From Dream to Destiny

by Caddy Rowland

  IX

  Gastien stood on Odette’s doorstep with an aching heart and shaking hands. Although he badly needed something to dull the anguish, he also knew he needed to be sober for Tristan Michel.

  Odette came to the door; however, she did not step aside to invite him in. Gastien looked at her tiredly, eyes full of pain.

  “I am here to see my son. Please let me in.”

  “Auntie, let him in,” Tristan Michel said, as he came into the hall.

  When Gastien entered, he put his arms around his son, kissing him. Right away he noticed that his son did not return the kiss or embrace him back.

  “Tristan Michel, it is so good to see you! I am sorry it took so long. I have been unable to function since the funeral.” He brushed his son’s curls out of his eyes. Gastien peered at him worriedly. “How are you holding up?”

  Tristan Michel looked at him coldly.

  “How do you think I am holding up, father? I miss my mother! Where have you been for so many days?”

  Gastien gaped at him. “What do you mean? Son, I have been at home! You told me to take my time! I was unable to do anything but breathe for a few days.”

  “Father, things never change. It is always all about you. I can’t believe you would wait this long before coming to see me! Do you expect me to believe you really care?”

  Gastien was stunned. “You told me to take my time! Mon Dieu, I am only human, Tristan Michel! I just lost my wife, my lover! How can you expect me to function like things are normal?”

  “I doubt you have ever functioned normally! Was I supposed to just put my grief aside, waiting until you were able to deal with yours?” cried Tristan Michel.

  “Of course not! I asked you what you wanted! I said you were welcome to come home with me, but you did not want to. When I said I would come back in a day or two, you told me I did not have to! Mon Dieu, I would have liked to have stayed here so we could grieve together; but you know Odette would not allow me that. I am not a mind reader! If you did not mean that I could take time to grieve before coming back, why did you say that?”

  “Why? Because I didn’t want you to feel obligated, Father. That is always how you have made me feel! Like I obligate you to see me; I obligate you to care. I wanted you to just want to be with me!”

  Gastien was so hurt and frustrated he did not know what to do.

  “Tristan Michel! I don’t know how many times I have to say it: Je t’aime! How many times do I have to say I want to spend time with you? I don’t say things I don’t mean! I have many faults, which you have repeatedly pointed out, but lying is not one of them!”

  “Well, Odette was here for me! So were my aunts and uncles. I didn’t need you any more than you needed me!”

  “You are old enough to think for yourself! Can’t you see that these people want to drive a wedge between us!?It appears that they are getting their way. I did nothing wrong!”

  Gastien broke down. He could no longer control his tears. Close to hysteria, he continued, “I have lost my wife! I miss her so much it hurts to even think! And now you stand there and berate me for grieving her; not coming right back here, when you told me not to come! I just can’t take any more of this right now! I can’t! I have tried and tried, but obviously it is not enough. I can’t do any more!”

  “Then leave, Father. No one is keeping you here.”

  Gastien had thought there was nothing left of his heart, but now he felt the last lonely pieces of it shatter. He wiped at his eyes, struggling for control of his emotions.

  “Is that what you want? The same thing that Odette does? You simply want me gone?”

  Gastien felt his knees buckle and he fought to remain strong.

  “For now, oui. You are simply too much trouble. The family is embarrassed by you. I don’t want them to be embarrassed by me, too. Where would I be without them, Father? Sitting alone in your studio? Waiting, while you paint, or drink, or get high? I need family – and you just don’t measure up. I would rather have family that people don’t talk about behind my back.”

  Gastien reached for his son, but Tristan Michel pushed him away.

  Gastien begged, “Don’t do this, Son! Don’t cut me out of your life! This is so wrong! I don’t want to lose my son, too!” His voice cracked. “Mon Dieu, why are you doing this? Can’t you feel the love I have for you?”

  “You don’t love me enough! It was never enough! Please, go away! If I ever decide that I want to see you again, I know where to find you; at one of the cabarets in Montmartre.”

  Gastien turned to Odette. She had a smug look of satisfaction on her face.

  “You win, Odette. I hope you sleep well, knowing you have taken the other parent away from Tristan Michel. You are a hateful, scheming witch; but you won. I just don’t have it in me anymore to fight.”

  He turned back to Tristan Michel. “When you have a moment to contemplate what should embarrass you, I would think long and hard about this family. I won’t list the reasons why, you will have to figure that out for yourself. I will be there if you decide you need me. I will always hope you have a change of heart.”

  He kissed Tristan Michel, who remained rigid. “You are so wrong doing this, Son!” He touched Tristan Michel’s face. “Your wish is granted. I will go.”

  Gastien turned and walked out.

  Odette called out, “You got what you earned, Gastien Beauchamp! I only pray that Tristan Michel has his mother’s blood and not yours! You have been asked to leave by your son, so don’t come back. If you do, I will file for adoption on the grounds of you being an unfit parent. You have done enough to this family’s reputation!”

  Gastien managed to walk to the edge of the property before he completely broke down. Sobbing, he sank to his knees. He fought to regain control, but found he could not. Gastien knew that, once again, he was embarrassing his son.

  Tristan Michel watched out the window as his father kneeled, bent over, and cried. One part of him wanted to go out there and say he was sorry, but he pushed that away. His father had not cared enough to keep his mother and himself from being talked about all over Pigalle and Montmartre. The family reminded him of that often. He must harden his heart toward his weak father, and allow the people who really cared about him to see that he was not at all like him.

  He turned away from the window, forcing himself to erase the image of his father’s hurt face when he said he no longer wanted to see him.

  Gastien finally got up and slowly walked toward home. He had no idea of how far he was walking or if he was even going in the right direction.

  Seeing a bench, he sat down. He just stared into space. His wife was gone. His son had disowned him. What was he supposed to do moving forward? Was there supposed to be some reason to go on?

  X

  Gastien sat for hours, until finally it was dark. He continued to sit there, not moving.

  Mic had started to worry a few hours ago. Finally, he decided to walk by Odette’s to see if his ami was still there.

  He did not get far before he saw Gaz. He hurried up to Gastien, ready to scold him. Mic then saw that, although Gastien was physically present, his ami’s mind was somewhere else.

  “Gastien? It is Mic. Let’s go home now, all right? I will walk with you. Can you get up and walk?”

  Gastien looked at Mic blankly. Finally, he nodded and stood. His face was ashen. Gastien looked like he might fall over any minute.

  Mic could not smell alcohol on him, so he knew Gastien had not been drinking.

  “Have you been doing some kind of drugs?” asked Mic.

  Gastien shook his head no. Relieved, Mic put an arm around him.

  “Let’s go home, Gaz. You don’t have to talk until you want to.”

  They walked in silence to the studio.

  Once there, Mic warmed up some food. Gastien then broke the silence.

  “I cannot eat. I am not hungry,” he said in a voice devoid of emotion.

  “You have to eat, ami. Eat something for
me.”

  “Non.”

  “If you eat, you can have some laudanum. I hate to give it to you, but obviously you are in some kind of shock. You are no good to yourself this way. Will you please eat, if I promise you can have some laudanum?”

  Gastien picked up his fork and ate two bites of food. He put the fork back down.

  “You can do better than that, Gaz. Come on, be reasonable.”

  Gastien managed to eat some more. Everything tasted like a dusty road.

  Mic cleared the dishes and washed them; then he took Gastien out back to the toilet.

  Once they were back in, Mic asked “Can you get ready for bed? Get your clothes off?”

  Gastien stripped down and got into bed. Suddenly he was very cold. He began to shake.

  “Oh, Mic,” he whispered, “Oh Mon Dieu. He told me to never come back. My son told me to never come back!” He began once again to sob.

  Mic gave him the laudanum. Waiting several minutes, he saw that Gastien was not calming down much.

  He again got in bed beside Gastien, gathering him to his chest.

  “Listen again to my heart and my breathing, ami. Just listen to the sound of my breathing. Try to forget everything else. Just listen, can you hear it?”

  Gastien did not respond for several minutes, but his sobs quieted down.

  Finally, he said, “Mic, I don’t know what I am going to do. I just don’t know how to go on!” He said, “If you give me enough laudanum, I won’t wake up.”

  “I would miss you, Gaz. So would your amis. Stop that talk right now!”

  “I can’t be alone, Mic! I can’t be alone and think about Sophie in that wooden box!”

  “I know that, ami. I am here. Just listen to my heart and my breathing.”

  He kept Gastien’s head to his chest. He would straighten him back up once he fell asleep, so that he would not get a stiff neck or back.

  Soon the laudanum took over, and Gastien was asleep. Mic wondered how long it would be before he could trust Gastien to be alone.

  The next day, Gastien told Mic the details of his conversation with his son.

  Although Mic knew Gastien was deeply troubled, he told Gastien that he needed to try to go without the laudanum. He did let his ami eat hash, and that helped Gastien some.

  XI

  The next day, while Gastien was sleeping, Mic set up easels and paints. When Gastien woke, Mic said, “It is time to get to work, Gaz. Time to talk to the color.”

  Gastien stared at him in disbelief. “I cannot paint! I will never see color right again! You must know that, Mic!”

  “I don’t believe that. Just start to paint. I think it will heal you.” Understanding Gastien’s stubborn refusal to work with color, he suggested, “Use black if you wish.”

  He forced Gastien’s hand around his favorite brush. After a few minutes, Gastien began to paint.

  They painted all day. Gastien did find that painting helped. His paintings, though, were devoid of color and very disturbing. Still, they helped Gastien express the feelings that he found so hard to express in words.

  Two days later, Mic set up the easels and paints for the third time. When Gastien sat down, he was upset to see that Mic had only given him the primary colors: red, blue, and yellow.

  “Mic, you know I am in no mood for color!“ he scolded.

  “Gastien, it is time to start really painting. For you, it has always been about the color. I know you don’t think you will ever want color again, but just give it a chance. I think that if you allow it, working with color will do a lot to speed your healing.”

  Grumbling, Gastien used the primaries to mix up some green, purple, and orange. Soon, he was lost in his own special world. Mic had been right. The color was waiting patiently for him to embrace it once again.

  The next couple of days were spent in painting. After a couple of weeks, Mic was no longer there all the time. He left in the morning to go paint, coming back at noon to eat with Gaz. Then he would leave again, to go paint outside.

  Mic knew it was going to be a long process to heal Gastien. He felt that his ami was making steady progress and worked with him patiently. They ate dinner together, spent evenings together, and Mic stayed nights.

  Finally, one night Mic asked, “Are you ready to try to spend the night alone, Gaz? Is it too soon?”

  Gastien looked unsure. “I think I should try. You have a life, Mic; I know that. Mon Dieu, you probably would like to be with a woman!”

  Mic laughed. “Well, I sure would not turn down the opportunity! Truthfully, though, I think I just want to go upstairs and see how it goes for you. If you need me, you know you can yell for me, right?”

  Gastien agreed. They played some cards, had some absinthe, and Gastien ate some hash. “It is fine to go now, Mic. I think I can sleep.”

  Gastien did wake up during the night. He felt like he was suffocating. In his dream, he had been in a coffin, buried alive. Gastien had spent many nights alone before, why did this feel so different, he wondered. But, of course, he knew why. It was the fact that there would not be someone who loved him coming this week to be next to him during the long nights.

  There never would be again.

  He lay there and quietly cried. He would not disturb Mic! Mic had done more than enough. Yet, Gastien knew that he would go crazy if he had to spend too many nights by himself. He would not survive throughout the long, dark hours. There were too many ghosts from the past willing to take over his thoughts, if he was alone and available for their taunting.

  He received a letter from Paul the next day, expressing his sympathy. Mic had sent a telegram to Paul, but Gastien realized that Paul would not be able to come to the funeral. It was planting time. Paul would stop by to see Gastien in the fall, which he did yearly now.

  A letter of sympathy also arrived from Nath and her family. Giselle was planning on going to America. She wanted to go into designing fashion there. She included a note of sympathy of her own.

  The next day, Mic coaxed him outside to paint with him.

  “Gaz, you need some fresh air. It will do you good to see some other artists, too. They have been asking about you, wanting to stop by. I did not know if you were ready to see them. How about if you tell them yourself whether you are ready for visitors?

  Again, Mic was right. It was good to get outside for a little while every day. When he told others he was ready to have guests, they started stopping by during the evenings to talk, paint, or go out to cabarets with him. Many brought him food. In fact, he had so much food coming that he shared it with Mic, Cassie, and Vic!

  His amis were not the only ones bringing him food. Available women started to bring food over, too. With his huge, sad eyes and handsome features it was easy for them to feel the need to comfort him in any way that he would allow them to.

  XII

  As the weeks went by, Gastien grew stronger. He learned to function during the day, because he had his paints. He was still a mess if he was alone when the evening came. He would go out most nights, unless others joined him to paint. When he went out he seldom returned home alone.

  Gastien found there was no shortage of females that would entertain him through the night. He no longer worried about disease. If he got something, he would die. That was fine with him. Still, he did not sleep with whores because he did not have to. Women could see that Gastien Beauchamp needed love, and they were more than happy to provide it.

  For several months he stayed away from Moulin de la Galette. It was too full of memories for him. Finally, about ten months after Sophie’s death, he decided to go there and dance. Gastien had always loved to dance.

  He asked Mic to go with him. They met some amis there, and soon Gastien was his old self. Once again he was in his own world; moving to the music, and finding the prettiest woman to flirt with.

  When she was in his arms he fully lost himself in the dance. At first she was shocked at how explicit Gastien’s dancing was. Soon she allowed herself to be moved
however he wanted to move her. He was quite drunk and very high, so he began dancing with her like he used to dance with Sophie.

  All of a sudden the memories rushed in, one after another: the smell of Sophie, her laugh, the way she looked up at him on the dance floor, the way her body moved against his. She was here, she had to be! Mon Dieu, he could smell her scent!

  Of course, she was not. As he looked around in a panic, not finding her, he finally realized that he was imagining things. Sophie was not there after all. She would never be there again. Gastien fell apart. He broke down on the dance floor in a heap and could not get up. Mic, along with a couple of amis, had to help him back to the studio.

  He was mortified the next day. He told them how very sorry he was for what happened. They said they understood, but Gastien vowed that it would be a long time before he ever went out on the dance floor again.

  He no longer resisted the call of the opium dens, either. He went as often as he wished. Since he also loved his hash and his absinthe, many nights he refrained from the opiates. Then he would either drink himself close to a stupor or eat enough hash to be banging his head on the clouds. Mic was concerned, and said so; however, Gastien refused to stop.

  “What difference does it make, Mic? I have no one to love and can’t stand to hear the silence. At least drunk or high I can stand to be alive. Maybe sometime I will stop, but not right now.”

  Mic finally gave up. He could see the downward spiral of Gastien, yet could do nothing to stop it.

  Alice had moved back in with Mic. They were getting along much better, now that their children were grown. Mic loved Gastien, but he had a life outside of Gastien, too. If his ami chose to abuse his body almost beyond tolerance, it was ultimately out of Mic’s hands.

  XIII

  It had now been two years since Sophie’s death. Gastien was never sober. Additionally, his painting was suffering. There is a fine line between creative genius under an altered state and crossing that line into no longer being able to create. Gastien frequently crossed it. He simply did not care.