Mic took only a minute to consider it. “You know, I think that would work. I don’t see any harm in you keeping supplies there. As a matter of fact, I was going to tell you that starting tomorrow I think you should be painting on your canvases, for real. You have practiced enough. It is time to start getting serious. Having your supplies at my place is much closer and easier than at Notre Dame! You can pick up what you need in the mornings, then deposit them back at my place at night. I will get a key made for you. I trust you and the guys will trust you, they have met you. Some are jealous of your talent, but they are not mean spirited. I think they will be fine with it. Just make sure you knock before you enter, because…well…” Mic looked over at Gastien with a small smile on his face.
“Oh! Sure. I get it. In case any of you has made plans to “entertain” in there during that time. I have a feeling it will be a long time before I get that lucky again.”
Mic punched him in the chest. “Well, most of us will never get lucky enough to roll around in bed with twins! So that evens the score a little I would say!”
They both laughed. Gastien stated, “Point made, but let’s not think about that night right now. I need to think clearly, and my bite gets in the way of doing that when I allow myself to think about those twins.”
“Agreed. Do you want to practice some?”
“Non, actually, I want to take the money Father Fournier gave me and go to the art store. I am going to use it for canvas and other supplies. You would know quantities I need to get through the next three or four months. Will you come with me?”
Mic looked at Gastien as if he were insane. “Well, sure I would come with you…but surely you are not going to spend that money on supplies instead of food! Gastien, it is winter time! You need food more than you need to paint!”
Gastien remained firm. “Quite the opposite, ami. I need to paint more than I need life itself. Without my art, I am nothing but a transient waiting to die. There is no other way. I will find food.”
“But how, Gastien? Surely you are not going to steal!”
“Non, I won’t steal. I did sell a few things today. If I told you what I was paid, you would go after those customers and have them arrested for theft! But, I will do that as much as I can until I look so awful people won’t buy from me. Hopefully, by that time it will be closer to when you will be leaving the restaurant and they will hire me.”
“Gaz, that is two and a half months from now! Where will you paint in the cold? December and January can have snow. You can’t be serious!” exclaimed Mic.
“I am dead serious, Mic. I will sell enough that I survive. I will also find places to paint and sleep. Don’t you worry about it.
“And if you don’t sell anything during January, after the holidays? How long do you think you can go without food?”
Gastien looked at Mic somberly. “Mic, there are always the restaurant garbage bins.”
“Oh, Gaz, non! Surely not!” protested Mic.
“I hope not, too. But I will do what I have to do in order to survive until I can find a job and get a room somewhere. I know the amount of food that is wasted in those restaurants. I am not above digging for a meal.”
Mic could see that Gastien was not going to be talked out of buying supplies, so they went to the art supply store that Gastien had bought from the first time. The owner was glad to see him again. Both he and Mic made sure that Gastien got as much as he could with his money. He was well stocked by the time he was done.
Next, they went and had a key made. Gastien did not allow himself to think about how he would be faring next month or even that night. He was just glad he had supplies and a safe place for them. After everything was hauled in, Mic showed Gastien again how to stretch and prime a canvas. They got to work, getting a dozen stretched and primed. That would make it easier to just pick up a canvas and paint. As more canvas was needed, they would work together to get another dozen ready.
The three other young men who shared the room were nowhere to be seen. They would mostly be in classes in the mornings when Gastien arrived. Afternoons were taken up with employment. Unless Gastien came before 7am or after 7pm he would most likely not run into anybody.
“Please tell the guys I really appreciate this,” said Gastien. “I know this takes up some valuable room!”
“Sure. We generally keep our stuff in the classrooms anyway, just taking out what we plan to work on that night. You are good here. Still, I will tell them you said merci.”
Gastien still had money from the past few days’ sales. “Mic, I wonder if I should eat a bowl of soup tonight, or wait until tomorrow night, since I ate so heavy this morning. I am not sure which is wiser.”
“Well, I think that if you wait until tomorrow night that will make you even hungrier. At least put a bowl of soup in your stomach tonight, so that it will not have been a full day and a half by the time you eat tomorrow night.”
“Do you want to go have soup somewhere cheap?”
“Let’s go!” And off they went. Gastien was thinking that there would probably be days coming up when he did not have the choice of eating soup or not, that it would be a not. He would face that when he came to it. Right now, he just wanted to have a friend to talk with, in order to keep the night from coming for as long as possible. He refused to think about where he would sleep.
As far as what Mic was thinking, well, he was worried about where Gastien would sleep, too. He knew that people died in the alleys. He also knew that if Gastien lived on the streets and somehow survived until Mic was ready to leave the restaurant he would not look like someone the owner of Le Procope would hire. Mic had some pull in getting a person hired because the owner liked and respected his work ethic, but he could not move mountains.
Le Procope was one of the treasures of Paris and many wealthy people ate there. He was really worried that Gastien would not be considered at all. He would still be inexperienced, even though trained. Gastien would look awful, smell worse. The reality was that Gastien had almost no chance at the job if it came to that. He could not tell Gaz that, no matter what. He could not crush the thin strand of hope that Gaz was desperately holding on to. Without hope, Gastien would not make it through the winter.
They sat at a table in a small bistro, making their soup last as long as possible. By the time they were halfway through, the three roommates had joined them, along with a few others. Talk was about art and females, lasting well into the night. The bistro was not too busy. Therefore, no one hurried them along. Eventually, people started heading out. Sleep was needed before classes or work tomorrow. Soon it was just Mic and Gastien again.
“Mic, let’s pay for our soup. You have classes tomorrow, too, and you work tomorrow night,” said Gastien.
“Oui, I hate to leave you, but I do need to get some sleep. I have a very long day tomorrow. I will see you the day after at two o’clock.” He tried to make it casual.
Walking out, Gastien turned to Mic. “See you soon Mic. Don’t worry!” He quickly turned and walked away.
Mic wanted very badly to call out to him, asking him to come stay with them…but he could not chance all of them being expelled. His heart broke as he watched Gastien walk down the street. Where in God’s name was his ami going to sleep tonight?
XXII
Gastien walked aimlessly for about an hour, wondering where he could go. He remembered that there was a small church in the 6th, so he headed back in that direction. It was cold out and would probably get colder before morning. He should have put on his sweater before he had left the restaurant! But, how could he unfold his tarp and dig around for it in there? Gastien sighed. Even something as simple as putting on more clothing was going to be difficult.
When he got to the church he was pleased to find it unlocked. He stepped inside and looked around. Not seeing anyone, he went into the worship area, rummaged through his tarp, and found his sweater. He put it on, then his coat again. It was not cold enough for extra socks or glove liners. He got out
both blankets and sat down, wrapping himself in them. He pulled a prayer book from the back of the pew in front of him, opening it. Hopefully if anyone came they would think he had been reading and fell asleep.
All of a sudden he was being shaken. “Wake up! What are you doing in this church this time of night?” Gastien stared into the eyes of the resident pastor.
“Sorry, Monsieur, I guess I fell asleep while reading,” Gastien started.
“Humph. Likely story. Move along. This is not a flophouse for vagrants,” the pastor said roughly.
“Do I look like a vagrant?” challenged Gastien. Mon Dieu! He was cleaned up! “Exactly how do you determine that I am a vagrant?”
“Look,” the pastor said tiredly, “People don’t come in here after Midnight to read or pray. You have a tarp full of whatever crap it is you carry with you, and you are wrapped in blankets. I don’t have time to argue. Please leave! Don’t come back!”
Gastien slowly put his blankets in his tarp, getting up to leave. “I am leaving. I am sorry that I took up your time. I imagine you are quite busy praying to that God of yours. You know, the one that, supposedly, you are emulating.”
“We can’t have every homeless person in Paris sleeping in our church. It looks bad.”
“I see. I guess it looks much better to have an empty church! Why help someone out that has no place to go?” Gastien shook his head in disgust. “I might be homeless, but I am not stupid. I seem to recall that your Jesus had compassion. Maybe you should work on that.”
Gastien stepped back out into the night. Well, at least he got his sweater on! He looked around for a place to sleep. He finally decided to lay down behind a dumpster, next to a restaurant. There was a good space between it and the wall of the building. He got his older blanket spread out on the ground. Lying down, he covered himself with the other one. If he curled up, he might stay warm. Pretty soon he fell into a fitful sleep.
Gastien woke up to a pair of eyes staring at him. Oh my, someone’s cat is prowling around the alleyways, he thought groggily. All of a sudden he noticed four or five more pair of eyes. Sitting up, he realized that he was covered with half a dozen good sized rats, the size of house cats. Gastien yelled and jumped up. The rats scattered. Hurriedly, he gathered his blankets, running from the area. He felt sick to his stomach. Mon Dieu, those rats were huge!
He learned a valuable lesson that night. No matter how good of a spot there is between a restaurant dumpster and a building, you don’t sleep there. The rats owned the dumpsters at night. He was lucky he had not been bitten. Smelling fresh meat, the rats would not have been above taking a few exploratory bites out of him. He sat on a bench and inspected his clothing for rips. They had not gotten to him. Thank God! He knew the diseases that rats carried.
There would be no more sleep for Gastien that night. He was too tense after that near miss. He sat huddled on the bench, a lonely figure in the night all alone, waiting for the sun to come up. When it did, he made his way to the public outhouse to relieve himself. Already the privy was almost full to the brim. It stank so badly that he retched. He decided that from now on he would use the river or the alleys. He was sure his would not be the only human waste going into alleys and the river Seine.
That day started a run of weeks that pretty much mirrored each other. Picking up his supplies from Mic’s place in the mornings. Walking around finding people to sell drawings to all morning, painting in the afternoons. Some days he sold drawings, some he did not. He managed to make enough money for a bowl of soup every day. If it was too cold to paint in the park, he would go to a museum and ask if he could paint in a room that was not being used. Sometimes they would let him, once they saw how well he could draw. Other times, he was refused. It depended on the museum and the people working that day. Often, he had to search out an abandoned building and paint there.
As days turned into a week and then two, Gastien knew he was becoming less appealing to strangers. Dirty and smelly, he washed his face and hands in the public fountains late at night, but it was too cold to take any clothes off for a bath in the river.
He had nothing to wipe with when he went to the bathroom, unless he happened to find something on the way to the alley or river bank. Most often he used his right hand, since he was left handed. He then washed his hand in the river with his bar of soap, as soon as he got the chance. When the bar of soap became so small it was useless, he used the money that would have bought him soup for another bar of soap. He went hungry that night. At least one good thing happened as he ate less and less. He did not have to pass shit often at all. His body held on to and used every bit of food he could find. The problem of not be able to wipe himself was not as awful as he had at first feared. There was little to wipe.
The nights he got soup (which in December was most) he sat as long as he could before heading out to find a place to sleep. As he got dirtier, he was embarrassed for Mic to be seen with him, so he avoided coming around him. Mic said he did not care, but Gastien knew that he was unappetizing. As Noël approached, Gastien knew he had hit a new low when the waiter at a bistro asked him to not come back, even if he had the money for a bowl of soup.
“I am sorry, Monsieur, but you are upsetting our clientele. It is not good for business. Please forgive me, but I must ask you to not come into the restaurant anymore. You are welcome to come to the back door and buy a bowl of soup. We will only charge you half price.”
Gastien wanted to die of shame. His good looks did him little good now! He merely nodded and quickly left, not even bothering to eat his soup. From then on, he went to the backs of restaurants, money in hand, so that they would know he was not begging.
After eating, the worst part of the day began. Evening and early night found him running into whores servicing johns in alleys, cock fights that he inadvertently walked into, craps games in dark corners, others hunting through garbage bins, drunks staggering down the alleyways. Some threatened Gastien, until he drew his large knife. Another had seen him lop off a finger when a thug had tried to steal his tarp. Word quickly got around that the “sweet faced one” was not someone to mess with. Men propositioned him at first, but once he smelled bad enough they did not even meet his eyes. With his greasy hair and ratty beard even he was no longer appealing.
XXIII
He had another run in during the second week with the fat chef that had offered to bugger him the first day he had looked for work. Gastien was walking down the alley looking for shelter. The cook, out back smoking a cigarette, saw Gastien. Leering, he stepped out into the alley.
“Hey, handsome, I remember you! Only, you aren’t so handsome anymore! That is too bad. You were so delicious looking!” He laughed cruelly. Gastien kept walking. “Hey, good looking, I tell you what. The offer still stands. In fact, if you blow me right now, I will give you a steak dinner. I bet you have not had a steak dinner in a long, long time. What do you say?”
Gastien turned and looked at him. “Not in a million years.”
The chef laughed again. “You just aren’t hungry enough yet. The offer will stand, at least until you are so unappealing that even your mouth would be too dirty. I would say, oh, another two weeks and even I would not let you service me. Already I would not want to use your ass. Something tells me it is not so sweet right now!”
“Va te faire foutre!” Gastien growled.
“You are quite ungrateful! I should take back the offer because of your filthy language. However, I am a forgiving man. Keep that steak dinner in the back of your mind. A nice, large steak, potatoes, vegetable… I’ll even throw in desert. Of course, you will have to swallow, if you want desert!“ The chef made a smacking noise with his lips.
Gastien slowly turned around and walked back to the man. Coming face to face with him, Gastien said softly, “Do you really want a piece of me that badly?”
The chef knowingly smiled. He knew the young man would come around. Most of them did. “Of course I want a piece of you! I remember how cute you really are
under that dirt and stink. I will simply close my eyes and picture that.”
Gastien smiled back sexily. “Well, then here is a piece of me for you. I hope you enjoy it!” Gastien hauled off and punched the chef hard in the gut.
Coughing and wheezing, the chef growled, “You little piece of shit! I would not let you suck my cock if YOU bought ME a steak! Get out of here before I kill you!”
Gastien laughed harshly. “You and how many others, you fat pig?” He pulled his knife and held it up. “I should gut you with this knife. I could have you for dinner the next fourteen nights in a row. Lord knows there is ample meat there.” The chef stared at Gastien and his knife. Gastien growled, “Now you see the real me, trou du cul! I don’t ever, and I mean ever, want to hear you speak to me about “servicing” you again. If you so much as wink at me, I will plunge this fucking knife deep into your heart. Believe me, I have nothing to lose anymore. Jail would be better than these stinking alleys.” The chef stayed glued to the spot, his eyes huge, and his mouth quivering. “Do I make myself clear?” The chef nodded. “Good. Now get your fat cul inside!” The chef quickly dropped his cigarette, hurrying inside. He did not dare to even glance back.
Such was the drama that unfolded, night after night, in the evenings. Later at night, most of the vagrants were passed out or puking up booze and spoiled food in various areas of the alleys. Gastien learned to avoid the alleys if he wanted any sleep. He instead went to the Académie Julian, where he slept in a protected place between a wagon and a building. No one bothered him there, but he slept with his knife under his blanket where he could grab it quickly, just the same.
XXIV
Noël came and went. Suddenly, it was New Years Eve. Things had slowed down dramatically after Noël as far as selling anything went. In fact, there were much fewer people around. Most nights he did not have any money for even soup. At first, he did go Notre Dame on Thursdays for soup. After awhile, when he was not eating regularly, it was too far. He was afraid he would not make it.
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