The Ariana Trilogy

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  Her expression was serious, and I laughed. “Yes, I know, Marguerite, and I’ll be careful never to leave her in a crib too much at home.” I didn’t tell Marguerite that I didn’t even have a crib for Nette at the apartment, that she slept peacefully next to me on our bed. This made it easier for night nursings, and Jacques and I both loved to cuddle with her.

  At first it was difficult for me to leave Nette in the office or kitchen. It was as if a part of me was missing—and I guess in a way it was; Nette, after all, had been a part of me for nine months. She slept most of the time, and the few times she was fussy I carried her next to my chest in a baby carrier, or Jules sang to her in the kitchen. I was very happy.

  We had more customers than ever that week, as many people were still on holiday from work or school. News about the baby spread quickly, and nearly everyone insisted on seeing her. Many of the regulars brought gifts. “Where is that baby?” people would say as they approached the counter, and I would proudly show her off. “She looks just like you with that dark hair and big brown eyes,” they would always continue. I thought that she did too, though she had her father’s slight cleft in her tiny chin.

  My life seemed perfect. Oh, I still complained about my apartment and secretly missed my parents, but I was so full of wonder and love for my daughter that those things made little difference. To me, it seemed almost as if my beloved brother had been restored to me in the form of a baby, though I did not believe that exactly.

  Jacques had been at his job for three weeks when he brought up the party again. We were spending a quiet night alone in front of the TV. For once it hadn’t been busy at the café, and Marguerite had sent me home early. Little Nette was already asleep on our bed.

  “Let’s have a party to show off the baby,” he said abruptly.

  “But the smoke—”

  “We won’t let anyone smoke—pot or tobacco. Afterwards, they can move down to one of the bars. Or,” he cast me a boyish glance, “they can smoke in the hall.”

  “Okay,” I agreed reluctantly, seeing his excitement and determination in the matter. “But no drugs, no shooting up. Not around the baby.”

  “It’s a deal! Tomorrow night, then. It’s Sunday, and we’re both off.” He jumped up abruptly, glancing at his watch.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To get some drinks for the party. The liquor store’s still open. And I’ll call a few of the guys to spread the word.” He threw on his coat and shot out the door.

  I was left alone.

  * * *

  “This is one hoppin’ party!” a man shouted at me above the dance music. I tried not to wince at the reek of alcohol on his breath.

  I nodded and turned abruptly to search the crowd for Jacques. The front room and kitchen were full of people, half of whom I had never even met. They were dancing, necking, playing cards, and drinking. So far, they had all scrupulously obeyed Jacques when he said no smoking or drugs in the house, but it had made little difference. They went just outside in the hall to do both, leaving the door wide open so the smoke drifted into the apartment. Many of our guests were already passed out in the hall and on our floor.

  “Have you seen Jacques?” I asked Paulette when I found her sitting in the hall, squeezed in among many others.

  “In the kitchen, last I saw,” Paulette said. “But relax, Ariana. He’s just having a good time celebrating his new job and Nette. Loosen up a little and have some fun, like in the good old days before you got pregnant.” She pointed down at a needle in her hand. “Want a little?”

  “No!” I said tightly. I had already taken a few drinks but quit when I started to feel dizzy. I couldn’t risk not being able to take care of Nette should she need me.

  I found Jacques in a crowded corner of the kitchen as Paulette had said, having a drinking contest with five of his friends. I saw at once that he was already too far gone to move the party to a bar somewhere, but still I tried.

  “Jacques, it’s time to go to the bar!” I shouted above the din.

  He stared at me dumbly for a few moments, as if trying to remember who I was. “Oh, it’s you, Ariana,” he said finally. “Have a drink?” He held up his glass with an unsteady hand.

  I turned away, disgusted, making my way as quickly as possible to our small bedroom where I had left Nette after her brief, one-minute introduction to her father’s friends. I had made sure the room was off limits, marking it with a large sign and verbal threats. So far no one had dared enter, but I was afraid to leave Nette for very long; these were people who thrived on breaking the rules. Fleetingly, I wondered what I had ever seen in such a life.

  Yet as I pushed through the thick mass of bodies, a sinking despair flooded through me. Maybe this is what life’s all about, I thought. Suddenly, I was tempted to throw myself into the party, to drink myself crazy in order to rid myself of this growing hopelessness. Only the thought of my precious little Nette saved me.

  I finally reached the bedroom and opened the door. My anger flared as I saw a couple wrestling around on my bed, threatening at any second to roll over my one-month-old daughter. I raced up to the bed, fury and fear flooding my mind and body, blotting out the former despair; it was a savage blaze, ripping through my soul. Abruptly, I was the fear-strengthened mother protecting her young.

  “Get out!” I screamed, pulling them off the bed and onto the floor with a strength I didn’t know I possessed. They landed with a bump and a chorus of complaints. “Get out of my room!” I yelled again. I wanted to scream stronger words at them, words that until then I hadn’t realized I even knew; but ever conscious of my little daughter, I refrained. Grabbing the couple by the necks of their T-shirts, I hauled them over to the door, practically strangling them. They were too weak with drugs and drinking to protest much. I reached to open the door to shove them out. As I did so, two more couples burst in.

  “Not in here!” I shrieked. “I swear I’ll call the police!” That finally got them all out the door, but I knew it wouldn’t keep them for long.

  I swept over to the bed to make sure Nette was all right. Still shaking with fury, I forced myself to focus on what to do next. We had to get out of the apartment. I dressed the baby as quickly as possible in her warm body coat, shoving extra items into the baby bag someone had given me. Nette’s eyes opened, and her lips curled in a sweet, angelic smile.

  “I’m getting you out of here, Nette,” I whispered. She closed her eyes trustingly, already dozing off again to dream of things that babies dream.

  I added an extra layer to my own clothing and wrapped Nette in two more blankets to protect her from the winter cold. We left quickly, stopping only at the closet to get my own coat. From the corner of my eye, I saw another couple head toward my room. Anger again flared in me, but getting Nette somewhere safe was more important now. I shrugged and turned my back resolutely on the crowded apartment. No one paid any attention to us as we left.

  Though it rarely snowed in Paris, it did get very cold in the winter months. This January night was no exception. An icy wind was blowing furiously outside, and I put Nette inside my coat, making sure she could still breathe but protecting her face from the biting wind. “We’ll go to Marguerite’s,” I said softly to the baby, though she was asleep. “Only two blocks away.” I watched the shadows carefully as I hurried down the sidewalk. These streets were not the safest at this hour, and I had never walked them alone after dark. Either Jules or Jacques had always walked me home after my shift at the café. Cold fear arose in me, but I didn’t know what else to do.

  All at once, I remembered the red-haired American missionary and thought, Now’s the time I really need a prayer. But I didn’t pray for myself, at least not consciously. Nette’s coming had made me rethink my former disbelief in God, but I hadn’t yet figured out exactly what I did believe.

  As I neared the café, I realized that someone was following us. “Please, let us make it,” I mumbled, not realizing that such a fervent wish was actually a prayer. We
arrived at the café, and I began to ring the buzzer insistently. I could now see three youths coming down the street, angling for where I stood. My heart beat wildly as I thought about what I should do. Should I run? Face them? What? I pushed again and again on the buzzer and then turned to face the three young men. I felt helpless to protect myself and my daughter.

  “What’s a pretty thing like you doing all alone on a night like this?” one asked as they neared. “We can help you out!”

  “I don’t need help, thank you,” I said stiffly, trying to hide my fear. Inside my coat, Nette began to wriggle in her sleep, and I shifted her position awkwardly.

  “Hey now, what you got inside that coat?” the youth asked, genuinely curious but menacing as well. I knew in a moment he would rip my coat open to see for himself.

  At that moment, the door opened behind me, and Jules appeared. He sized up the situation immediately and turned a gruff face to the boys, holding up a large fist. “Go on now. I’ll take care of my daughter. Or do you want my wife,” he motioned to Marguerite, who had appeared at the counter behind him, “to call the police while we fight about it?”

  The boys examined Jules, who was short but strong looking, and backed down. “We don’t want any trouble, mister,” said the one who had spoken before. “We just wanted to make sure she got in okay.”

  “Yeah, right,” Jules said, his voice full of irony. He whisked me inside and closed the door in their faces.

  “What’s wrong?” Marguerite came to me quickly as Jules locked up.

  I began to shake with delayed fright. “Here, take Nette,” I said, holding out the baby, afraid I would drop her. As Marguerite swept the sleeping baby up to her warm breast, I began to tell my story. “Can I stay here tonight?” I said when I had finished.

  “Of course.” Marguerite led the way through the kitchen to their own apartment. I had been there only a few times before, but I knew they had a couch that folded down into a bed in their sitting room. It was to this that she took me.

  “What’s wrong with my life?” I asked her while she made up the bed. I was sitting back in a comfortable chair with Nette asleep on my chest. “I don’t know what to do!”

  Marguerite stopped what she was doing and looked down at me. “It seems you have a lot of decisions to make, Ariana. You still have your whole life before you.”

  “What would you do if you were me?” I asked softly.

  She shook her head. “Only you can decide that. But you might start with deciding where you want to end up in life and work from there. To get there, you might have to go back to school, make up with your parents, maybe make some decisions about Jacques. But the point is, only you can do it.”

  I frowned and then nodded. “I guess you’re right.”

  Suddenly out of nowhere came the thought, Oh, Antoine, why did you leave me?

  Chapter Five

  The next day the biting wind continued, but it didn’t seem to stop the flow of people to the café. I was grateful to immerse myself in work, putting aside my feelings and the decisions I would soon have to make. Regardless, I felt their weight as heavy upon me as sin upon the soul.

  Jacques didn’t appear at the café all morning or afternoon, but shortly before the dinner rush, Paulette came in, her face flushed and excited.

  “Boy, did you miss all of the excitement last night!” she declared, leaning against the counter. “Someone called the police, and the whole place got busted. They took most everyone to the tank, including Jacques. I didn’t get busted because I slipped into one of your neighbors’ apartments. You know, the ones that have that so-called band. Anyway, I went down to the jail to see what was what and Jacques was there, asking you to come and bail him out.”

  I stared at Paulette in horror and then looked to Marguerite for advice.

  She shrugged. “Honey, if it was up to me, I’d let him rot in jail. But it’s you that has to live with him, not me. However, if you’re going to get him out, it would be best if you went now, before the dinner rush. That way, maybe he won’t lose his job.”

  “Yes, you’re right. Will you watch the baby for me?”

  “Sure.” Marguerite’s eyes fixed on me sadly. “Do you have enough money?”

  “I think so.” I wasn’t sure if I did, but I wasn’t about to ask her for more than she was already giving me. If I had to, I would take some money out of my secret bank account.

  Paulette and I hurried up the street to the subway. The sky was overcast and gloomy. A perfect day for what I had to do. I had barely enough cash to pay the police officer to get Jacques free—money I had been saving to pay the rent that was due in just over a week.

  “What about the rent, Jacques?” I asked tightly as we left the station.

  “When’s it due?”

  “End of next week.” I couldn’t believe he didn’t remember.

  “No problem,” Jacques said confidently. “I get paid next week. We’ll have enough to pay the rent. Don’t worry about that, Ari.”

  “Ariana,” I corrected him tersely.

  “Oh, sorry.” He turned to Paulette. “But wasn’t that some party, eh, Paulette?”

  “Sure was,” she agreed, a stupid smile on her face.

  I stopped dead in my tracks. “I don’t believe you, Jacques! Smoke was filling the whole apartment, there were drunken and doped people everywhere, couples making out on our bed, practically rolling on top of Nette! Then Nette and I nearly get mugged or worse in the street trying to find someplace to sleep, and you end up in jail! And you call that a party?” I let out all of my pent-up anger in one rush, and Jacques cringed in the face of my rage. “Is that how you want your daughter to grow up? Doing drugs and sleeping with anyone she meets? Well, that’s not the kind of life I want for her—or for me! I want to grow up and get on with living, and if that’s not what you want, you can have your drugged life. But it’s us or them. You can’t have both!” With that I turned on my heel, leaving a stunned Jacques behind me.

  I spent the rest of the day angry at Jacques, but gradually my rage cooled. At closing time, he appeared with a bouquet of flowers. Jules and Marguerite scowled at him suspiciously, but he seemed clearheaded.

  “I thought a lot about what you said,” he began as we were walking home. “You know, about what kind of a life we want for Antoinette.” He motioned to the baby in my arms. “You’re right. I don’t want her to grow up like this, and I don’t even want this life for you and me.” His eyes grew thoughtful. “Like at Christmas, when we ate dinner with Marguerite and Jules, I thought how it would be having a place like that and doing well like they are. I really want that for us, but sometimes the yearning to drink comes so hard that I just can’t fight it. And the heroin is worse.” He held up his hands quickly. “I swear I’ve done it only once or twice since Nette was born. But the whole point is that I’m going to do better, Ariana. I promise.” He put a hesitant arm around me, and I leaned into him slightly.

  “Okay, Jacques, we’ll try it again. But no more parties.”

  “I agree. And we’ll look for someplace nicer to live, now that we both have jobs.”

  “Maybe we should go back to school,” I suggested.

  “Maybe.”

  I could tell that he was humoring me. He was sincere in wanting to do better, but that didn’t include being locked up in a room with books. I sighed. I guess it was all I could expect, for now.

  I seemed to hold my breath as the next two months passed by. Jacques was impossibly well behaved. We laughed a lot and spent more time as a family. During March, as the weather warmed, I would even take him to some of my favorite places along the Seine, recounting the stories of my youth.

  “You were very lucky to have Antoine,” Jacques said to me one day as we walked along the river. It was the morning before my nineteenth birthday. “I feel almost jealous when you talk about him. Your whole face lights up, and you look so beautiful. I hope I can make your eyes light up like that someday.”

  My hair, havi
ng grown long during my pregnancy, fell into my face, and I flipped it back to look up at him. “I do love you, Jacques,” I said earnestly. “I really do. These last two months have been good for us, haven’t they?”

  His expression was serious. “The best in my whole life.” But as he said it, a shadow passed over his face. “I wish that—” He broke off suddenly. “Oh, look at the time! We’ve got to get to work!” He kissed me tenderly and took Nette from my arms and kissed her, too. Together we headed toward the subway.

  I hummed as I worked that afternoon, noticing how the sun shone through the window, casting a glow about the café. I was happy, but something whispered that it was too good to last. I pushed the thought away forcefully; problems came easily enough without my searching for them.

  But the feeling had been right; things were too good to be true. Paulette came into the café after lunch and dropped the bomb. Her words exploded in my heart and broke the tentative trust I was developing in Jacques.

  “I have something I think I should tell you,” she said, staring at me unhappily from across the small table in the kitchen where we sat. I froze instantly. Nette, in my arms, felt the difference and looked up at my face curiously.

  “What is it, Paulette? Is it Jacques?” I asked quickly, trying hard to breathe normally. I remembered only too vividly the problems Jacques and I had gone through before Nette’s birth.

  She nodded. “I’m really sorry, Ariana, and I shouldn’t be the one to tell you, but you deserve to know.” She avoided my gaze as she rushed on quickly. “Jacques quit his job about three weeks ago. He said he was tired of being treated like a servant.”

  I shut my eyes and breathed deeply. Still, if that was all, maybe we could . . .

  “And that’s not all,” Paulette continued as if reading my thoughts. “He’s been with the gang during the day, drugged up like the rest of us. He does it early in the day, and it wears off a bit so he can still walk you home without you noticing too much. Then he sleeps it off.” Her voice grew quiet. “He sometimes brags about fooling you, and I just couldn’t stand it any longer. Even though you aren’t really one of us anymore, you’ll always be my friend.”