But even worse than what had happened to her script was what had happened to her relationship with Henri. Between his employment at the CGO and his work on the cabinet des fées, which was what he called the box that produced and controlled the balls of electricity, he had little time for sleep and no time at all for Zéphine. He’d grown silent and cross, bustling in and out of the theatre with little more than a grunted greeting for her. He smelled of metal and ozone, and his face seemed set in a perpetual scowl.
She had almost begun to welcome the hours she spent struggling to stay awake at the stationers’, a brief period of normalcy in her life where the biggest decision she had to make was whether or not they needed to order more cream laid paper before the end of the month.
At the moment, the company was engaged in the first complete technical rehearsal, a run-through of the entire show without costumes but with all of the scenery changes, lighting cues, and theatrical effects. It was supposed to be run without stopping, with each scene taking the same time it would in the actual performance, but in actuality they’d encountered some kind of difficulty with the lighting in Act One, Scene Three and had bogged down there. It was now nearly ten in the evening and they hadn’t even made it to Act One, Scene Four.
Henri seethed in his seat on the far side of Darius. This was to have been his first demonstration of the cabinet des fées to the full company, but the fairies didn’t appear until Act One, Scene Nine, and as the evening had worn on and on his mood had grown blacker and blacker.
“Ten o’clock,” someone called from the wings, and the company burst out in groans and ironic applause. The hired stagehands received a fifty per cent bonus in wages after ten.
“Imbeciles,” Henri muttered under his breath. Zéphine reached behind Darius and laid a consoling hand on Henri’s shoulder, but he roughly brushed it off.
Hours went by. Finally, after going through the end of Act One, Scene Eight three times, the stagehands managed the final scene change. Henri sat forward, hands clenched between his knees, awaiting the debut of his fairies.
The stage remained dark.
Silence reigned, except for shuffling, cleared throats, and muttered curses.
Finally the stage manager walked on from the wings, carrying his bulky master script under one arm, and clapped his hands for attention. A spotlight swung over to illuminate him.
“We’re having some trouble with the electric truc,” he said, shielding his eyes from the glare, “and as it’s after midnight, the crew would like to stop now and start fresh in the morning.” Applause and weak cheers greeted this announcement.
Darius turned to Henri with an expressive shrug.
For a long time Henri sat stock-still, quivering with rage. Then he burst out “Eh, bien!,” stood, and strode up the aisle.
“Henri!” Zéphine rose to follow him.
Darius stopped her with a cautionary hand on her arm. “Let him walk it off outside,” he said, “by himself. We’ll all be better off with a good night’s sleep.”
Zéphine just gave him a hard look and took off after Henri.
She caught up with him half a block away. A cold rain was falling on the boulevard des Capucines, and the few pedestrians hurried along with heads bowed. An electric tram clattered by, sparks spitting from the wire above.
“I cannot keep up this charade any longer,” he said as she came running up. He had not bothered to take his coat or hat, and didn’t seem to care that his shirt was soaked to transparency.
Zéphine shivered and clutched her shoulders. She, too, had gone out without hat or coat. “Please come back.”
“No.” He took her by the shoulders, straight-armed. “I will not come back, not to the theatre, not to Darius, not even to you, my dear heart. Not unless both of you agree to visit Dr. Gavreau with me.” He bowed his head, rain running down his face and dripping from the end of his nose. “I tire of these endless games of theatricality, Zéphine. I want a real relationship, a relationship founded on trust and mutual respect. A relationship where you and I have galanteries for each other. Dr. Gavreau insists that he can do this, but only if all three of us are present.”
She recoiled from the very thought of that place, with its smells of electricity and disinfectants. “But... do you think that ghastly machine can rid us of our galanteries with Darius?”
Henri shrugged. “Nothing else seems to be able to.”
Rapid footsteps splashed through the puddles. Zéphine looked up to see that Darius had followed them out into the rain. Miserable though she was, she was touched by the gesture. “Darius,” she said, “Henri wants us to visit Dr. Gavreau together.”
“What? That charlatan?”
Henri stiffened. “If you do not agree, I will withdraw my machine, and my financial support, from the production immediately.”
Darius clenched his fists. “It’s not too late to use the puppets. And I can find other backers.”
Zéphine stepped close to Henri and put her arm over his shoulder. Though the skin under his sodden shirt was cold and trembling, he stood firm, and in that moment she loved him even more. She, too, set her shoulders and met Darius’s gaze with determination. “Can you continue without a script as well?”
* * *
Eventually they retreated to the theatre, the three of them sitting in the orchestra pit with their coats thrown over their shivering, damp shoulders and their faces unflatteringly illuminated by the “ghost light,” a single bare electric bulb left lit to keep the theatre free of ghosts. All of the human members of their company had long since departed.
Although Henri had precipitated this crisis, it was Zéphine who did most of the talking. “Je t’aime, Darius,” she confessed. “I’ve loved you for years... desperately, hopelessly, from afar... and though I’ve never before had the courage to admit it to you, I’ve nursed it in my heart like an abandoned little bird.”
“Moi aussi,” was all that Henri could add to that, and there was no telling whether the water dripping from his chin was rain or tears. “Moi aussi, exactement.”
Darius drew a handkerchief from his pocket but found it soaked. With an ironic smile, he wrung it out, wiped Henri’s face, then tipped up his chin and gave him a delicate kiss. He gave another kiss to Zéphine. “Oh, my dears, I am sorry that I was so inattentive to your feelings. You know that I can be... rather intensely focused on my work.” He shook his head. “I have been a fool.”
Henri took both of Darius’s hands. “I have talked with Dr. Gavreau several times in the last weeks—by myself, I’m afraid,” he confessed in an aside to Zéphine. “He is quite confident that will be able to help us with his machine. He says that he can rid Zéphine and I of our unrequited galanteries so that we can form a more permanent attachment with each other, but your presence is required to complete the treatment.”
Darius’s eyes narrowed. “And the cost? I know how these charlatans operate.”
“Pah.” Henri waved a hand. “It is nothing, by comparison with the expense of staging this production. And it means far more to me.” He reached out to Zéphine and took her hand as well. “To us. Please.”
“Very well.” Darius raised Henri’s left hand to his lips and kissed the knuckles. “If nothing else, I feel I owe you something for my years of disregard.” He turned to Zéphine and went to kiss her cheek... but at the last moment, with Darius’s breath so warm on her face, she could not resist turning her head to meet his lips with hers.
His eyes widened momentarily. Then they closed again, as he kissed her back.
The properties for Act One included a large and comfortable divan.
Large enough, as it turned out, for three.
* * *
Entertaining though the evening was, it brought forth no changes in their galanteries, so after a hideously busy weekend of rehearsals, yawns, and knowing glances they made the appointment with Dr. Gavreau. And so it was that on Tuesday morning they found themselves in his surgery.
There were n
ow three chairs, grouped in a semicircle facing the machine, and Dr. Gavreau wore rubber gloves, a long white coat with a Mandarin collar, and dark tinted eyeglasses of a peculiar design that completely covered the eye. He handed a pair of these to each of them, explaining “You must wear these to protect your eyes from the electrical spark.”
Zéphine donned the uncomfortable glasses and found that they turned everything green. “I can barely see,” she complained. To her shame, her trembling voice revealed her fear.
Henri took her hand and gave her what was surely meant to be a reassuring smile, but with his face tinted an unnatural shade of green and his eyes obscured by his own glasses the effect was merely ghastly. Zéphine tried to smile back.
Dr. Gavreau led them to the three chairs, with Zéphine in the middle, and opened the largest door. “Your galanteries, please.”
Zéphine had to look away as the door was closed and latched. The poor shivering thing had such fear and confusion in its eyes... this was even worse than hiding it in a closet. She tried, and failed, to take a deep calming breath. At least it would be over soon, she told herself.
“And now!” Dr. Gavreau proclaimed, in a showman’s voice that Zéphine found entirely inappropriate for a doctor’s surgery, “La machine électrique du Docteur Gavreau!”
Stepping behind the machine, he bent and began to turn, with considerable effort, a large crank. The belts and pulleys atop the machine rotated, setting the large transparent disc to whirring. Soon sparks and jagged lines of electricity appeared, zapping from point to point on the machine and throwing the room into a flickering confusion of flaring light and shadow, all tinted a hideous green by Zéphine’s glasses. She swallowed hard in an attempt to control her racing heart, gripping Henri’s hand on the right and Darius’s on the left with painful intensity.
For many horrific minutes, bathed in the nightmare light and the smell of ozone, Dr. Gavreau danced around his machine, peering at dials and adjusting knobs. Finally, with a dramatic flourish, he pulled a large lever; the wheel ceased to spin and the electricity to dance. “Messieurs, Mademoiselle, you may remove your protective eyeglasses now.”
She pulled the hateful things from her face and flung them clattering in a corner. “Is it done?” she asked.
Dr. Gavreau bent to unlatch the large door. “Now, I must caution you that you may not see an immediate visual change. Sometimes several sessions are required to —”
The metal chamber was nearly filled by a single large galanterie that Zéphine had never seen before. It was rather awkwardly proportioned, and particolored in large patches of brown, gold, and white. With an inquisitive yip it leapt from the chamber and began snuffling around the room.
“What is this absurdity?” Darius demanded.
“And where are our galanteries?” added Henri. The chamber was now completely empty.
“I... uh... such a phenomenon....” The doctor swallowed. “I... I must consult my notes.” He hurried from the surgery to his outer office.
Zéphine bent down and scratched the galanterie between the ears. It reacted immediately, leaning against her leg and purring contentedly. The eyes, as it looked up at her, seemed strangely familiar. “I like it,” she said.
Darius petted its flank. “I do too. But where did it come from?”
Henri was peering at the interior of the metal chamber. “These seams are welded. I can’t see any way he could have exchanged our galanteries for this one.” It went trotting over to Henri and licked his hand. He stroked it absently, familiarly, as he continued to inspect the machine. “Nor did he seem to have expected this outcome.”
“I think I know what it is,” said Darius. His voice was so very serious, verging on dismal, that Zéphine and Henri had to turn from the mysterious galanterie and give him their full attention. “I think it is your new galanterie for each other.” He sighed. “The treatment worked, and you are now free of me.” Again he sighed. “I wish... But no, my wishes are not important. What is important is that you be happy together.” He gathered his coat and hat from the peg on the wall. “The show must go on, as they say, but for now I will leave the three of you to get acquainted. Au revoir.”
But as he turned to go, the galanterie divided. One galanterie, this one small and white and wiry, trotted after Darius. The other, still looking much the same except that it was mostly brown and gold in color, remained with Henri and Zéphine. “Darius!” cried Zéphine, astonished.
Darius returned. There was some pacing and sniffing between the two galanteries, as there often is with a new relationship, but eventually the new galanterie merged again with the first. “How remarkable,” he said.
Zéphine regarded the creature. “Henri, go over there in the far corner. Darius, you come over here with me.”
This time when the galanterie divided there was a tawny one that remained with Henri, and a white and brown one that followed her and Darius.
“Now you stay where you are,” she told Darius. Holding her breath, heart pounding, she moved away from him....
The white and brown galanterie divided. Again.
Now there were three: white, gold, and brown. The brown one, which looked up at Zéphine with clear affection, somewhat resembled her previous galanterie for Darius but seemed happier and more robust.
“This is... unprecedented,” Henri said, even as he bent to tousle his galanterie’s ears.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Darius agreed. “It’s always one galanterie per pair of people.”
They moved into the outer office, the three galanteries merging back into one almost without fuss, where they found Dr. Gavreau pacing distractedly. “Merci!” Zéphine cried, kissing him on both cheeks. ”Merci beaucoup!”
Henri shook the doctor’s hand vigorously. “Amazing, Doctor. No one else could possibly have achieved such a result.”
“Yes, well, ah.... I’m very happy for you, of course... but if you will excuse me, I have, ah, another patient coming in, in... well, very shortly.”
“Of course, of course,” said Darius, beaming expansively. “I quite understand. In any case, we must return to the theatre.”
They descended to the street, chatting excitedly among themselves, but the galanterie kept darting from one to the other of them, happily bounding about and threatening to trip them all up. Five minutes later they were lost in laughter, and not a one of them remembered what the conversation had been about.
* * *
The following Monday they returned to Dr. Gavreau’s office unannounced. “We wanted to bring you some flowers,” Zéphine said, placing a huge bouquet on his desk.
“How delightful!” the doctor cried. “And such a quantity!”
“We have many more,” Darius grinned, “back at the theatre. The reviews have been phenomenal.”
Zéphine squeezed the doctor’s hands. “And we have you to thank for it all. If you hadn’t done this for us”—she gestured to their galanterie, which rested amiably at her feet—”we might never have found our perfect ending.”
Darius was the one who had first realized that the fairies in their play could do for their characters Claudette, Pierre, and Jean-Paul what Dr. Gavreau had done for them. Their own relationship might be too unconventional for the legitimate stage, but Zéphine had come up with the idea of the fairies combining Pierre and Jean-Paul into a single person, and Henri had developed the simple but spectacular electrical effect that replaced the two actors with one. The audience had been surprised and delighted.
“Really, it was the three of you who did all the work,” the doctor demurred.
“I must confess,” Darius admitted, “that right up to the point our galanterie appeared... I was afraid you were nothing but a fraud.”
Henri, who had held back bashfully, now presented Dr. Gavreau with a large envelope. “My colleagues in the Société centrale des ingénieurs would be overjoyed if you would accept this invitation to give a presentation on the physical principles behind your wonderful
machine.”
The doctor seemed taken aback by the request. “Yes, well, ah...” he sputtered. “I’m afraid the principles are... my machine is the result of many years of... of tinkering, and experimentation. I, ah... I only know that it works, not how.” He spread his hands. “I’m sorry.”
“In that case my colleagues and I would be happy to help you to analyze your machine.”
The doctor shook his head. “Thank you for your very generous offer, but I must decline.”
“But why?” Henri leaned forward, his face intense. “You have helped us so much, Doctor... for the good of all humanity, its theory of operation must be understood and documented!”
Dr. Gavreau looked at the envelope in his hand for a long time. Then he raised his eyes to Henri’s. “You’re very kind. But I’m afraid I have a confession to make.” Without another word, he led them into his surgery and opened the machine’s side panel.
Behind it was revealed... nothing. Apart from the large compartment that held the galanteries, the machine was nothing but an empty box, decorated with dials and knobs unconnected to anything. A few stray wires dangled here and there.
“So you were a fraud all along?” cried Darius.
“I am not a fraud!” the doctor protested. “I am a fully qualified psychologist. My techniques do work, as you have seen, though not usually with such... unexpected results. As in most branches of psychology, it is the patients themselves who effect the cure. My machine merely puts the patients into an appropriate frame of mind to accept what they already know.”
He looked around at Henri, Darius, and Zéphine, his eyes pleading. “Messieurs, Mademoiselle... you have trusted me with your most intimate secrets. I hope that I may expect the same discretion from you. I have chosen to reveal the secret of my machine to you, and you alone, because you understand the real psychological impact a properly presented theatrical effect can have on an audience... in this case, an audience of three.” He turned to Henri and took both his hands. “And I know that if you tell your colleagues that my machine, although effective, is a trade secret and can never be documented, they will believe you and leave me in peace.”
Beneath Ceaseless Skies #108 Page 3