"Bonjour, Pavel. What are you doing here?" I asked as I carefully
walked over to his taxi.
"Waiting for some customers. What are you doing here? And
why are you barefoot?" he responded.
"Actually, I'm on my way back home," I answered.
"OK, so why are you barefoot? Surely you don't expect to walk home without shoes!" he exclaimed, and then added, "Let me give you a lift back home. Business has been slow tonight, and I was going to knock off early anyway."
"Thanks. I must admit that I really didn't look forward to walking home," I replied.
"I wouldn't think so," Pavel said dryly as he stepped back from his taxi and then went to open the passenger door of his taxi. I got in and sat down and after closing the door, he walked over to the drivers' side door, opened it, and got in as well. As he started the engine, I leaned forward to massage my feet which were starting to swell from both the heat as well as my long trek that had started before dawn and was just now coming to an end. "Mind if I ask again why you're barefoot?" Pavel asked as he eased his way into the traffic.
I paused for a moment before answering, "Let's just say my vacation plans turned into a disaster, and all I want to do right now is go home."
"Fair enough, but I thought you left with the Fontaines when they left for their vacation yesterday," he replied as he drove on the horseshoe shaped driveway in front of the train station.
As he stopped to make a right turn onto the major street that would take us back to the apartment building, I thought to myself, So they went after all! Now what do I do? Then I thought of something. "Doesn't Marie have a key to the Fontaines?"
Pavel shrugged and said, "Probably. But, don't you have a key?" I shook my head and he added, "She's in Lille, visiting her husband's family and doesn't plan on being back until tomorrow." He changed lanes to avoid slowing down for the bus which was stopped several meters in front of us. I leaned back in my seat and sighed. Then, he added, "Is there anyone you could stay with? A place to go?" I shook my head, and he paused for a moment before saying, "You can spend the night at our place-I don't think Marija will mind too much, since it will only be for one night. Our daughter and her family were here for the weekend before going on to Germany to visit my son-in-law's family, so Marija's probably still cleaning up after the grandchildren but I really don't think she'll mind too much."
"Thank you very much. I really hope I don't put you out any," I replied, relieved and grateful that I would have a roof over my head that night instead of sleeping out in the open like I had the previous night. I was also grateful that I would be safe that night and not be afraid to go to sleep for fear that Erik would find me.
Pavel shook his head and said, "It's no trouble at all." After we arrived at the apartment building, he found a parking spot close to the building and parked the taxi. He then got out of the taxi and after letting me out as well, he asked, "Have you had anything to eat yet?" I shook my head and he added, "I think we may have some leftover soup and some bread from dinner. I'll have Marija warm some up for you. Right now, I don't know what you seem to need more-food or rest!"
I smiled and said, "I don't either-it's been a very long day for me!" That's an understatement if I ever heard one! I thought as I followed Pavel up to his apartment.
Marija greeted us at the door, and after Pavel explained my situation to her, she immediately went about their small apartment, first to get us to sit down on the chairs in their small living room, then to get me a restorative aperitif, then to the kitchen to reheat some soup for me, then to the linen closet to get some sheets, a blanket and a pillow for me, and finally back to the living room to make up the sofa into a bed for me to sleep on. While she was doing all of this, she and Pavel chatted in Croat, and Pavel translated their conversation for me into French. Finally she excused herself so she could go to the kitchen and check on the soup she had warming on the stove. After she left the room, Pavel turned to me and said, "I wanted Marija to leave the room before I said this, but I was wondering if you would be so kind as to bathe before going to bed tonight. You see, she just spent all day washing clothes from our daughter's visit and..."
I nodded and said softly, "I was going to ask if I could use your shower to clean up before I went to bed. No doubt, I need one."
Pavel smiled and said, "Thank you, but of course you should eat first.
I'm sorry that we don't have any more to offer you right now but our daughter's
visit pretty well cleaned our cupboards out-you know how children are!"
I chuckled and said, "Thank you. Right now soup sounds awfully
good!" Marija then returned to the room and after saying something
in Croat, Pavel said something in return before turning to me and saying,
"Marija says that the soup is ready and she has it all set out for you
on our kitchen table. She also says that after you finish eating,
you can put the dishes in the sink and she'll wash them in the morning..."
Marija interrupted him by saying something else in Croat. After she
finished talking, Pavel translated what she had said into French.
"She also says that there's a towel and a washcloth in the bathroom for
you to use. She only asks that you hang them up after using them
so she can put them in the wash tomorrow morning. Other than that,
I can only add-enjoy your meal and we'll see you in the morning.
I've got to get up and go to work pretty early tomorrow and Marija's an
early riser as well, so I apologize that I cannot be as an attentive host
as I otherwise would be."
"Thank you for everything. I'll be all right," I replied as Pavel rose from his chair. I rose from my chair as well and followed Marija as she led me to their kitchen where she had a place set for me on their kitchen table next to the window.
The next morning dawned just as bright and clear as the previous day, but unfortunately I did not enjoy the warmth and brightness of that summer morning because I awoke with another of my migraines, which I blamed on the stress of the previous day. I arose just as Marija was finishing cleaning off the breakfast dishes from the table. When I walked into the kitchen, she looked up and said something in Croat. I shook my head and she then asked, "Faim?"
I shook my head again and said softly, "Seulment du café, s'il vous plait. J'ai un mal de tete." She looked rather puzzled, so I put my left hand on the left side of my head and repeated, "Mal de tete."
She then nodded her head and said something in Croat before leaving the room. She returned a few minutes later with a small bottle of ibuprofen and placed it on the table next to my place that she had set motioned for me to sit down. I sat down and said softly, "Merci beaucoup," as she poured some coffee into the bowl in front of me. She then left the room as I poured some milk into the bowl of coffee and drank the mixture. I then noticed that she had some slices of bread on a plate for me and that she had left out a small tub of margarine and a small jar of raspberry preserves. I really don't feel like eating any of this but I know I need to, especially since I need to take something for this headache, I thought as I took a slice of bread and spread some margarine on it. After I finished eating, I looked at the bottle of ibuprofen to check on the number of milligrams per tablet before opening the bottle and taking out the equivalent of eight hundred milligrams, and while that sounds like a lot of ibuprofen, I needed that much to knock out the headache that I had. Then, after doing that, I took my bowl and plate over to the sink and put them in it before I went back out to the living room. I noticed that Marija had taken my bedding off of the sofa and had replaced some of the pillows which had been on it, so while I was unable to lie down on the sofa, I was still able to sit on it and lean my head back using one of the small pillows to brace my neck and head.
I must have fallen asleep for Marija came into the room some time later and after I roused myself, she said something in Croat before saying, "Mieux?" I nodded weakly and then she added, "Musique?" as she pointed to a boom box on the shelf next to their television set. I nodded again and she went over to it, took a tape that she had on the second shelf underneath the top shelf and put it into the tape player and turned on the boom box. In a few moments, I heard a familiar voice singing in Croat. I gasped, for I recognized the voice as that of Erik. I wonder when he recorded this? His voice is even more strong and rich than it's been for my lessons! I can see now why he was in such demand as a singer. Why did he ever give in to his anger-and his madness? After awhile, Marija asked, "Aimez?"
I nodded and said, "Oui, je l'aime beaucoup!" I continued to listen to the tape as it played. I haven't a clue as to what Erik is singing about. For all I know, he could be singing a folk song, or a pop song, or even telling me I should go to hell! But his voice! It's such a shame! It's such a loss for the opera company, and indeed for the whole world!
After the tape finished playing, Marija rose from her chair and had just taken the tape out of the tape player when Pavel came into the room. "I see that you've been listening to tapes." Then, after conversing with his wife in Croat, he added, "What do you think of our Tomislav?"
"He had such an amazing voice! The stories I heard about him at
the opera house are true!" I exclaimed.
"Yes, he was our pride and joy. It's a real tragedy the way things
worked out. By the way, Marie's back. I ran into her on my
way in just now," Pavel replied.
"I'd better get down there then. Thank you for putting me up for
the night," I said as I rose from the sofa.
"I was going to ask, and I'm almost certain that Marija probably tried
to ask, how you slept last night. I know that sofa isn't the most
comfortable bed in the world to sleep on," Pavel replied.
"Oh, I was just fine. I slept a lot better there than where I slept the night before last!" I replied. There's no need to tell him that I didn't sleep at all the night before last! I thought as I shook his hand.
"Well, let us know if Marie's able to let you in to your place. If she can't, we'll be happy to help you out until the Fontaines return," Pavel said as he took my hand to shake it.
"Thank you. I appreciate all the help you've given me so far. Both you and Marija have been so kind," I replied and then added, "Well, I'd better get downstairs before Marie disappears again."
I left the Petrovics and went downstairs to the concierge. As I knocked on her door, I wondered how she would react to my unexpected appearance at her door. I soon got an answer. "Madame, qu'est-ce-que tu fait ici?" she asked as she opened her door. I explained my situation and then she added, "Those gypsies! I told you not to have anything to do with them!"
Trying to be patient in spite of my headache, I said softly, "They're
not gypsies, they're Croats-and if it weren't for them, I wouldn't have
had a roof over my head last night to sleep under, not to mention anything
to eat and drink or a place to wash up! They've been very kind to
me and I wish you would give them some consideration!"
"Very well, I'll let you into the Fontaines, but just this once, mind
you!" she said sternly, not even bothering to apologize for her attitude
towards the Petrovics, and then added, "By the way, you have some mail-only
a couple of letters and postcards." She then gathered my mail and
the set of keys to the apartments, and we ascended the flight of stairs
to the Fontaines' apartment. As she let me into the apartment, she
said sternly, "I still don't trust those people-they can turn on you so
quickly! I'd stay away from them if I were you!" She then turned
and left me, still standing in the hall in front of the Fontaines' open
door.
As I walked into the Fontaines' apartment, I noticed a piece of paper folded up and lying on the floor just inside the apartment. I picked it up off the floor and put it with the rest of my mail in my hand, closed the door and went into the kitchen. The floor plan to the Fontaines was exactly the same as the floor plan to the Petrovics. About the only difference between the two apartments was the furniture. The Petrovics had two dinette sets-one in the kitchen and the other at the end of their long living room, whereas the Fontaines had a small dinette set in their kitchen and a lovely oak dining room set in their living room. I placed the mail on the kitchen table and opened the blinds to the kitchen window and then opened the window to let in some fresh air and sunlight into the room before I sat down at the table to read the mail.
The first letter was from Pete, telling me that he was sending yet another box of scrap material our sister Sharon had given him. Like I need more material-I don't know what to do with the boxes I have already! I thought as I opened the next letter. The second letter was from Brad's lawyer, advising me to reply to the first letter I was supposed to have received the week before. I need to talk with Mme. Renard about this as soon as I can, I thought as I turned my attention to the postcards. One was from Michel and Jacqueline, telling me that they missed me and were thinking of me as they vacationed in the Alps. The second postcard was from the Fontaines, saying that they missed me and wished I would reconsider and join them in Brittany. The third postcard was from Jean-Baptiste and his wife, saying that they were enjoying their vacation in Barcelona. I'm glad they're all having a good time and I only wish I could join the Fontaines, but all I have is one hundred francs stashed away here at the apartment and that's going to have to last me until I get paid in two weeks! The rest of my money is in my purse back in Vouvant, and I'll never go back there! I thought to myself as I opened the folded piece of paper. As I read it, my heart almost stopped. As eloquent as he was, Erik must have decided that less was better, for he only wrote two words before signing the note-forgive me. Forgive him?! He must be crazy! After what he's done?! I'd turn him in but I'm afraid he'd find me and kill me if I even tried to do it! If I never see him again, it will be too soon! Forgive him?! I'd rather fall into a pit of vipers than do that! Michel was right! May Erik rot in hell! As I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes, fear replaced anger. My God, he knew I'd be back here sooner or later! My God, I can't stay here! No, wait! I ran off half-cocked before and look what happened! I'll have to plan this out better. A boy scout is always prepared, my nephew always says, so let me make a list of things I'm going to need, I thought as I ripped up his note. Then, for the next hour, I sat at the table making a list of what I would need. Then, I made another list of things I had in the apartment.
About one that afternoon, I decided to take a break from what I was doing and called Mme. Renard's office, only to learn that she was out for the day but was expected back the next morning. Then I went to my room and retrieved the one hundred francs I had stashed in the top drawer of my wardrobe and went shopping. When I returned from that trip, I began to make my final plans.
The first part of my plan was to get enough groceries to last me for as long as possible while I put the second part of my plans into action. The second part of my plans was to make as many quilts out of my scraps of material as I could. After spending just one night out in the open, I learned the value of having a bedroll with me in case of an emergency. Besides, I would need a bedroll to complete the third part of my plans, which was to get out of Paris if necessary, as soon as possible. My one hundred francs did not go very far, for I was only able to purchase just a few items from the grocery store as well as one roll of quilt batting from the local craft shop, but the Fontaines happened to have a few cans of sardines as well as some coffee and tea in their cupboard, so I was able to live off of the entire food supply for a week. I spent that first week of seclusion, sewing and tying one complete quilt out of the scraps of double knit cloth that Pete had sent me nearly a year before. The quilt ended up being a foot wider than it was long, but folded over, made a nice sleeping bag, or at least, the nearest thing to a sleeping bag two patchwork tops quilted together could make. Sewing the covers went much more quickly than I thought. I had bought a transformer for my sewing machine sometime earlier that year, so I was able to sew the first cover on Monday and start the second cover on Tuesday, after I saw Mme. Renard, and by Thursday, I had finished tying the whole quilt together, and finished the edges of the quilt by Friday afternoon. I did the other two quilts the same way, and by the end of two weeks, I had three quilts that would do quite well.
Before I could leave Paris, I needed to do only one thing more, and
that was to see Mme. Renard about my legal problems with Brad. When
I called her office Tuesday morning, she answered the phone herself and
then insisted I meet with her immediately, and so, in less than an hour,
I found myself sitting in her office. "Madame Martin, I am so relieved
that you're all right!" she exclaimed as she sat down at her desk in front
of me.
"Yes, I'm fine, thank you," I replied, somewhat puzzled as to why she
had been so insistent on seeing me.
"The way Erik talked, I must admit that I feared the worst!" she exclaimed,
and then in a calmer tone of voice, she added, "Do you mind if I smoke?
Normally, I don't do so in front of clients, but right now, I need a cigarette!"
I nodded, and after she lit her cigarette and took a drag, she continued,
"Before we get to your legal problems concerning your former husband, I
would like to know what you intend to do concerning Erik-by that I mean,
do you wish to press charges against him? If you do, I promise you
that he will be returned to prison and will never be let out!"
I breathed in sharply and then said, "I...don't know. I hadn't thought about it...I guess I'm still trying to recover from my...ordeal. Will Erik really go to prison? I thought you were his friend!"
"I still consider myself to be his friend even though, at times, I wish I weren't! You see, he's been a client of mine for almost thirty years. I'm the one that kept on getting him out of jams when he first came to Paris and, at this point in his life, I'm all he has," she explained.
I stared at her in incredulity, and then finally asked. "What about his sister Slavitska? He said she took care of him while he was in Rouen."
Mme. Renard shook her head as she took another drag of her cigarette. "Non, cherie, he's an only child-Slavitska was his mother. Didn't he tell you that?"
I shook my head in disbelief and then exclaimed, "So , everything he's told me is lies!"
"What did he tell you?" she asked, and for the next several minutes, I related to her what Erik had told me about his past. Finally, after I finished, she said sadly, "As usual with him, it's a mixture of fact and fantasy. Well, let me clarify things point by point. First of all, while it's true he defected with his family, his defection was not as dramatic as all that. He was a child prodigy and the Communists were quite willing to train him in music, but at a price of course. He would have been taken away from his parents and not only be trained to be a good musician but also be trained to be a good Communist as well, so one day, his parents decided to take him on vacation to the northern part of Slovenia, and it was there that they all slipped across the border to Italy, and while it's true that the British consul gave them assylum, he only did so after Erik's mother insisted that Erik play a Mozart concerto on the consul's piano. As for his father accepting Erik's musical abilities, that's just not true! Sadly, Erik and his father never quite got along and indeed, his father resisted the very idea of Erik going into music right up to the end. That may be one reason why Erik started to use drugs in the first place, and as for the parts of drug abuse and Christine, those parts of his story are all too true! As for the parts of his prison experiences and his diabetes, those are also true."
"But what about the house in Vouvant? Who does that belong to?" I asked.
"It's his, of course. He bought it right after he was released from prison five years ago, using the small inheritance he received from his mother's estate-an inheritance that I helped him fight for! You see, here in France, when someone goes to prison, they lose all their rights, including the right to inherit property. I argued in court that due to his injuries, ill health and his record, that he would be unable to make a living and would therefore need something to live on. The judge agreed, especially after he saw Erik's face without the mask. As for the house having electricity, that's not true. You see, Erik learned to do woodworking and carpentry while he was in prison, and after he bought that house in Vouvant, he spent over a year fixing it up, but he knows nothing about electricity or plumbing," she replied.
"But what about the foundation he dug that's next to his house?" I asked.
She shook her head as she took one last drag from her cigarette, and then stubbed it out in the ashtray in front of her. "I don't know anything about that. It may not even be on his property at all. Some neighbor may have decided to build a home but lost interest due to all the requirements needed to make a new home fit into an historical district, or that person may just have run out of money-who knows?" she replied, shrugging her shoulders.
"But what about his claims that he killed a fellow inmate and Carlos?" I asked.
"Those claims may or may not be true! His fellow inmate disappeared some years ago and no trace of him has ever been found. And as for Carlos, he was indeed found floating in the Seine and the autopsy report does say that he was strangled, but neither fingerprints nor a weapon was found. Erik is indeed capable of doing such a deed, but without more evidence, the police don't have a case either for him or against him," she said and then added, "As for Erik himself, I, myself, took him back to Vouvant yesterday. I don't think he'll be bothering anyone. When I left him at his house, his feet were blistered and his blood sugar count wasn't good at all! I left him in the care of the local doctor, who assured me that he could be taken care of at home, but I made the doctor promise to call me if Erik took a turn for the worse, or if he did something stupid..."
"Like come after me," I completed her thought.
She nodded and said, "Exactly! Now that we've finished talking about Erik, we can talk about your other problem. I've made several inquiries the past few weeks concerning the money you've been sending to your daughter and what I have found out disturbs me greatly. It seems that your daughter has deposited those checks into a joint bank account she has with your former husband and he has been using that money for his own purposes. In fact, he and his new wife just got back from a vacation in Mexico. Cherie, I feel that you are being used!"
I grew angry at that point and exclaimed, "Not any more I'm not! I'm not sending another penny!"
She nodded and said, "I rather thought you would feel that way! I sent an E-mail as well as a certified letter to your former husband's lawyer informing him that since his client is guilty of fraud and we have the evidence to prove it, as far as French family law is concerned, you no longer owe your children anything, and all payments to them will cease immediately!"
"So will you be needing this?" I asked as I handed her the letter I had received the previous day.
She took the letter and after reading it, she shook her head and said, "I don't think so. I sent my letter to the lawyer last week along with my E-mail. The letters may have crossed each other in the mail, but if I hear any more from your former husband, you can rest assured that he will indeed hear from me!"
"How much do I owe you then for all this work? I won't be able to pay you until I get paid the week after next," I replied, relieved that my problems seemed to be solved at last.
"Nothing. After what you've been through, I think you deserve a break!" she said, and then added, "What do you plan to do with the rest of your vacation?"
"Nothing much, really. Right now, I'm working on a quilt. I decided after sleeping outside in the elements, that I would never again be caught unprepared. Besides, I'd like to stick around here for awhile. I'm waiting for the invitation to audition for the chorus," I replied, still hopeful at that point that I would actually be able to join the chorus. It was a dream that Erik had nurtured, and even though I was angry at him for what he had done to me, as well as fearful of what he might do to me, I was still grateful that he had taught me to sing.
"Well, you'll be needing this," she responded as she leaned over to her right and picked up something from the floor behind her desk. I gasped as I looked at the object as she placed it on her desk. "Erik assured me that he took nothing from your purse," she added.
I leaned back in my chair and said, "Thank you! I had...have over one hundred and fifty francs in my billfold as well as one hundred francs in my checking account. It's not very much I know, but it's enough to live on until I get paid the first of August." After that, with my paycheck, I'll be able to same some money and move into a place of my own, I thought as I sat there, still stunned that I got my purse back.
"One more thing. Erik said to keep the clothes he gave you.
He says you have the smallest wardrobe of all the women he's met in his
life. Evidently, he feels we women can never have enough clothes!"
Mme. Renard added.
"Keep the clothes?! Good God, I threw out that shirt and skirt
he gave me! If I never see those again, it will be too soon!" I replied,
and inwardly shuddered remembering my trek through the woods, wearing the
skirt and shirt and how terrible I must have looked at all who helped me
get back to Paris. Then I rose from my chair and after taking my
purse, I shook Mme. Renard's hand and said, "Thank you for everything.
I should be going now. I'm still working on that quilt and now that
I have some money to work with, I need to get some more groceries to live
on until I get paid."
"Well, adieu then, madame. If I hear anything more from your former husband's lawyer, or anyone else for that matter, I'll let you know," Mme. Renard replied.
I then left her office and returned home, and as I said before, I spent the rest of the time working on my quilts. The first of August fell on a Sunday, so that meant that I would get my monthly paycheck on Monday. That first Monday in August, I went to the opera house to pick up my paycheck, and in just the two weeks I had been gone, many changes had occurred-changes that were ominous. The first change was that André was no longer around to greet the company members as they entered the building. As I walked in the door, I looked around to see if I could find him and a few minutes later, I heard a familiar voice say, "Bonjour, Roberta! What are you doing here?"
I whirled around and saw Jean-Baptiste standing by the door of his old office. "Jean-Baptiste! What a surprise! What are you doing here?" I asked as I walked over and gave my old boss a hug.
He returned the hug and then said sadly, "It's a long story but I'm sure Carlotta can explain things. She's upstairs in the managers' office."
"Upstairs? But I thought she had been fired!" I exclaimed. Jean-Baptiste merely shrugged his shoulders as he opened the door to his office. Seeing that he would say nothing more, I made my way upstairs to the managers' office, and knocked on the door, which was ajar. "Carlotta?" I asked softly.
"Come it! Oh, good! You're here! I was hoping you'd come by so I could do this in person!" she exclaimed as I entered the room. She then handed me an envelope and added, menacingly, "This is the last paycheck you'll ever draw from the company!"
"Carlotta! You can't do this!" I sputtered.
"Oh, yes I can! I own this company now! I bought the last of the controlling stock of the company the day after Hauptmann and Giry fired me. I must say, I really enjoyed sacking those two, especially Giry. But I have to admit that I didn't enjoy it half as much as I enjoy sacking you now!" she exclaimed, and then added gleefully, "Oh look what we have here! Another letter for you! Gee, it's too bad auditions have already been held-what a shame you'll never sing in the chorus! Now, get out!"
I took the other envelope she held out to me and left the opera house
with both envelopes, and indeed, by that evening, found myself outside
of Paris hitchhiking my way south.