CLAIR DE LUNE'S
The Part 39
“He sewed it in a tutu, near his heart,”
clair-de-Lune said with eyes glaring, as if telling a story he had heard for the first time. And while telling stories, he imagined his mother sewing awkwardly, tears streaming down her cheeks, afraid in case
Madame Nuit caught her. “Photo Dad!”
“He did ask for a picture of me, right before he did
stop seeing me..”
“He wore it the night he died.”.
“And there's a child!” whispered. “Ia... it..”.
“He tried to say something. Do you know, Dad, what is he trying to say?”
“What is he trying to say?” brother Inchmahome asked as he stroked the face and hair of Clair-de-Lune.
“He tried to say, ‘I love you’. Maybe he knew Dad was there. Maybe he thought I'd hear. And he knows Dad
don't know. He died,” said Clair-de-Lune, “ with a broken heart, because they did not allow him to be by Father's side. And I lost my mother and my father. But now,” is soft, “everything is fine because I have
finding Father.”
Again he extended an arm and Brother
Inchmahome raised and hugged him as if he would never let go again.
# # #
Not three meters from where Clair-de-Lune and her father hugged, Clair-de-Lune's grandmother bobbed between sleep and wake.
It's morning. He has to wake up. Lots of work, though,
many tasks await…
But, he remained lying, floating, floating, too tired, too happy to get up.
The voice of Clair-de-Lune, small as a child
the chicken, but also like the sound of a chick filled with the spirit of life, and he knew the boy would live, could talk, and the bird turned out to be
revert.
The breath of Grandma Clair-de-Lune is getting slower. No, his grandson won't die. He'll be a great dancer—and Madame Nuit look
his performances, his announcements, his flowers, and hearing the sound of the audience's cries as the curtains closed. All of this was like marching in front of his eyes—his granddaughter would dance like no one else had done before, not even her mother
even if.
His grandson will not die. And no man is unworthy; no heartbreak. Grandma Clair-de-Lune heard Brother Inchmahome's soft voice and smiled. The boy is safe. Everything's fine.
Clair-de-Lune's grandmother felt herself floating,
float on the calm blue sea towards the beautiful island. His obligation is complete.
He has done his duty to the best of his ability. Now is the time…
To rest.
And, in the soft morning sunlight, the lump of metal in the cold fireplace—which was once a bird cage—kini looks like a heart.
# # #
Inside the Bonaventure rat hole, three floors in the
under them, the twenty-four members of the Bonaventure dance company sat in mourning.
Some of them were holding hands or leaning against each other with glaring eyes. The others sobbed and wiped away the tears with a small handkerchief.
It's been four days they've been together like this, and
don't know what to do.
While news of Bonaventure's death spread throughout the rat community, the rats— not only had to do with the sekilah and its dance companies, but also those who accidentally knew him, he said, even those who have never met him— come there, alone, alone,
twos or threes, carry spring flowers collected from wherever flowers can be found, and small pieces of wax. The pit of the mouse was over time filled with flowers and small candles, and changed
being a magical cave that could have been the background of one of Bonaventure's creations.
But not a single mouse has danced since morning
his death.
That night, following the rat tradition, they quietly marched to the sixth floor to retrieve his remains—while the others—Leonard
and Virginia, some rats from the Duke of Wellington building and rats living inside the St. Church's organ. Mary— made a raft of twigs
tree. They put Bonaventure on it and launched this raft into the river that flows under the road in front of the building, and empties into the sea. This is how Bonaventure began his journey home.
But no matter how they knew, his spirit was still among them.
Juliet dreams of it every night.
Perhaps that was why, finally, Rudolph spoke.
He was sitting in a corner, under the picture of Arabella
“Mesdames, Messieurs—Members, gentlemen, I'm sure this is not what our teacher wants. Surely he said, ‘The show must go on!’ Right no?”
They all looked at him.
“You are right, my dear,” said Margot. He had replaced his pink ribbon with a black ribbon, as a sign of mourning. “Taste me
heard him say so.”
Rudolph subconsciously fixed the location of the glasses on his nose.
“Before I had no interest in learning to dance,” it
continuing humbly, “but Bonaventure excited me, and now,” while saying so he looked at Margot, who returned her gaze with a wistful smile. “Day is my life.”
“And my life too,” said Margot softly.
“Bonaventure is a true artist—not only because he is dedicated, diligent, and has a good vision—but also because he is inspired by Love. Mesdames, Messieurs—seni that are not inspired by Cinta— for example art that is driven by the hope of fame and name
big—is worthless art! Bonaventure loves Dance, and he loves us all—that's why he wants to share with us. To him, love is the most important thing in the world. But he knows dance is also important, because dance is one way to express love.”
“We show our love for him with grieving, Mesdames and Messieurs. But we can also show our love for her by continuing her work. He gave to
kita, his love for Dance. Now we have to share it with others.”
“I propose,” said Rudolph and gathered all his courage. “I suggest that we continue this staging, as a memento and homage to our beloved teacher, Maestro Bonaventure.”
At first they were silent. Then suddenly they clapped their hands. Their little claws
patting each other and sounding like a little drizzle. Rudolph nodded once twice, responding to their appreciation, then sat down again, trembling with emotion. Margot slipped her claws into Rudolph's claws and looked at him lovingly. He never felt so proud of anyone.
The rat's applause lasted a long time. When it finally stopped as well, the atmosphere became silent. Then:
“But...” said the mouse from the Duke of Wellington, “nothing
I look for difficulties, and really, I appreciate your intentions with all my heart—the problem is, even if we continue the performance—even if we try.”.
“We don't have a Prince!” sidelines Juliet, plain. “Dan
what does a Prince Hunt mean if there is no prince?”
And they all complain, they say. Some of them started crying again.
But, Rudolph was not desperate.
“Then,” said, “Maestro will definitely
saying, we should look for him. But—yah—ia will certainly be—himself.”
Right at that moment there was a knock in the rat hole.
They all looked up.
A foreign mouse stood in the doorway. He's skinny, man,
tired, and shabby from having just arrived from a long trip. But its fur was like black silk—and its flaming spirit emitted a radiance of its own.
“Excuse me,” said, “this isn't a Dance school
Monsieur Bonaventure, dance school teacher special for rats?”
“Yes, right,” soft Rudolph said. “But..”.
“Ah,” said the rat while stepping in. “Then
I see, I've finally found you. I ventured into this city with one dream—to become a dancing rat! But—when I proved unfit to be a dancer—for me no contribution is too low. If you allow me to help in whatever work I can do, I'll be happy, happier than I can reveal! Because I intend
dedicate my life to the mouse special dance.”
He stood up and looked around him, his black eyes shining. His dark figure was again graceful as a prince forming
shadow on the door. He looked so dashing as a knight, and the spirit of life emanating from him seemed so beautiful, that they soon knew that a new star had appeared, and finally Bonaventure's great dream would come true.
# # #
Clair-de-Lune and Brother Inchmahome stand
guiding hands on the new doorway. And the whole world was stretched out before them! But the world seemed so vast that for a moment they hesitated.
“Where are we going?” clair-de-Lune said as he looked at Brother Inchmahome's face, as if the question had never been thought of.
Brother Inchmahome wears a black coat over light gray pants, a white shirt with a high collar, an embroidered vest and a purple tie. Not very compatible, because it was all borrowed; but the hair on his head had grown back, and he looked almost as young as his face in the photo in the pendulum. He stared softly at Clair-de-Lune, whose blond hair looked silvery over her mourning dress and hat. Brother Inchmahome is looking for the right answer for the little girl.
“Kurasa,” said finally, “doesn't matter where
we go, as long as we're together.”
“I agree,” says Clair-de-Lune. And they are too
step outside, into the world, together.
For the dream has ended; and a new day has
commenced. And the Day Island in the Ocean of Dreams is really very bright.
# # # T A M A T # # #