be.'
"I don't know. I feel awfully badly when I think you're cross with me. And now I feel much worse that perhaps you might be going to go away."
"You're such a silly boy."
"You know I'm not silly."
"Yes I know you're not silly. I'm silly I suppose. And really you're old enough to know. That I am going to have to go.
Aren't you. But it's not that I want to. It is nice to be with you. And we do like so many things together. And so you know don't you that it's not that I want to. And that it has been the happiest time of my whole life. That I've ever had.
Don't hang your face down like that."
"I'm not."
"You are. Come sit over here on the bed."
Balthazar put his tomes on the floor. And crossed to Miss Hortense's bed. Where the light shone down on the white folded sheet and her slender arms sat in cushioned little white cloth valleys. She lifted up an embroidery frame. Its streaming blue and green and yellow threads.
"Do you think this is nice."
"It looks such a bore to do."
"After all my work that's what you say. Anyway this is what I want to tell you. That this is not good for either of us. Soon you will want to be with girls your own age. And God knows I ought to be putting a rope around some gentleman and tying his ankle to my stove. You see Balthazar when I'm not with you. Well I don't know what I'm going to say. Many men have asked me to marry. It may be me or my little money.
They all seem to get to know rather too quickly for my liking that I have a small income. But each time something always goes wrong and either I hate them or they hate me."
"I want to marry you."
"Balthazar."
"You mustn't laugh. You are only twelve years older."
"But your whole life, what you are going to do, where you are going to go."
"I think I am going to go to Dublin."
"Ah, that is something nice."
Miss Hortense's arm fell slowly and her hand touched Balthazar's blue serge sleeve. As she always did when she was pleased, reach out and touch me gently. With a closed mouth smile.
"And you know Bella how awfully rich I am. And when I am of age I can go where I want and you can come too."
"Yes."
"To go on big ships. To Africa and America. Will you wait for me to grow up. Will you please, Bella."
"That is the most wonderful proposal I have ever had."
"Will you then. Will you please. When I finish school before I go to college we could be married."
"You're so serious aren't you. And I will then be over thirty."
"I would not care."
"Yes you would. Your eye would be seeking out the young ladies."
"I would never want anyone else."
"Heavens, heavens. And what am I to do then from now till you become of age."
"Three times a year you would be here with me in Paris.
We could go to Bucharest and from there to St. Petersburgh.
We could go to Dublin. And have cheese like your father did and the sun would shine in on us."
"You rascal. You are. You have more daring than on a trapeze. God how girls are going to waste their tears on you."
Balthazar slowly stood up from the bed. Miss Hortense laid her embroidery away at her side. Her dressing table with her ivory brush and mirror and comb. The crimson lining of her open pigskin writing case with envelopes blue and pink. A lone bottle of scent and toilet water. Where his mother's bath was shelved high with colognes and sweet essences of faint colours and perfumes in all their tall fat crystal bottles. To bend now to pick up these tomes.
"O please don't go away like that."
"I will. Because at least I have told you of what is in my heart."
''Don't go away like this Balthazar."
"I am. Why should I not."
"No. Don't. Come back here."
Balthazar turned and laid the books on the chair. He walked back to the bed. And as his knees touched the edge, Bella's hand reached out and switched off the table light. And her hand felt and took his hand and she pulled him gently down. Her fingers up through the short hairs on the back of my head, and cool they touch in behind my ear. Tumbling down into her arms she whispers out o God come to me. Her kisses over my mouth. On the cheeks and eyes. Her tongue along the side of my neck and deep into my ringing ear. All the bells of Paris. And stormy choirs sing when it is not yet mass or Sunday but her silky long slender arms, smooth wrists, and soft slim hands. She breathed her breath catching in her lungs. And I can hardly breathe at all. Her hard teeth as she bites into my mouth. Her hand at my throat to undo my tie. Pulling herself up out of the sheets. Hair strings of shadow hanging round her head. I watched in the gardens once her fingernails as she sat and scratched her thigh and they made big long white marks on her sunny skin. Distant fingers unbuttoning my shirt one by one. And close by lips kissing me upon the breasts. Bella tell me what to do. Nothing nothing. Just take off your clothes. And so strange to wonder. Of all these years of dreams. To reach one day in the laundry room to secretly touch her drying underthings more close to her than I ever hoped to be. And now lay side by side all along her body and feel it pressed to mine, like two bodies all of your own. One here and one you reach around. Bella is what we're doing love. Yes yes. Hurry tell me how. You'll see you'll see. And I see. Bella on top of my mind chewing a cashew nut. Bella what do I do. Nothing nothing now. Like that flush of jealous courage two days ago. Waiting for a seat on the back of the bus to Place du Pont Neuf. When the conductor pinched her on the bottom and Miss Hortense widened her eyes, squared her shoulders, raised her brows and parasol and said in English keep your hands to yourself you miserable little man and the conductor laughed and as they returned once more to alight, he reached to pinch again and her parasol came slashing down across his wrist. It was an unfriendly time. To reach and gouge out his grinning eyes. Or wait one day till I was big enough to slap his cheek and shake his molars. For now I touch. All of this most precious prize.
Here from the top of her head to the tip of her big toes. Can I touch and put my hand running over you you're so smooth.
Yes you can you can and come on top of me. Bella Bella it's coming out of me. It won't stop. All over you. O darling you mustn't mind, sweetest and dearest, let it come out over me, you must not mind. Bella tell me what did I do. It's all right now. It should have been inside you. Yes but it's all right, you mustn't mind.
I know it means you'll never marry me. And I hope I haven't been vile. Balthazar it's really all right, really it is. I feel all ashamed and all awful inside. You must tell me, Balthazar, tell me if you do. All around in me it's going very strange indeed, you're not a servant or a town girl in the street but if I've done this I can't be in love. O God what are you talking about, love is for everybody wherever it may be no matter what you are. You're so young you see, full of all those tall tales of all those little boys. It's not vile, it's not that at all, but what I'm doing to you is so wrong. Why do you say it's wrong. Because it's my duty to take care of you. But isn't this the best care there could be then. Balthazar you're asking such damn questions and knowing answers too damn fast, but nothing can be answered here, just lie now with your silly sad little face, and maybe a devil too, you know don't you that we should never do this again. If anyone found us I would be in an awful mess.
"But there's no one here but us. And if we never do it again you'll never teach me.' "You know enough already you little rabbit.' "What have you done with men Bella.' "And what have you done with girls Balthazar."
"Please Bella, what have you done."
"You mustn't ask me questions like that."
"I must know."
"Why must you know."
"Because if you did I may never speak to you again."
"O dear. Turn around your head. Come on. Turn around.
You're quite spoiled you know. Look at me. Are you jealous.
A little aren't you."
"I'm not discussing it. Do you do this. Without your clothes and be in bed with other men."
"And I'm not discussing it."
"If you've been like this with other men I will kill myself.
With arsenic."
"O Lord."
"I will."
"Snuggle up close and comfy to me. Don't let me hear you say that again. Or I will be off to Bristol or something like that and go on a ship. To the south seas."
"Bella I love you so much. So awfully awfully much."
"There you mustn't cry. You really mustn't."
"And I never want you to go away for ever and ever."
"I'm here now. You crazy little rabbit. I'm here."