|
Allowances (Joly): March, 1828
I would never have joined them, if not for Théo. I would never even have come back, after the first evening. Enjolras with his air of austerity, Courfeyrac with his dizzying charm, Combeferre with his too-intent gaze -- they intimidated me. I could hardly keep up with their conversations, their banter, their debates. The ideas, yes, the ideas were splendid, and I tried to give voice to my own opinions, but when their eyes were fixed on me my throat closed, and my hands started to shake, and then I would feel such a fool. Only Théo put me at ease, and made me feel as though I truly had something to contribute. It is hard to feel too ridiculous in the face of his cheerful self-deprecation, and when he smiles, nothing seems as terrible as it did a moment before. It was Théo who introduced me to these people; it was Théo who, effortlessly, stepped in when I faltered and helped me remember what I wanted to say; who steadied me whenever I was on the brink of disaster. Nevertheless I was furious with him. "You could have warned me!" "Chrétien, mon ami--" "You should have said something-- my God--" The memory of Julien's hands on my naked skin, the awful intimacy of Audric's kisses, was still raw. "You should have warned me." "Forgive me." It was not until he caught at my hands that I realized I'd been flailing. "Forgive us, Chrétien. I promised them I wouldn't." I pulled away from him. "Why not? So they could scare me out of my wits? God, is that all this is, playing pranks on the new boy? I thought we were all a bit old for that." "No." There was hurt in Théo's voice, vivid enough that it silenced me. "They wanted to be sure of you. It was the same for me, for all of us. I-- didn't realize you'd be so upset--" "No, I'm sure you didn't mind nearly so much." That was spite, and Théo flinched from it, glancing away. "Daniel did," he said in a muted tone, "but he hasn't your..." "Prudery?" "Sensibilities. I'm sorry, Chrétien." I took a deep breath. "It's not your fault," I said, trying to believe it. "I just--" He made as if to embrace me, and then stopped himself, as though afraid it would be salt in the wound. I did not want to be touched just then, but he looked so abashed and helpless that I went and put an arm around his shoulders. After a moment, he returned the gesture. "I am sorry. I should have thought." "I'll survive." Théo laughed. I frowned. "I'm sorry," he said again. "You don't usually say things like that, is all." At that I had to laugh, too. "I suppose not." He stayed with me that night as he had done often enough before, except that this time we shared the bed. It was not very pleasant, but neither was it the agony of embarrassed discomfort that it had been with Audric and Julien. I was prepared now, and I knew that I could trust Théo. Afterward he kissed my forehead, and asked anxiously, "Are you all right?" "More or less." "I'll go," he offered. "No." Somehow I could not bear the thought of his leaving, to spend the rest of that night with his doting poet, who would certainly laugh me to scorn. "Stay. Stay here." He looked surprised, but not, God bless him, troubled. "All right." "Thank you." "Don't mention it, mon ami." "Mon frère," I said after a moment; and Théo's face lit up as though I had given him the world, promised him his heart's desire. I could not help but feel that it was worth any price, to see him smile at me like that. It was the memory of his smile that sustained me over the next week, helped me to screw up my courage, strengthened me for what was necessary. I spent a pitiful night with Feuilly, both of us awkward and wishing to be anywhere else; I endured an evening of Prouvaire's sullen company and resentful kisses, and thought that I was past the worst. But there was still Courfeyrac, and it was with him that I lost my nerve finally. He was neither rude nor rough nor, as I had feared he would be, overly gallant; he was as courteous as anyone could be in such circumstances. And yet when he bent to kiss me, it was, all at once, too much. I tore free of him, turning away. "Chrétien?" He seemed startled rather than affronted. "I can't do this," I said through the tightness in my throat. "I'm sorry. It's nothing to do with you, but I can't do this." After a moment Courfeyrac came and laid a firm hand on my shoulder. "Is it so difficult for you, then?" "Yes. No. I don't know. I'm sick of it, that's all." Suddenly the words came in a torrent. "No one gave me warning, and I-- I thought I could go through with it and I can't. I've failed your damn' test. I don't know what you do in such cases, take them out and shoot them--" "Chrétien." He shook me a little, turned me to face him again. "Brother. Don't." "No. I tell you I can't." "It's all right. We needn't." He had been serious, but now he smiled at me. It is the honesty in that smile, I think, that wins so many hearts; it warmed me, reassured me, caught me back from the edge of hysteria. "If you aren't committed by now, I shouldn't think tonight would make a difference." "I--" I could hardly speak. "Yes. I am. I swear." "Shhh. I know." He took me in his arms as Théo would have done, steadying, fraternal, and held me while I got control of myself again. That gesture meant more to me than any intimacies, and said more than any words. "You won't tell them...?" Courfeyrac let me go, smiling again, and this time I found myself able to smile back. "Of course not. It's nobody's business but yours and mine." I let go a breath I hadn't known I was holding. "All right." "Will you stay the night?" he asked, diffidently for Courfeyrac. "If I promise to behave myself?" "I-- if you like." "I would like that." So we slept that night side by side in his bed, chaste as saints, and when morning came took leave of each other warmly. When I arrived at Musain in the evening, they all came to embrace me: Julien and Audric, Aimery and Daniel, Jehan with something akin to warmth in his eyes; and Théo last of all, murmuring in my ear, "All right, mon ami?" "Quite all right," I told him, and it was.
[ before | after ]
| 