CLAIR DE LUNE'S
The Part 23
Clair-de-Lune disappointed. What the hell is he doing here? Day
This week! And what do you think of what Clair-de-Lune did? He must not draw the man's attention to the rats—if he finds out, Clair-de-Lune doubts whether he can make him understand. Anyway, we'll talk about a rat trap and bringing in a cat, and I don't know what else? But for no good reason, how could he explain his presence in his empty classroom on Sunday morning?
Because he could not speak, he could not explain
anything at all. And what if Monsieur Dupoint tells his grandmother?
Slowly, soundlessly, carefully, he inched from the
the rat's hole into a far corner.
Meanwhile, in the rat hole, Bonaventure
realizing what had happened, and in the classroom the students were confused.
“He's gone!” exciting Margot. “Mademoiselle Protector we don't watch us anymore!”
“There is someone coming in,” Rudolph said as he
hugging Margot, calms her down. “Should we disperse?”
“No,” says Bonaventure. The mood is silent. Eye
all the rats looked at him, and suddenly, as he stood there, in front of the classroom, with his head held high, eyes shining, he looked—according to Juliet— terribly
grand. “We must continue to practice. There will be many obstacles, distractions, and dangers. It's not easy being a dancing rat. Now, let's get back to our lesson. And..”
Clair-de-Lune sat very still in the corner of the room.
Monsieur Dupoint hasn't seen his presence. He signed in with another guy—a dancer from Tari— Companymaybe to add a little more practice time, and they are now engrossed in talking. It's sad to leave Bonaventure class; but
obviously he needs to hide. Clair-de-Lune thinks that if he turns to her, he can sneak outside the door unnoticed. But every time he
trying, one would look at him and he tried to duck as low as possible so as not to appear.
“And is it really as beautiful as people say?” ask the dancer. He's heating up, doing a plie move in the barre.
“Ah, of course. Yep! Prettier. He has hair
a wild dark and pale oval face. His eyes—like stars! It was so alive, so shining, so warm! To this day I can't believe I won't see her again. But you know, they told him to choose—they all told him to vote. She can't be a dancer
at once a woman, oh, it can't! He must choose one of them. And they convinced him which option was lacking in quality. They do not know that her life, her light, and the warmth of her dance are thanks to her love. That's the kind of dancer she is..”
Suddenly Clair-de-Lune felt strange. He wants to go, though,
but something prevented him from leaving, telling him to stay. Listen out! Listen, say this. They were talking about. But, who were they talking about?
“When you say them, what do you mean? Who forced him to choose?”
“Oh, his mother—si old woman, you know—and chairman
Dance Company at the time. It's still very young—dan soft, though wild. Some of them always want to please others. The old woman was also an amazing dancer— I remember her from when I was a kid. But, in his youth he was once let down by love. Very disappointed. So, he wanted his son to distance himself from men, love, and marriage. However, the girl refused—ia couldn't bear it. Then they said if he married the man, he would be fired from the Dance Company.”.
“Free threat, right?”
“He believes. He broke off the relationship. But he died, on stage, within a year—and I swear to God, he died of heartbreak.”
“The man he loved? Oh, his heart was broken too. It
go away—start a new life in another country, I guess—and never heard the news again. The old woman never saw him. I doubt if the man knew he had a child,” Monsieur Dupoint was silent for a moment. “I'm worried
that boy's. She was like her revived mother; but her hair was blond as the moonlight! Every day he grew thinner and now he can't.
concentrate dancing. The director has spoken to me about him. They wanted to wear it for their 100th Anniversary Celebration. She was born a dancer, indeed. But I'd rather he quit dancing than commit suicide like
his mother.”
The two of them suddenly gazed towards the window as a strange silver-haired bird flashed by. But Clair-de-Lune did not hear their exclamations about the bird; in shock and confusion he heard nothing of her. He immediately slipped out of the door,
without knowing. After arriving at the brothel, he knelt on the floor, trembling.
So, said a soft voice in his heart, in
below, behind, and behind her sadness and amazement, love is more important than Dance.
My mother thinks so too.
# # #
“You're so late, kid!” said Clair-de-Lune's grandmother.
He could climb the stairs and be grateful. There are six
a row of stairs between the floor of Monsieur Dupoint and the floor of his residence, and in a state of trembling, the journey felt very far away. He was pale, but his grandmother did not notice it. He could not eat, but his grandmother was just grateful that the food could be stored.
Because it was Sunday, all that afternoon
Clair-de-Lune fixes her ballet shoes, while her grandmother reads aloud the usual books. But, Clair-de-Lune could not focus his attention. For the first time he wondered inwardly, where were the stories
about friendship and love? Are there really no such books? Did the writers not write about friendship or love? Suddenly, without friendship, without love, the sacrifice of the heroes or the reliable dancers seemed empty.
Dancing is a cruel god, Clair-de-Lune thought.
But dancing is not a god.
# # #
That night, when it was dark, Bonaventure
walking downstream in his rat hole.
He stopped walking in
in the middle of the room, staring into the empty air. Then change direction, walk to a corner, and plunge yourself in his little chair.
Then he stared blankly in front of him at the rat-sized writing table with a small cross and a plastic flower vase, all of which is a gift from a friend who has access to a dollhouse (and who is perfectly suited for writing).
But then, he suddenly jumped again, and
walk again quickly from one end of the room to the other. His dark eyes are shining. His mustache stood up and shone silvery.
Seriate...