CLAIR DE LUNE'S
Part 4's

“I know what I'm going to do!” the rat said, making a decision immediately. “I will introduce you to my friend, Brother Inchmahome. There's a monastery not far from here. He lives there. He is interested in anything and anyone. After all, his heart was once broken, therefore he was very wise. He must know what to do. ‘Bruder Incmahome’, I said when I just came here. ‘I artist. I'm talented at dancing. I was so in love with dance that just thinking about it, my heart missed so much. But I'm a rat. Is it ridiculous when rats dance?”

“Ibuku also thought so, you know,” added the mouse, bowing towards Clair-de-Lune as if sharing a secret. “He assumes, we must accept our Restrictions. But, I thought, what kind of life is that?”

“’Tikus is the best dancer,’ Brother Inchmahome told me. ‘Just look at the movement of the mouse. The mouse danced with his mustache. The mouse danced with its tail. Rats are constantly dancing. It is precisely the rat who teaches man to dance..Where may it be strange, if the mouse dances?’”

“So that's it, I plan to build a dance school, with the intention of later establishing a dance company. Can you imagine—how beautiful a bunch of dancing rats are? One day, little miss, one day.”.

But, right at that moment, they heard a voice from the direction of the stairs.

“Go!” faintly sounding; then, “Beings

fuck!”

Then the big double door opened with a loud bang, and Monsieur Dupoint went back in. Clair-de-Lune was so shocked that he jumped to his feet in guilt. But Bonaventure was used to danger. “Tomorrow morning, Mademoiselle, early in the morning, I will visit you,” he said cheerfully as he jumped across the floor to the edge of the room. “And I

will take you to the monastery.” Clair-de-Lune felt like he heard the mouse talking so while with the tail of his eyes he saw his gray figure away. Monsieur Dupoint approached him from the opposite direction, carrying two hot loaves in a white handkerchief, which he bought from the bakery below. Despite the confusion, Clair-de-Lune was surprised to realize that the man was not alive from herbal tea alone.

“Ah, Clair-de-Lune, still here?’ he said friendly,

neither saw the mouse nor the guilty expression of his disciple. “What are you doing here toute seule— alone? Go back to your grandma, Nak—later she's looking for you. And give my warm regards. Tell me, I'll be visiting soon!”

Clair-de-Lune bowed and rushed across the room and out of it. As he passed through the door, it felt like he saw, again through the corner of his eye, a gray figure disappearing into the hole at the edge of the room.

“And remember, do not let the wretched cat in,” exclaimed Monsieur Dupoint. “The rules are,” he added—and this is his usual joke—“only the scene fitting de chat are allowed into this school.”

Door creaking behind Clair-de-Lune.

I have to fix the door, Monsieur thought

Dupoint, and he placed the kettle on a small stove in the room, planning to make a nice tisane to drink with his bread. He looked out the window, staring at the red roofs, water pipes, and pigeons. Just across from the building is the back of the theater building, where the Dance Company performs every night. And that Dance Company will be a hundred years old this spring. How awesome!

Monsieur Dupoint thought of Clair-de-Lune with great affection, and sighed when he remembered the child's lack.

Ah, she thought, but the boy is good at dancing. Do what it is

talkin?

# # #

ballet, Clair-de-Lune's grandmother is waiting for her granddaughter. But he was not aware of the delay. While Clair-de-Lune practiced ballet, as usual he wiped dust, swept the floor, washed the dishes used for breakfast, dried the laundry, and tidied the bed. And this time he has also prepared a simple lunch for Clair-de-Lune—roti and a slice of cheese. Now he sits

with his back straight in his chair, read books on discipline, sacrifice, and the importance of focusing on learning the branch of art he is engaged in. But he could not concentrate fully. He instead thought of Clair-de-Lune's mother; for today is the anniversary of La Lune's death.

La Lune, no doubt, is a great dancer.

But she was also a wild girl, her hair that was also wild unceasingly troubled her mother. No matter how many hairpins, hair oils, and

how strongly the hair was twisted or braided, there were only black curls that escaped around his face and neck when he danced, and it distracted the audience. Such is the view of Grandma Clair-de-Lune, as a person who worships perfection.

Clair-de-Lune's hair was the opposite, thought her grandmother with satisfaction. The hair was pale as moonlight, smooth as fur, and straight, but not too straight.

La Lune's behavior is as naughty as her hair. Not satisfied with just dancing, he must also constantly pursue men

the undeserved! Well, at the very least, one of them was indeed unworthy. Love letters that cross each other! Tears and fighting! The ungrateful manner of La Lune!

Grandma Clair-de-Lune sat quietly in her chair. Her pretty face—hard and tense—tak change the face of the statue. He knew his son died because his heart was broken, and he never forgave him for it.

He did not regard Clair-de-Lune silence as a deficiency. He considered it a fortune, a blessing. What do children

can it talk? Can't she dance? And the speech ability—grandmother Clair-de-Lune shifted in her chair with annoyance— will make her friends, and from being friends she will meet with the youths, and continue to the lovers…!

And, finally disappointment and destruction!

Because for Clair-de-Lune's grandmother, the whole life

this—except Tari—can easily turn into dust. Life is like a broken rose in the grasp once held or a sparkling fruit that turns bitter when tasted. But Tari—ah, Dance! That's something that can't possibly disappoint! There is a beauty in it that will never fade! There is life in it. And for Clair-de-Lune's grandmother, there's no life beyond that.

He closed the book, put it on the table, and then

get up and go to the window. For most of his life he lived in this city, among immigrants like himself, but nevertheless he felt himself a stranger in a foreign country. She was born in the year of the Revolution; her parents, both dancers, ran away and carried her before she could smile.

But the only country that was considered hers was the Dance Country.

Seriate…