CLAIR DE LUNE'S
The Part 18
“You think this studio is pretty good and professional?” bonaventure asked with anxious expectation.
Again Clair-de-Lune nodded in full
vim. How do I convince him? Awkwardly—because he was lying face down with his cheeks on the floor—ia changed position, kissed his hand, then blew the kiss into the studio. Just incredible! That's what he wanted to say.
Bonaventure understand.
“I'm very flattered, Mademoiselle,” said. “And now I want to ask...” and he sat down formally, “our first meeting will take place on Sunday. I'd be.. ah, so flattered if you could attend! In addition, will you, Mademoiselle, be the patron of this school—and this dance company, later when it stands?”
Clair-de-Lune was deeply moved. She blushed in shame
and sat down; and Bonaventure rushed out of the rat's pit to see his reaction.
Clair-de-Lune opened his hand as if to say that his hand was empty—that he had no right to receive such a great honor.
But, then he clasped his hands together, placed them on his chest and bowed his head.
“Oh, thank you, Mademoiselle! Thank you! What an honor for my school that just stood!”
It's time for Clair-de-Lune to go—otherwise, she'll be late to arrive at the— classand her grandmother will be anxious. But, just as he got up to leave, he saw something. He stuck his head near the wall, just above the barre.
There was a small picture, a thin figure painted
using chalk, depicting a ugly girl dancing with her nose raised. Below it, it is inscribed with chalk: Arrogant Clair-de-Lune.
So, here's what they do. This is what they
laughable. This is what they showed him to see.
Mrs Costello's cat was sitting on the bottom rung of the stairs, waiting, like a dark shadow on the wood, when Clair-de-Lune arrived at the embroidery. But when the door rattled behind him—because of his sobbing Clair-de-Lune forgot to close it carefully—the cat got scared and ran away.
# # #
Grandma Clair-de-Lune was rather happy to see her granddaughter not eating her breakfast. That is, one less anxiety—ia can save
food for lunch later. And indeed the grandmother hoped that one day Clair-de-Lune would be like Eleanor Wood who could still look perfect without having to eat at all. Actually he was a bit embarrassed because his poverty created problems. For a real dancer, he thought, it shouldn't be; a true dancer still needs to eat.
When Clair-de-Lune had put on her training gown and kissed her grandmother, she left her residence and left for her morning class. But the closer to class, the slower he walked down the stairs.
Finally he stopped walking altogether, and sat down
on one of the stairs. Minette the cat was sleeping in the morning sunlight emanating from the dusty window, but Clair-de-Lune
so anxious that I didn't want to pet him.
It must be hard to be in class today.
He knew, of course, that there was no disciple
loved it. And now he knows why: for he could not speak and they thought he would deliberately not speak; for his mother was La Lune and he, Clair-de-Lune, was, he was a student of Monsieur Dupoint. Also because
her blond hair, slender body, and pale face made her appearance rare and graceful, her silence and glaring gaze made it seem as if she was thinking of something she did not want to share with others. No wonder he was hated. It knows.
But somehow—picture it, and the writing on
below him—all of this had changed his understanding towards them. Previously, he
I hope that speaking can answer all questions. If he could talk, he could explain himself, show himself, and after that they would not hate him anymore. He thought silence was a barrier. Now, after looking at the picture, he felt how big it was
For the first time he realized that silence
it becomes a kind of protector.
It is hard to hate because of who he is,
his appearance, and other things were beyond his power. It is hard to hate because of misunderstandings. But if it is hated because of its true self - Clair-de-Lune who cannot express the feelings of his heart, even if the heart has a sound—ah, it is irresistible.
He changed his mind. He cannot learn to talk. It
will tell Brother Inchmahome about this tomorrow.
He thought, Brother Inchmahome would be disappointed, and this would also hurt Clair-de-Lune, but he ignored this thought. Now he won't shake it. He just went to class.
But what does she do with her dance?
Clair-de-Lune covered her face with her hands. It
thinking, thinking.
Of course, dancing was a problem in itself for him: or most of the time. His friends don't like him because he
dancing is too beautiful. And that's why he became Monsieur Dupoint's favorite student. He cannot change his mother. He cannot change his appearance. But she thought she could dance badly.
But if he dances badly, he'll have problems
with Monsieur Dupoint. The coach will comment and all the other students will laugh with pleasure.
And if he danced badly, he would betray his mother, his grandmother, and the Sacred Art.
So how? What's he supposed to do?
If he doesn't hurry now, he'll be late.
Clair-de-Lune forced himself to stand up and walk
down stairs. Every step required new strength, he felt as if he were walking through a sticky syrup. He arrived at the last row of stairs, he reached the bordes outside the classroom.
The usual group of girls chatting was gathered around the door. He passed her with a pale and calm face, even though his stomach hurt from fear and suffering.
“Bogged,” whispered Milly, and others blown away.
Fortunately, Monsieur Dupoint called out
the children entered in an orderly manner, and they each occupied their place.
But, Clair-de-Lune has not been able to decide how she will dance. He tried to dance not so well, but not so
ill-favoured. But it wasn't as easy as he thought. Dancing is an instinct for him. And acting contrary to instinct turns out to be difficult.
Monsieur Dupoint observed, There was something strange about the way Clair-de-Lune danced that morning. But this time, wisely, he said nothing.
# # #
I have decided, Clair-de-Lune said with great sadness to Brother Inchmahome, that it turned out that it was best for me not to learn to speak. I'm sorry, Brother Inchmahome, for making you difficult. But that's the truth.
Seriate...