by Linda Kepner
“How’s he getting back to the hotel?” asked Gray.
“I’m not even going to worry about that until he’s conscious,” Bishou replied.
“I’m gonna stay here with you, honey,” Sukey said quietly. “At least for a while.”
“Thanks, Sukey,” Bishou said, equally quietly. “I appreciate the support.”
“My pleasure, honey.” She looked up at her husband and Gray. “You know, Bishou never did get any lunch. Why don’t you boys go over and pick up a box lunch for her, and something for us to drink?”
“That’s a plan,” said Vig, as the men left.
Bishou rubbed her eyes. Then she realized Sukey was looking at her, very thoughtfully.
“Want to tell me what happened?” Sukey asked, in that same quiet tone.
It was a strong temptation. “Not yet.”
“All right. Then later.”
Louis groaned.
They both turned to look at him.
“Carola.”
Sukey looked at Bishou. “Carola?”
“His wife,” Bishou said.
Louis spoke again. A second time, a third time. Bishou felt sick to her stomach.
“What did he say?” Sukey prodded.
“He said, ‘I know what you are doing. Don’t you think I know you are poisoning me? Fill it up! I love you more than anything. I don’t want to live without you.’” Bishou took a deep breath as he spoke a fourth time, then translated. “He said, ‘Kill me. I would rather die than leave your side.’ ”
He repeated, “Carola. Carola.”
Bishou got a handkerchief and wiped tears from his face. Once again, Louis fell silent.
Bishou stood, went to her tiny bathroom, got a washcloth, and dampened it. She knelt beside the couch, and wiped his face with it.
“Merci,” he said, either in his dreams or not.
“De rien,” she replied quietly.
“Si froid.”
“‘So cold.’” She turned to Sukey. “Could you get one of the blankets off my bed?”
Sukey nodded. In a moment, she returned with a coverlet, which the two women wrapped snugly around him. They returned to their seats.
“So tell me about him,” said Sukey.
“I’d rather not.” Bishou rubbed her eyes. “It’s not my secret to tell, really.”
“But you stumbled across one of Louis’s secrets?”
Bishou nodded. “An item in my research for my doctoral dissertation. And he saw it on my desk.”
“Lordy. And he fainted. It didn’t mean to you what it did to him.”
“That’s it,” said Bishou, in lieu of a lie. But it was no lie when she added, “I feel so bad. I wish he’d never seen it. I never thought about him coming here to get his jacket.”
“Don’t beat yourself up,” said Sukey. “It’s my fault, too. I should never have suggested it, but how was I to know?”
They lapsed into silence, watching the sleeping patient. The room was very quiet for a long time. Bishou saw Louis’s hands and feet twitch, then his face. He should be waking up soon, she thought. Then, suddenly, he sat up, screaming.
Sukey jumped back, but Bishou dived for Louis. She grabbed one of his wrists and put an arm around his shoulders. He fought her. “Ssh, ssh,” she urged. “Doucement, doucement.” Gently, gently.
“Oh, mon Dieu,” he sobbed. “Ou est-il?”
“I have hidden it,” she replied in French. “No one knows.”
“Oh, non, non,” he cried. “Where did you find that horrible thing? I hoped never to see it again!”
“It came from Paris in my university research for my doctoral degree. I am so sorry, Louis. Please forgive me.”
“Oh mon Dieu, mon Dieu. I fainted.” He saw Sukey. “And all the world knows it.”
“Non, the world knows nothing,” she said, still speaking French. “The doctors came here and said that you fainted from exhaustion and décalage. They did not see the paper, either. They did not know why you collapsed. Only you and I know what you saw.”
“Bishou,” he wept, “what have you done to me?”
“I am sorry. Please, Louis, there are people here now. You must be strong. I will help you. This will pass.” She kept her voice strong, but quiet, and she held him just as Bat held Marine meltdowns that still appeared on his doorstep from time to time. And this was a meltdown, for certain.
Louis took a deep breath. Bishou wiped his face with the cool, damp cloth. Slowly, it occurred to him that Bishou was holding him tightly, and hadn’t let go. In English, he said, “Mademoiselle, if you do not release me, Madame will think there is more to our relationship than the truth.”
Bishou smiled, and sat back, relieved. Sukey looked as relieved as she did. “My Lord, Louis, you gave us a fright. I’m going to send you to bed like one of my teenage boys, from now on.”
“Not for a night or so,” said Bishou. “Tonight he’s staying here, on the couch.”
“Quoi?” Louis asked, startled.
“Doctor’s orders.” Bishou’s mouth tightened. “They said you’re too weak to walk very far, so they don’t want you walking anywhere, nor climbing stairs. Here you stay. Tomorrow, the Hansens can pick you up and take you to the hotel.”
“No,” he said firmly. “I am here for the conference. This is — ” He said a phrase in French.
“Just a minor setback. I know, and you may be right. But the only thing the university is more worried about than propriety is injury. If you hurt yourself, it would be even worse for the conference.”
Louis made a face. Before he could say anything, a voice called out from the door, “We’re back! We brought take-out chicken instead. That okay with everyone?” Vig and Gray entered carrying bags and boxes.
“Heeey, Louis!” Gray reached out to shake his hand. “Welcome back.”
“I am glad to be here. What is it that smells so good? Poulet?”
“Yes, chicken,” Bishou answered. “But go easy. You’ve had a rough day.”
Louis growled. He pulled himself upright on the couch, the blanket still wrapped around his legs. Vig, Gray, and Sukey invaded Bishou’s pathetic little kitchenette.
“Cryin’ out loud, Bishou,” called Gray. “Don’t you even have three glasses that match?”
“Why do I need three glasses? I wash out the one I use as soon as I use it,” she called back.
Louis chuckled. She started to rise, but he grabbed her hands and pulled her onto the couch beside him.
“Stay here,” he advised. “Let them learn about graduate student apartments by themselves.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
He put his arm around her shoulder. “Things like this, I am always right.”
“I am very sorry to shock you,” she said.
“We will talk later, when everyone has gone.”
“Hey! Chardonnay!”
“Go easy on that stuff,” she called. “That’s what I feed my boss.”
“Did I hear my name?” Dr. Roth stood at the door.
“Aiiee,” said Bishou, very quietly, and stood up.
Sukey, however, beat her to the punch. “We’re gonna owe you a whole case of Chardonnay for lending us Bishou Howard,” she said with a smile, taking Roth’s hand and pulling him into the tiny living room.
“I came over to see if Bishou’s day was as rough as I’d heard it was.”
“Uh-oh,” said Bishou. “Marie Norton, or the dean?”
“Both, actually.” Roth held out a hand to Louis. “Monsieur Dessant, so nice to meet you. I’m Dr. Raymond Roth, of the literature department.”
“Ah. Mademoiselle’s advisor?”
They shook hands, and Roth slid into his favorite chair. Bishou sat down again on her wooden desk chair.
“Yes, that’s correct. The university wanted me to check up on you, too, and make sure you were all right, because — after a fashion — you are one of Miss Howard’s students.”
“Indeed, I am.” That businesslike Fren
ch accent never sounded nicer. “I am grateful for all her help, and I am most apologetic for being such a burden to the school.”
Roth made himself comfortable in the chair. “Well, it’s taught us one thing, at least, that we shouldn’t hit the ground running with overseas students. We need to give them a day or two to adjust to the strain of airline travel.”
“I think that might be necessary,” Louis admitted. “I am sure that is what happened to me, exhaustion and décalage — jet lag.”
“I can’t help feeling we’ve met before,” said Roth.
Louis chuckled. “We have. You were in the back of the lecture hall the day I stopped in to see the college class. I have never attended university. I was curious. We spoke a few words.”
“Not enough for me to realize your native language was French,” said Roth, grimacing. “My apologies.”
“De rien.” Louis smiled, and got more comfortable on the couch. “I am glad to know for certain who you are, because I knew Mademoiselle Howard respected Dr. Roth greatly. Please do not — what is the word? — penalize her for my foolishness.”
“No, no, of course not. What happened here was so obviously an accident — and it is well documented by the head resident and by medical reports.” Roth stood. “Well, I just came by to see how everything was. Now I’ll move on. I promised my wife I’d be home by dinnertime. Goodbye, Bishou. I’ll see you on Friday.”
Bishou sighed. “I am in so much trouble.”
“How so?” asked Louis in surprise.
“They told me not to get personal about this job, and here I’ve got a whole bunch of you partying in my apartment,” she said unhappily.
“Maybe you’re being a bit straitlaced Yankee about this,” Sukey suggested.
“Yeah, well, maybe you don’t know academia. It’s worse than a small town. Gossip travels at the speed of sound, and they’re quite willing to believe the worst on no evidence at all.”
Louis, his hand resting against his cheek, smiled and said, “Maybe you should just have some chicken and deal with one problem at a time.” Then he struggled to raise himself from the couch — and slid to a pile on the floor. He growled something ugly and explosive.
“Okay if I don’t translate that one?” Bishou asked him, as the men helped lift him.
He growled again. Gray helped him navigate to the bathroom, and he came back to the couch by himself.
The chicken, mashed potatoes, baked beans, and coleslaw may not have been great art, but they filled the gap, washed down by iced tea and the last of the Chardonnay.
“I dunno, Louis,” Gray teased with a grin, as they got up to return to the afternoon sessions. “Leaving you here, helpless, at a woman’s mercy …”
Louis smiled up at him. “I think I am safe here, mon ami. Tomorrow morning, however, can someone pick me up at seven in the morning? I must go back to my room, shave, and change clothes.”
“Sure, I’ll arrange it,” Gray confirmed.
Sukey said, “We’ll be back this evening to see if you kids need anything.”
“All right,” said Bishou. “Thank you.” She showed her guests to the door, and closed it at last.
Louis stretched out again on the couch and wrapped the blanket around him. “How were you planning to spend the rest of your day? If you must leave me here alone, I promise I will not rob you.”
“No, I was planning to work on my dissertation. That’s why I had the papers out. Will the typing bother you?”
“No. What have you got to read in French?”
Bishou scooped a handful of paperbacks out of the bookshelf and piled them on the floor beside him. Louis went carefully through the pile, finally selecting a tired paperback. “Ah! I haven’t seen one of these since I was a child. Was this adventure story Bat’s or yours?”
“We both like them,” Bishou smiled, and sat at her desk to work. Soon, she was involved in the argument of her thesis, and he was quietly reading on the couch.
Bishou worked for well over an hour, satisfied that her notes were shaping up. Then she rolled three sheets of paper with carbon papers sandwiched between them into her typewriter to type a couple more precious pages in triplicate. She glanced at Louis, absorbed in the adventure story, a little smile on his lips. He really is easy to please, she thought.
She got up to find a reference or two, brought the books back to her desk, sat down, wrote a little more, and then typed more. It was slow going, but solid work — what a dissertation needed.
Bishou glanced at Louis again. She was surprised to find he was lying on his side, without a book, watching her. He closed his eyes quickly, as if he’d been caught out.
“Quoi?” Then she glanced down at herself. She hadn’t adjusted her clothing when she sat down again in the chair, and her skirt had shimmied up. She showed quite an expanse of leg and garter. Bishou snorted, and pulled down the skirt. “Monsieur Dessant.”
Louis opened his eyes, that same smile on his lips. “Well, I am a man. I could not help but look.”
She felt her face burn. His smile vanished.
In a different tone, he said, “While there is no one else around, let us discuss those papers.”
“All right.”
“Are you planning to document me in your thesis?”
“No,” she replied, honestly.
“Then why do you have those clippings? Why should my name be in some university binder forever?”
“It won’t be there, I swear it, Louis.”
“Then why have them? Why save those horrible things?” he insisted.
“I have them because the author refers to various books on the subject, and then draws references from life. I don’t draw references from life in my dissertation, not at all.”
“Pfah!” He turned his head in disbelief.
Bishou understood, and it made her smile. “Let me explain about degree candidacy, Monsieur. A candidate for an advanced degree goes before an examination panel. The members of this panel may be drawn from anywhere in the world, depending on the subject matter. So — the material referred to in the dissertation must be equally available to all of them. That means not a television show, not a clipping, not an oral history, but printed matter. Mainly, books. Nothing may be involved that the professor from Guelph cannot research as easily as the professor from Lyon.”
“They are from all over the world, these inquisitors?”
She nodded. “I have no idea who they will be yet. They may not even tell me. But Dr. Roth will arrange for them all to be in a certain place at a certain time, to ask me questions so I can defend my thesis. They accept or deny my application for an advanced degree, and I either receive the degree or I start again.”
“And what do you get out of all this?” he asked intently.
“The title of Doctor Bishou Howard, and three stripes on my gown,” Bishou replied with a smile. “Pretty silly, isn’t it?”
“A man who is learning how to stuff cotton in the ends of cigarettes is not going to tell you three stripes on a gown are silly.”
“Thank you for taking such a fair view of it. You’ve spoken very decently to me during this entire conference, and I appreciate it. I know the others don’t mean anything by their comments, but sometimes, they make it difficult for me.”
“You have a dream and a purpose,” he said. “Do not lose either one. I know how — desolated — one can become, if one loses the dream. I had dreams once. At least I still have a purpose.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“My dreams — to marry, have a family, have a good life.” Louis stared toward the opposite wall introspectively. “That is all gone now, dust. But the purpose? Dessant Cigarettes, it keeps me going. To make a business that Etien can run when I am gone, and that will give a good life to his children after him.” He smiled at her, but the smile was sad. “That newspaper cannot tell it all. It cannot tell you what a good man Etien Campard is, how he saw the beginnings of my downfall, but knew I wouldn’t listen
, how he tried to prevent my ruin. Nor how he gave me refuge and money when I was a criminal, and stood by me after my arrest. The newspaper cannot tell you all that Etien did to save me from my own passions, and failed. He pressed for my release from prison. He has always been my best friend. I owe him so much.”
“The newspaper never even mentions Etien,” she said.
“I am glad. It keeps him safe from the harpies. I tell you the truth, Bishou — I know whenever there is another article about Carola and me, because I get scores of letters from women who want to rehabilitate me. I will be a marked man all my life, the fallen one.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Bishou folded her arms. “I could show you the letters from men telling me to give up my foolishness about getting a PhD in literature, a real woman doesn’t need that.”
Again, that sad smile. “I suppose it is similar — give up the dream, it isn’t manly. Or maidenly. I am glad that you do not give up on your dreams, Bishou. Mine are gone. Etien says no, I must still dream, and I dare not tell him differently because he has been always right and I have been always wrong.”
“You loved Carola very much, Louis. That was real.”
One more sad smile. He reached into his pants pocket, pulled out a wallet, and handed a photograph to Bishou. An incredibly beautiful green-eyed woman wore a bridal veil over her blond hair and looked not quite at the camera, as if she didn’t really want her image captured forever.
Bishou took a very long look, then handed it back. “She’s beautiful, Louis.”
“Yes, she was. I lost my heart to her the first moment I saw her. Now Etien does not permit me to mention her name, and I must keep the photograph to myself. But this portrait has done its duty. When I showed it to the judges, they found extenuating circumstances for my crimes.”
Louis put the photo back in his wallet and slid the wallet back in his pocket. Then he lay down on the couch. Bishou realized that his mind was far from here.
She returned to her deskwork. For a long time, she just stared into space. Then, Bishou got a piece of paper, and started to write.
Chapter 6
It was a long letter for a telegram, and was written in French. At the top were the date and the address: 7 Rue Calaincourt, F-1215 St. Denis, Ile de la Réunion. CONFIDENTIEL.