Gastien grabbed his toothbrush, towel, soap, canteen, and a change of clothes. Heading to the bathroom area, he cleaned up again at the sink. He even chanced washing other areas since he had his clothes off, anyway. Gastien hurried as fast as he could. He did not want to get caught naked in a church. Who knew how long they would throw him in jail for? He was going to shave, and then he decided not to. Although the facial hair looked shabby, it also made him look a bit older. Maybe he would not look so vulnerable, and people would give him more respect. If not respect, maybe they would be a little afraid of him.
Once he was done, he went back and transferred his stinky clothes into the tote, along with his charcoals and some paper. He doubted he needed his coat. At the last minute, he slipped his coat in the tote, too. One never knew, the weather could change quickly this time of year. It was a nice, full length winter coat. He was glad to have it in case he would be outside this winter.
Gastien left the church and started on his way. Surely there would be a job for him today. He should have asked at the art store! Maybe he would try that. But, no, he remembered the sign in the window, “Not hiring now.” He supposed a lot of art students applied there all of the time.
To change his luck, Gastien decided to take a new route, see a little more of Paris. He did not veer off far, just a block over, into the residential area. The streets were narrow, with many houses and apartments in them. Some were five or six floors high! It would certainly build stamina to climb up to the sixth floor every day, he thought. Gastien felt hopeful. He was as clean as he could get, and ready to present a happy face to possible employers.
All of a sudden, he heard someone open a window up above. As he looked up, a chamber pot was emptied without the person even looking down. Gastien was covered with the night soil of a family of four. He had jumped to the side as he saw it coming down, so thankfully his tote was not hit. But his clean clothes were covered in piss and runny feces, as was his hair. His face was wet from it. “NON! NON! FOUTRE, FOUTRE, FOUTRE!!” howled Gastien.
Someone opened a window and yelled at him to shut up. Gastien was gagging. He fought throwing up what little food he had eaten the night before. God dammit anyway, can anything go right for me, he wondered. Now what would he do? There was only one thing he could do, and that was clean himself up. He could not go looking for a job with shit clinging to his clothing! He kept gagging.
He ran in the direction of the river and went along its banks, looking for an area safe to hide by and wash off. That was not easy to find in the city. Finally, he found a spot behind some abandoned factory equipment. This sheltered him from public view, as it was around a bend. People on the other side would not see him. “FOUTRE! FOUTRE!”
He stripped down and waded in without checking to see if the current was strong. At this point, Gastien would not have cared if the current took him away. He felt about as low as the feces that clung to his clothes on the bank of the river. He dunked his head under. When he came up for air, he climbed up and grabbed his bar of soap. Thank God he had brought it along for yesterdays stinky clothes! He knew you usually did not wash clothes with a bar of soap. It was all he had, so he had packed it. He used it on himself. He scrubbed everywhere. As long as he was buck naked in the middle of Paris he might as well clean everything, he thought bitterly. That way, when the police hauled him away, at least they could not say he stunk!
Next he grabbed both sets of clothes and washed those. What would he wear while they dried? Then he remembered his coat. He would have to sit in his coat while his clothing dried. He finished washing the clothes and climbed out. Looking around, he saw some low hanging branches. He draped his wet clothes on those. There was a good breeze so they should dry at some point today. He had dried off quickly from the wind.
Suddenly he burst out laughing. Oh, if his father could see him now! There he stood, his bite blowing in the breeze, naked for all of Paris to see! Father would be convinced that he was destined for the life of a deviant for sure. For good measure, Gastien grabbed his dick and held it out. “Here, father, kiss this! You old trou du cul!” he yelled.
Gastien sighed. Putting on his coat, he sat down with his back against a rock, where he could keep an eye on his clothes. He could not believe the obstacles so far! This day was going to be completely wasted, without looking for work. He would be going all day without eating. Tomorrow did not look any more promising, as far as food went.
As Gastien waited for his clothes to dry, he drew. It felt good to use the charcoals. It felt even better to not to have to worry about someone seeing him drawing and beating him for it. For once, he had all the time in the world. The charcoal flew across the paper. He drew images of the Paris across the river, Notre Dame, the fat pig of a cook that offered to bugger him, the reddish blonde haired artist and his friends at the table in the restaurant.
Before he knew it, several hours had passed by. He looked at his drawings. They were good. Damn good! He had no doubt of his ability there. He hoped that for oil painting It would be just a question of learning the properties of oil paint, what you could and could not force it to do.
Gastien wiped his hands on the grass. When he checked his clothes he found that they were dry. He quickly dressed. It really felt good to be clean again! Gastien guessed it must be about two o’clock, judging from the sun in the sky. He decided to make his way back to the 6th and try again to find a job.
Once there, he met with the same success as the day before. Everyone had hired who they needed already. Gastien was left without employment.
IX
He noticed some artists in the park again, so he walked over. To his delight, he saw the reddish blonde haired painter. The painter smiled when he saw Gastien, waving him over.
“Salut! You must be new to the area. My name is Michel, but friends call me Mic,” the young artist shared happily. “Just so you know, anyone who points at a painting of mine and smiles while nodding his head is instantly my ami!” He laughed loudly, and Gastien found himself joining in.
Gastien replied, “I know what you mean. I am so hungry to have input about my art. I was not just being nice the other night. I am no expert, but for what it is worth, your painting was really good! I am Gastien, by the way.”
“Merci! I appreciate that, Gastien. I think I am pretty damn good myself, but it is always good to hear it from others,” he said honestly. Mic glanced at Gastien’s tote. “You mentioned you would like input, so I take it you are also an artist?”
“An artist-to-be I guess. I have only had the chance to draw with charcoals, plus a little bit of watercolour. I lived at home on a fruit and vegetable farm. My father did not tolerate his eldest “dabbling around like a girl”, as he put it, with art. Whenever he caught me, he would beat the hell out of me. I had to be extremely sneaky in order to get away and draw.” Although Gastien laughed, Mic noticed the boy’s eyes looked sad. “Usually he had me too busy picking cauliflower or shoveling cow shit to paint. Finally, I had to get out of there.”
“So you just left? Are you planning on school?” Mic was impressed with his new friend’s courage.
“I had hoped to go to Académie Julian. I stayed on the farm two years longer than I should have, until I was almost eighteen. I worked my ass off, thinking my father would notice and then help me. Unfortunately, I was wrong. We “had words” and he disowned me. I could not go back now if I wanted to.”
“Surely it is not as bad as that,” chuckled Mic. “I hope you make it here, but if not, fathers always have a way of forgiving their sons.”
Gastien just looked at him. “Someday when I know you better I will tell you how wrong that statement is. Let’s just drop it for now.” Gastien looked away. A lump had formed in his throat. He did not want his new friend feeling sorry for him.
Michel noticed how Gastien had tensed up. He realized that the young man was not exaggerating. Something in those eyes told Michel that Gastien had suffered frequently at the hands of his father. Something e
lse told him that Gastien had finally stood up for himself.
“Understood, no problem. Let’s talk about art, it is more important anyway,” he offered. He put out his hand. “Amis?”
Gastien took his hand and shook it. “Amis.”
“Great! Say, listen, do you have any drawings in that tote of yours?”
“Oui! I do, actually. I just did them today while I was waiting for my clothes to dry in the tree.”
Michel did a double take. “You had your clothes up in a tree?”
Gastien laughed. “Oui!” Noticing Mic’s puzzled look, he continued, “Long, long story. You will hear all of it eventually, I am sure. Let me just say for now that, a few hours ago, I was buck naked on the riverbanks of Paris with my bite blowing in the wind!” He grinned, wiggling his finger in front of his trousers.
Mic burst out laughing. “Well, that is one way to get attention in the city! Can’t say I have ever heard of someone trying that. Did you have a drawing attached to it?”
“Non,” Gastien said, gasping for air as he laughed, “my bite is a true piece of art in itself! I wanted all the women in Paris to see what they were in for…but no one took me up on the offer. I do believe the large size of it scared them off!”
“Ahhh! Spoken like a true young man hoping to get his bite dipped for the first time. That’s what I think!” Mic raised his eyebrows, waiting for affirmation.
“Oh, you wish, Mic! I have had so many women – “
“Oui, oui, probably so. Maybe you can give me some pointers. I get my share, but could use some help!”
Gastien looked at him with increased respect. Mic knew what sex was like! He was too embarrassed to admit that he had fibbed and was a virgin. If the friendship grew, he would ask him about it later. He wanted details!
“So, lover boy, do you have a shortened version of your name that amis call you?” asked Mic.
“Non.” Gastien kicked at the ground, embarrassed. “Actually, I have never had an ami,” he stated simply.
Mic looked dumbfounded. “Seriously? How can that be? Have you lived under a rock or what?”
“Close. My father worked me every day until it was time for supper. I never got to go out on my own. I am embarrassed to say that I just have never had an ami, other than my oldest brother.” Gastien blushed.
Mic punched his new friend lightly in the arm. “Well, you do now. I think we are going to be amis for a very long time, Gaz.
Gastien lifted an eyebrow. “Gaz???”
“Oui. Gaz. Unless you have a problem with it. I figure a man’s first real ami gets the honor of choosing the nickname. Although, because of your earlier bragging, perhaps I should call you Bullcock!” Mic said challengingly.
Gastien chuckled. “Um…non. I think Gaz will be fine.” He laughed again, shaking his head. “Bullcock! Jeezus.”
“I knew you would see the value of Gaz. Now, show me those damn drawings! I want to make sure I am better than you!”
Suddenly, Gastien felt nervous. He had never shared his work with anyone before, let alone someone studying art. Mic’s painting had been lovely. It was obvious that he loved doing landscapes. Gastien reached into his tote, pulling out the work he had done earlier.
“I did these all today. They will probably look beginner to you,” Gastien said quickly. He looked away as Mic took the drawings.
As he gazed at the first drawing, Mic whistled. He stared for a moment and then moved on to the next. “Man. These are very, very good! You seriously did all of these today?”
“Oui. That is probably why they may not look at good as they should.” Gastien was so nervous he had not heard the compliment.
“Is there something wrong with your hearing, Gaz? As I said, these are very, very good! Some of the best charcoal renditions I have ever seen. I don’t know too many people that would get even one done in that amount of time and have it look like this.”
“Really? You really think so?” Gastien could have exploded with joy. Someone like Mic thought he was good!
“Think so? I know so. You are truly great at drawing! You just have to own it. Dear God, what I would give to draw like that!” Mic stared at the drawings with a dumb look on his face. “Are you pulling my leg? Did you really do these?”
“Oui, I really did. In between waving my bite around on the riverbank,” Gastien teased, breaking the seriousness.
“Well, damn, boy! You’ve got it!” Mic looked excited. “You are a rare one, Gastien. You just simply have it in you. Not much training will be necessary, just some help with technique and how paints work. Then, plenty of practice and you will be on your way! Not that money will come easy. Art is a hard road to walk. But, honestly, if you don’t make it nobody should. How are you going to learn oil technique?”
Gastien looked at the ground. “Well, I am hoping my new ami will show me.” Gastien looked up and into Mic’s eyes, smiling shyly. “That is, if it is not too much trouble.”
“I would be honored. What fun! I can say I knew the famous Gaz before he became famous and his ego got so big.”
“Let’s just hope it gets to that! Mic, you have to realize that you also are extremely talented. Your painting that I saw was really eye-catching!”
Mic shrugged his shoulders. “Oui, I am good. Very good. And you are right, people will buy my work. I am going to do all right. But, you? You will be one in a million…if you can pick up oil technique. And I am sure you can. Do you have supplies?”
“Oui, I just bought them yesterday. “
“Well, how about this: Just bring yourself tomorrow and we will meet in the park at two o’clock. I will bring the blank canvas. You can watch while I paint, talking you through it. Then, we will walk you through how it feels.”
“Well, I hate using your supplies and canvas.”
“Don’t worry about it. It won’t be much paint and the canvas can be primed to use over. We will be fine. We may “practice” quite a bit on the same canvas for several sessions. I wish I could come sooner, but I have classes. I am almost finished up, only about four months to go.”
“Great. I will see you tomorrow at two o’clock,” Gastien turned to walk away.
“Do you want to grab something to eat with me?” inquired Mic.
Gastien’s face turned red. “Um. Non. I better not. I really should be going.”
Mic then realized that Gaz had no money for food. “Gaz, listen. Don’t be embarrassed. Starving artist is a reality a lot of times. I would like to buy you a bowl of soup. It is not much, but it will help you feel a little warmth in your stomach. We can talk about your plans.“ Gastien hesitated. “Please?” urged Mic.
Gastien looked at him soberly. “Just this once, though. I don’t expect you to provide for me.”
“Nor will I. I can’t afford it. But I can buy my new ami one bowl of soup! Let’s go.”
They ended up at the second restaurant that Gastien had applied at, Le Procope, where he had seen Mic at a table with friends his first night in Paris. After they sat down, Mic told Gastien, “I work here part time as a server. I have worked here a few years while going to school and became a server a year ago. The owner is quite nice. Because I work here, I can have unlimited soup. I will eat one bowl while you eat yours. Then we will switch bowls and I will fill up as many times as you can hold. It will not matter to him as long as only one of us is doing that. He is quite good to artists that work here.”
“Are you sure?” Gastien asked nervously. “I would not want you to lose your job!”
“I won’t lose my job. Like I say, it could be me eating the soup. If I eat just one that would be yours, it is fine. I have eaten today, you probably have not.”
“Merci.”
Gastien ate four big bowls of soup while they talked. He never thought vegetables could taste so good! He told Mic a little about his home life, hitting his father, and about his experiences in trying to get a job. “So, I have no job and no prospects. I have no food, but at least for now I have a plac
e to stay. I am hiding out in Notre Dame.”
“Notre Dame? That is quite a walk each way. You will certainly be getting your exercise. I hope they don’t catch you sleeping in there and throw you out. Chances are they will, sooner or later.”
“Oui, I know. But I will worry about that when the time comes. Right now I have to worry about money for food.”
“Sell your drawings, Gaz,” Mic said. “Offer them to people on the street who are window shopping. It will be hard, but some will buy. For now, let them pay whatever they want, just so you can eat! In fact, you can draw in the mornings so that you have a few to sell every day.”
“Oui, I thought of that, too. I will start doing that right away tomorrow. In fact, maybe I will ask a few people tonight on my walk back.”
“By the way,” consoled Mic, “it does not surprise me that you did not find work. This is the wrong time of the year, with all the students in the area. Like I mentioned, I am going to be leaving this area in about four months. The owner of this place really likes me. He would hire you if I asked him, if you knew what you were doing. That gives us another project. I will teach you how to serve, how to pair wines with food, etc. That is, if you are game.”
“Oui! Oh, oui, for sure. I know that this restaurant does very well,” exclaimed Gastien excitedly.
“Then it’s a deal. I have a full day off on Sunday. We will “study” serving then. I will have you practice carrying things. The owner is not in on Sundays, the cooks will let us practice with trays and things. It will be awhile before you get hired and it would be part time. But, in the meantime, you will get ready. Because maybe someone will leave sooner, who knows?”
“Oui, who knows!” Gastien’s face lit up and he smiled happily. “I think perhaps meeting you is the best thing that has ever happened to me.”
“Well, if that is true, then I know you are a virgin, lover boy!” Mic winked. “Because, believe me, sex would be the best thing that had ever happened to you! Something tells me you weren’t having sex with the animals on your farm, so where did you find the women?”
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