CLAIR DE LUNE'S
The Part 28
“To be honest,” he said, “I'm worried about this idea, Madame. Very worried. First of all, Clair-de-Lune is still a child: she has not fully developed as a dancer. Of course, this dance performance will be very moving, and so promising! But for dancers, performing dance at a very young age has the opportunity to inhibit its development. No dancer
it is like dancing to please the audience. Let the moment come when he has mastered enough of his abilities—and is strong enough to be him, whatever the opinion of others.”
“But more importantly, Madame, how
get all this on him? Surely it hurts—both for you and for Clair-de-Lune? I have to admit to you, Madame, I'm a little worried about that kid. It looks like he—yah, quite said tense facing the task
as heavy as it was—learn and perform that one dance.. Well, such an effort in my opinion may be dangerous for the boy, and I'm sure you agree.”.
“And there is another thing, sorry, please have your patience.”
“Ya?” whispered the old woman. It looks like
bewitched.
“If this plan is so, I will certainly
responsible for this performance. So, I'm going to train Clair-de-Lune from a script Monsieur De la Croix left behind. How to say it, huh? The theater, you know, is a place full of superstitions—and though
I don't believe in such absurd things, I have to tell you that there is an anxiety of its own—when we turn on that dance precisely.”.
Monsier Dupoint fell silent and raised his arm expressively.
“I think it can be said to be scary,” said. “Honestly I feel uncomfortable. But, how can I dispute Director Monsieur? However,” he bent closer his body, “if I got your support—if Madame raised objection— I'm sure they will cancel this plan. Madame just needs to say it— and I will fight
defending Madame.”
Monsieur Dupoint stopped, staring expectantly
to him.
Grandma Clair-de-Lune looked back at him. It felt as if he was standing on a steep cliff. Saying what he wanted to say was tantamount to jumping into a cliff. But, he said it
aslo.
“He will dance it,” his sigh.
For a moment the room was quiet.
“Madame—,” says Monsieur Dupoint, stuttered. “I'm not sure I..”.
“You have heard me clearly. I said, he'll pull it up.”
“But, Madame—I think—suremake Madame? Doesn't Madame need a little time to—consider it?”
“Respect your sensitivity. I never doubted that you were my son's best friend, and also Clair-de-Lune. But, I've been feeling sure.”
“But—Madame not anxious..?”
“Monsieur Dupoint,” says grandmother Clair-de-Lune, slowly
and tired, in an almost friendly voice, “it wasn't Dance that killed my daughter. He died— I know—because his heart was broken. He died because of
love for the undeserving youth. Clair-de-Lune faced no danger.
He loves no one. I'm sure of it.”
He stared into Monsieur Dupoint's eyes until the dance teacher looked down, confused and embarrassed.
Monsieur Dupoint was surprised to hear what the grandmother said; but he felt helpless and invincible. The woman's confidence was so great that she seemed to wither before him.
He was misbehaved; at first he tried to say something that would make the woman change her mind, then he tried—because he was a polite and very respectable man— uttered a pleasantry sentence to improve the atmosphere.
But it's not really necessary. Madame Nuit is so
With a curve he went down the stairs, twirling
his hat nervously, the longer it gets awkward.
He can't do anything. If indeed this plan should continue, he must cooperate, must agree to train the child. Because if he refuses—if they give a task to someone else…
It means no one can protect a child
that's.
But what worried him the most was that, for all the reasons he gave, of all the evidences against the plan, the most damning of his heart was the last.
“Padahala all this time I have never believed
superstition,” murmured.
He passed Clair-de-Lune on the stairs.
“Oh, good afternoon, son,” he said wistfully.
When Monsieur Dupoint disappeared at the corner of the next embroidery, Clair-de-Lune stood still, looked at him, and bit her lips.
A moment later, when he opened the door of the roof basement, Clair-de-Lune was so shocked to see his grandmother's appearance that his heart seemed to jump. The room was illuminated by the afternoon sun; her grandmother was seated more to the center than usual, and across from her was a chair
another one is empty. Wearing her black dress, in the middle of the afternoon sunlight, she really resembled a shadow, like a piece of night in the middle of the day.
Grandma Clair-de-Lune raised her head.
“Come in, son, and put your groceries on the table. There's news for you.”
With a pounding heart, Clair-de-Lune complies
his orders. For a moment he retreated near the table, his head lowered. Then, while dragging his groceries, he moved—one step, two steps—close to his grandmother, and standing before her, his eyes staring at the floor, his hands
grasping skirt.
“You got a very noble task,” her grandmother started, not staring at her grandson but a glance
her grandmother pierces her figure and stares at someone else (and even if that person does not exist, Clair-de-Lune knows who she is). “Big dance of your mother—for that he sacrificed his life—will be staged again in celebration of the hundredth year of the Dance Company. You're gonna pull it. You're not as smart as your mother—still
far-off. But you must try with all your heart to dance it as best you can, so as not to disappoint your mother and the Company, and so as not to waste this honor. Now it's time to practice the piano, then we have dinner, and go to bed early. Monsieur Dupoint will start training you tomorrow.”
But Clair-de-Lune could not swallow his food; and as he lay in his bed that night, he wondered inwardly whether he would ever feel happy again.
It's not about the dance; it's not about the performance, it's not because it's the first hatchery, it's not because there's going to be an audience. It was all
lfs nothing.
Nope. The thing that hurts the most—so
painful until he could not hold his head up—is by dancing his mother's dance, he was forced to revive his mother's death.
He didn't know how he could stand doing all that.
It felt like every step would be painful; it would smash itself into pieces.
So, here he—the voices, the muffled voices that
a lifetime scared him. It felt strange to him now, why did he ever doubt the bad thing that the voice wanted to convey. Now he knows. The voice tried to tell him about his mother's death.
And it seems to Clair-de-Lune, this dark shadow is now moving between him and the sun for all eternity.
Seriate...