The Beautiful Ones

by Silvia Moreno-Garcia

  Hector nodded. He would not have thought to use his talent in any way, as it would have been patently unfair, but he supposed the details must be specified.

  “Second, you may not shoot in the air or at the ground. You will face each other at a distance of twenty paces and discharge your weapons at each other.”

  Twenty paces was a rather standard measure, but it still sounded awful. Not so bad as six, which would have assured death for the contenders, but Hector knew that Luc could shoot straight and accurately at twenty. As for himself, Hector had handled a pistol on scarce occasions. He had a steady grip and counted himself cool and composed under pressure; he must trust that these two virtues would suffice.

  “Luc would like to have the duel tomorrow at six in the morning on the Lawn behind Clocktower Hill.”

  “Will he shoot with the intent to kill?” Nina asked as she set down a tray with cups and a teapot on the table between them, the cutlery clattering because her hands were trembling.

  Étienne smiled, his voice light, though he could not fool Hector. “I hope not—it is difficult for me to make new friends. What tea is this?”

  Though deflected, the question hung in the air between them, and soon Hector told Nina that he needed to go with Étienne to take care of certain arrangements, promising he would return to sup with her. The dark fear that they had evaded that morning now rubbed itself against their legs, but Hector shooed it away, placing a kiss upon Nina’s cheek.

  Outside, there was a strong wind blowing, and Hector grabbed the brim of his hat to ensure it would not go flying away as they walked from the apartment building.

  “Tell me the truth, now that she cannot hear us: Will he shoot to kill?” Hector asked gravely.

  Étienne hesitated. “I tried to tell Luc this was silly and amends could be made, but my brother is stubborn.”

  “That is not what I asked.”

  “When we left your home together, that is the angriest I’ve ever seen him,” Étienne said. “He has not only lost a woman, he seems to think he’s lost a business proposition.”

  “You mean to say he wanted Nina for her money,” Hector replied.

  “Possibly. I am not sure. He did not tell me any details—it is all I could surmise, and it is not as if we are speaking now. Anything I’ve heard since yesterday has been communicated through Gaetan, since that is the role of seconds.”

  Hector felt offended. He could understand the irrevocable passion of youth and the rawness of anger, but the thought that all this was because Luc felt cheated out of a bank account made everything worse.

  His shoulders tensed, and Étienne glanced at him, a crease forming between his brows. The day was bright and cheery, birds chirping in the trees, but it all felt chilly to Hector, as if winter had suddenly arrived and chased any possible warmth from the city.

  “You must not judge him too harshly. He is brash, he always has been. He’s also spoiled. It is our fault, we coddle and taunt him at turns. And he is the youngest of us, facing a more difficult path.”

  “For money, Étienne,” Hector said.

  Étienne stuffed his hands in his pockets. He sounded ashamed as he spoke. “Nothing matters more than money to us, the proper people who walk down these city streets in pristine gloves and silk-lined garments. You can give yourself the luxury of love because you are not one of us. That is why you are my friend: because despite everything, at heart you remain an innocent.”

  Étienne clasped Hector’s shoulder, and they both stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at each other’s face.

  “You will not shoot to kill, will you?” Étienne asked.

  “You know I wouldn’t,” Hector said.

  He had thought to shoot Luc in the leg or the arm, if he had the chance, though realistically that “if” was but a faint possibility that grew fainter in his mind with each passing minute. He felt like death was his shadow that day, lovingly licking each one of his steps.

  “Accompany me to the notary public, then, and afterward you can select the pistols,” Hector said. “I do not need to look at them. I know they will be fine, whatever you decide upon.”

  “What are we doing there?”

  “You are witnessing my last will and testament.”

  “Hector, please.”

  “You are my friend, as you say. To you falls this grim business.”

  The matter of the will went smoothly. He left Dufren in charge of settling his business affairs, all accounts to be paid properly, and a fee for his services. To Étienne he gifted several of his paintings. To Nina went everything else.

  After the will was notarized, he shook Étienne’s hand and they agreed he would pick Hector up the next morning.

  When they’d met, Hector would not have dreamed he would be facing the prospect of being murdered by the youngest brother of that careless youth he’d befriended during his travels. He could tell Étienne was thinking something similar, wondering how they’d arrived at this position.

  On the way back, Hector bought fish, bread, and other ingredients at the market. He cooked dinner. To cheer Nina and to distract himself, he proposed they have a picnic inside their apartment, as she’d once suggested, one rainy day. He tossed a tablecloth on the floor, arranged the dishes upon it, poured wine into his finest glasses. She was amused by this, but the sun descended, and as the shadows stretched across the apartment, her anxiety returned.

  She clutched her empty glass of wine between both hands, a desperate look in her eyes. “I should not have told Luc I would marry him,” Nina said. “I was upset and I foolishly let myself be talked into an engagement I did not truly want. Then I came to see you, in the middle of the night, and I should not have done that either.”

  “I am glad you left the party and came to see me.”

  “You are fighting a duel for me. You cannot be glad,” she protested.

  He leaned forward; their foreheads almost touched. As he moved, his foot grazed the bottle of wine. It shook, but did not fall.

  “When you knocked on my door, I was half-dead. I had spent days dragging my sorry carcass around my room, convinced I would not see you again and wishing I could tear the world apart for this injustice.”

  He clutched her, the weight of his mouth against her shoulder and his arms around her, and she poured himself against him, forgetting it all, but reality sneaked in at length. Nina drew apart. She raised a hand and pressed it against her neck, as if it might keep her voice from trembling. It did not.

  “What are you going to do tomorrow?” she asked.

  “I’m going to trust that Luc Lémy will inflict no lasting harm. Most duels don’t end in death, I’ve told you that, and twenty paces gives me a fair chance. Tomorrow I might be back before breakfast with only a scratch for you to look at.”

  “You won’t have me wait for you here, will you?” she asked.

  “I can’t have you with me.”

  “What, am I to stay in bed, in terror, praying that nothing happens?”

  “You are to stay in bed, asleep. And when I return, I can wrap my arms around you and lie at your side,” he said.

  “Hector, don’t treat me like a fool.”

  “I really need that. I need to know you are waiting for me at home. Please.”

  She wanted to cry, he could tell. He had been performing all day, all the tricks to distract her, and he would not let the illusion crumble at the last minute. He kissed her. She turned her head, he ran his hand along the side of her face and she sighed.

  He shifted his legs and accidentally sent the bottle of wine tumbling down. It would leave a stain on the tablecloth.

  Nina giggled as he tried to undo the buttons of her dress. “Here?” she asked. “But the bed—”

  “Books detailing the mating habits of beetles don’t explain everything, it seems.”

  Her brows lifted in challenge, and her voice slid low, scraping his skin. “Oh, really?”

  She sat on his lap, and they kissed for a long time. I
n the end, it was the bed after all because he liked the way her hair fanned against the pillows, and he wanted to look at her like that.

  If it is the last time I look at her, Hector thought, and panic shot through him. Nina must have noticed, because she pulled him closer to her with a knowing determination.

  He’d been performing, he’d been misdirecting, to distract Nina and spare her feelings, but in the end it was she who was the superior artist, making him forget himself. It was the look of wordless wonder on her face, truly. It undid him. He spent the rest of the night awake, her head resting heavy against his chest, but he was unafraid.

  Once the time was right, Hector snatched the clothes he’d left on a chair and dressed quickly, in the dark. When he walked the length of his living room, a faint light filtering through one of the windows illuminated the crimson stain upon the tablecloth.

  He grabbed his hat and hurried down the stairs, down to meet Étienne, who was waiting in the carriage.

  Their ride was conducted in silence—conversation would have been too difficult to endure, since it would surely turn to the only possible subject at hand, the duel, and Hector did not wish to speak a single word about pistols or bullets.

  The Lawn was a patch of greenery that stretched next to Clocktower Hill, hiding behind a row of ancient elm trees. There was a clock tower nearby, a building of white stone with two hundred steps inside and five bells that chimed every hour.

  The Lawn was a secluded place, with no road cutting through it. It served no particular purpose. It simply was. At one point, one city mayor or the other had tried to turn it into a rose garden, but the soil was poor and the funds ran dry. It had become, in the past couple of decades, a favorite spot for fighting duels after an edict had declared men were not to duel in the neglected Corners Cemetery, which had been the customary backdrop for these encounters.

  Once they passed the curtain of elms, Hector saw that the other attendees had already arrived. There was a man with a bag, the physician he had never met. Luc stood with Gaetan. He was surprised to see Valérie was also present, her shoulders wrapped in a white shawl. She looked at him as he approached.

  He had not thought what he might feel if he should see her again. It was nothing but a vague numbness, a whiff of sadness because her eyes were cruel and he could not help but feel sad for her, this woman he had once admired.

  Hector fixed his eyes on Luc Lémy and nodded.

  “I am here, gentlemen,” Hector said in greeting.

  “Good morning, Mr. Auvray,” Gaetan said.

  Luc stood straight and proud in a fine blue suit, his hair combed back, a cigarette in his mouth, as if he were headed to a party rather than a duel. He did not grant a single word to Hector.

  “The pistols,” Étienne said, opening the mahogany box and offering its contents up for a final inspection.

  Gaetan checked the weapons and declared himself satisfied. He sounded disquieted.

  Luc did not seem disquieted; instead, he looked slightly bored, his foot tapping impatiently against the ground, his eyes not bothering with Hector. No words and not even a glance. He had finished his cigarette and discarded it, crushing it under the weight of his patent leather shoes.

  “Let us measure twenty paces,” Gaetan said.

  The seconds proceeded with this business, planting a sword on the ground at the appointed distance so that each man would know where to stand. Hector and Luc took their positions after the rules were explained. Each pistol was loaded with a single bullet. They were to shoot at the strike of the clock and not a second sooner.

  Étienne handed Hector his pistol. “I have no idea what to say to you at this point,” Étienne muttered.

  “It’s fine,” Hector said.

  Étienne nodded and stepped back.

  The time was close now. The pistol felt heavy in Hector’s grasp as he held it at his side, but his palms were not sweaty, and even if the blood was thumping rapidly through his veins, the fear of the previous morning did not manifest.

  Luc now deigned to look at Hector with a scornful sweep of his head. Hector stared at the boy fixedly, but did not allow an expression to color his face. He felt a roaring fury inside his heart at the sight of his opponent’s eyes, but he did not want to give the brat the satisfaction of catching him discomposed.

  “Three minutes, gentlemen,” Étienne declared.

  “You must stop! Stop it, Gaetan!”

  Hector turned his head sharply because that was Nina’s voice. Nina stumbling toward her cousin.

  Hector opened his mouth.

  He wanted to rush to her, and had to close his eyes for a second to prevent himself from moving. He looked at Luc to force himself to stay firm. The weapons were loaded, they were in their places, the clock was about to strike.

  Hector could not possibly speak to her now, could not clutch her for a single moment. It was too late.

  God, in that instant how he hated Luc Lémy. He might have aimed for the heart right then, blinded by indignation. But then he thought of her, he thought of her only, and he found he could allow himself kindness.

  The clock struck six.

  Hector pulled the trigger.

  He fell back, crashing against the ground, the strength of the blow robbing him of his breath.

  It hurt.

  Chapter 26

  SHE WOKE WITH A START and discovered he was gone. She thought to weep, but there was no time for that, there was no time at all. She needed to find him. Now that it was morning, now that the day of the duel had arrived, she could not possibly allow him to walk onto that field.

  Nina dressed as quickly as she could and did not even bother looking in the mirror, running down the stairs and onto the street. She found a carriage to take her to Clocktower Hill.

  The tower rose, bone-white against the sky: a pale portent of disaster in the early-morning light. The Lawn could be accessed by foot only. She paid the man and rushed up the hill, the dew wetting her skirt.

  It was not yet six. It wasn’t. She dashed toward the Lawn, and she saw them there, the witnesses and the duelists. Hector and Luc were already in their positions, their pistols in hand.

  “You must stop! Stop it, Gaetan!” she yelled, stumbling as she approached her cousin.

  “Nina,” he said. “Nina, I—”

  “You must stop it!”

  “It’s a duel, dear child. He can’t stop it,” Valérie said.

  Nina turned to look at the woman. For a moment she thought she could not possibly be real, that she had to be an apparition, but Valérie was there, solid, calmly glancing at the duelists as if it were another day at the park.

  “Valérie, you must speak to my cousin. You must help me stop this,” she pleaded.

  “Must I?”

  “Nina, for God’s sake, shield your eyes,” Gaetan said, taking hold of her and pulling her back.

  She pushed Gaetan away, her hands slapping his chest for a second.

  The clock struck the hour. The men raised their arms and fired their pistols.

  She wanted to scream but could utter no sound, and her fingers curled against the palms of her hands, the nails digging into her skin.

  She saw the shining pistols and she thought, I love you.

  There was no time to say it, no time to utter a single syllable, but the word broke through and echoed in the space around them anyway, because her love was will.

  And her will was an arrow, slamming both men with its strength and knocking them down; it made the grass waver in its path, the blades bending under an invisible wind for a second.

  And her will was wind, but it was also iron. It clutched in its grip the bullets that had been destined one for the shoulder and one for the heart. The bullets stood in midair, as if they had been painted upon the landscape and had not been cutting through the air at an incredible speed a fraction of a second before.

  She thought no.

  The birds in the trees took flight, frightened by the noise.

 
Smoke rose in the air.

  She opened her hands.

  The bullets slid down onto the ground, rolling on the grass.

  Nina ran toward Hector, who was lying on his back. She knelt at his side and touched his face. His eyes were closed.

  “Hector,” she said.

  “What have you done?” Valérie yelled.

  Nina looked at the woman, who was stomping toward her. Nina, her fingers shaking, did not bother answering. God, she hoped she had not hurt Hector.

  Hector stirred and opened his eyes, wincing. Slowly he lifted his head and looked her full in the face. “Nina,” he mumbled. “You are here.”

  “I couldn’t let you do it,” she said.

  His hand reached up to her cheek, and Nina pressed a kiss against it, squeezing her eyes shut.

  The physician was speaking excitedly to Gaetan, asking whether he needed to tend to the men and which one would he tend to first.

  She heard Luc groaning. “What in seven hells was that?” he asked.

  “It was her. The silly witch. You must load the pistols and proceed anew,” Valérie replied.

  It was the tone Valérie employed that cut most acutely. How neatly she spoke. It made Nina furious. She looked at the woman and noticed Valérie’s face was as pale as bleached linen and her eyes were bright with pain, and yet she dared to speak those words.

  “You are a viper,” Nina told her.

  “Call me what you want, you fool. Lémy issued a challenge, and it will be answered. There are rules to this game.”

  “It’s no game.”

  Luc was now standing. He had picked up his revolver from the ground and held it between his hands.

  “Step aside, Nina. Valérie is right. There are rules,” Luc said.

  Nina turned around. Luc had not raised his pistol again, but he was itching to load another bullet into the barrel and shoot. She might stop that second bullet, too, but there could be a third and a fourth. Her talent could not solve this conflict.

  Hector’s hand was on Nina’s arm, and she gave it a light squeeze before stepping away from him.

  Nina went toward Luc, slowly, without haste. Up close, he appeared as he always had, gilded, but also different, his luminosity tarnished.