Warmonger

by Monique Singleton

  I implored her to intercede on his behalf.

  ‘I will do what I can, Father,’ she answered, looking once again at the photos of the little angel.

  ‘Thank you, Natalie. That is all I can ask. You are always in my prayers.’

  Returning to her desk, Natalie put the letter and the photos in her purse and prepared to go home. Thankfully, the President was out of the office today on official business. She had a brief respite and would make the most of it.

  In her apartment, she read the letter. It cut her to the bone. The simple narrative had her in tears within the first few sentences. She remembered where she had seen the child and her father before: in the church. That day she had first spoken with Father Benedict, and then often at mass after that. Sometimes they were together, sometimes she only saw the Father.

  She was moved beyond compare. Even her own troubles seemed to fade as she read.

  She resolved to do whatever she could for the child and her father. Something had to be done. Something would be done. No matter what she had to do to achieve it.

  In a strange way, her new goal gave her some form of peace, of resignation to whatever the President wanted. She now had a purpose.

  Fan the Flame

  She decided to visit Jean-Claude.

  It was an impulsive thing, not something she usually did. But then again, she didn’t get that kind of letter every day. Informing Valentin that she needed to meet with someone, she left the office early the next afternoon and made her way to the school where Jean-Claude taught, hoping that he would be there.

  He was.

  She waited outside the classroom until all the children had run out into the hallway laughing and horsing around. The children were happy.

  Walking into the room, she saw him cleaning the chalkboard. He had his back towards her. He cleaned methodically from left to right, clearing away the mathematical equations she remotely recognised from her youth. She waited patiently.

  He finally turned and was surprised to see someone in the classroom.

  ‘I am sorry, monsieur.’ She was quick to apologise. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you.’

  ‘No problem, mademoiselle,’ he answered. ‘I just had not expected anyone to be here.’ He observed the beautiful woman who stood demurely in front of him. They stayed silent.

  She held out her hand. ‘I should introduce myself. My name in Natalie Beaulieu.’ He took her hand and shook it.

  ‘Jean-Claude Pelletier,’ he answered.

  ‘I know, Monsieur Pelletier,’ she said to his surprise. ‘Please let me explain. I work at the Presidential Office as a Communications Manager. I am responsible for screening all the postage that is addressed to President Armand.’ Now he knew where he had seen her before. She was some kind of personal assistant to the President or something like that. He had seen her in the press releases. In the tabloids. But that didn’t explain what she was doing here. Effectively slumming. This was not a neighbourhood someone like her was used to.

  ‘How can I help you, mademoiselle?’ he asked.

  ‘Actually,’ she answered, ‘I am here to see if I can help you.’ She took the envelope with the much-read letter out of her purse. Jean-Claude immediately recognised his own handwriting. His face showed his shock. That at least someone had taken notice was so surprising it showed.

  He offered Natalie a seat. ‘Please, would you like to sit?’ He needed to sit down himself.

  ‘I read your letter to the President, monsieur. It touched me in every way possible. I had to come and see you.’

  ‘Thank you, mademoiselle. I was not sure that anyone would notice it between all the important things.’

  ‘This,’ she held up the letter, ‘is important, monsieur.’

  ‘Please, call me Jean-Claude. Otherwise it feels like I am still in class.’

  She smiled. It lit up her face, made her radiant. Just as it did with Emilie. His heart fluttered briefly.

  ‘Natalie,’ she said. ‘Please call me Natalie.’

  They talked for a long time. More than an hour. He suddenly noticed how late it was, and was quick to apologise for taking up her time.

  ‘Don’t apologise, please,’ she said. ‘I am the one who barged in on you uninvited.’

  A thought struck him. ‘Would you like to meet Emilie?’ he asked.

  ‘I would love to.’

  They left the school, took her car the few blocks to the small apartment and walked up the three stories to his front door. All the way, he continuously apologised about the neighbourhood, the stairs, the apartment. She laughed it all away, warming to this humble man. Opening the door, he led her into the tiny living room annex kitchen. Madame Brunet was sitting in one of the two threadbare chairs. Jean-Claude greeted her and introduced her to Natalie. Awestruck by such a celebrity, Madam Brunet was speechless for once.

  ‘How is Emilie?’ Jean-Claude asked.

  ‘She has rested most of the day,’ Madam Brunet answered, hesitant to add any details.

  ‘Please excuse me,’ he addressed Natalie and went into the tiny bedroom to see his daughter. A few minutes later, he returned with a sleepy bundle in his arms. Emilie’s head was resting on his shoulder, her thumb in her mouth. She was deathly pale. Her skin looked almost translucent in the sharp light of the naked bulb. Natalie was moved almost to tears.

  ‘Emilie,’ her father said softly. ‘This is the lady I told you about, from the President. She is here to help us.’

  Emilie lifted her head up, took her thumb out of her mouth and smiled at the beautifully dressed lady. If there had been any doubt in Natalie’s mind about how far she would go to help this little girl, it was expelled immediately when the little girl smiled at her and, in almost a whisper, thanked her.

  Madam Brunet observed the exchange for a minute and then took her leave, softly closing the door behind her as she returned to her own apartment. Could it be that good fortune was finally shining on Jean-Claude and tiny Emilie? She prayed that it was.

  Natalie stayed another half hour. She didn’t want to tire the small girl too much. Emilie chatted as much as possible, but it was clear that it taxed her. Natalie promised that she would get back to Jean-Claude as soon as possible, that she would organise a consult with a specialist. Jean-Claude thanked her profusely. Part of him still believed that he was dreaming, or that it was an elaborate publicity stunt, but nothing that she had said confirmed or even remotely strengthened that. She seemed so genuine.

  Father Benedict and his friend at the Presidential Palace had come through for him and Emilie. There was hope. However small.

  The next day, Natalie arranged a consult for Emilie with a prominent paediatrician at the famous Necker-Enfants Maladies Hospital. Emile was expected later that day. She once again left the office a little early and took her car to pick up Jean-Claude and Emilie.

  The President had been in the office all day and she had “serviced” him that morning, actually almost initiating it herself. Not that she wanted to, but she needed to leave early and she didn’t want him to keep her there any longer than was strictly necessary.

  Jean-Claude was very nervous. Part of him hadn’t expected Natalie to really come back. But here she was, with him and Emilie at the hospital waiting for the specialist. It was unreal.

  They were called into the treatment room and the specialist drilled Jean-Claude and Emilie about the symptoms, her life, what she ate, did, everything. He was extremely precise and was not interested in the previous diagnoses’ that Jean-Claude had brought with him. He wanted to make his own conclusions. Make a clean determination.

  That afternoon and early evening, Emile was put through the whole diagnostic process: x-rays, MRI, everything. She was so brave; she took it all in her stride. The specialist was patient, friendly and let her determine the tempo.

  Jean-Claude anxiously fidgeted in his chair all the time. He couldn’t sit still, afraid that it would all prove to be too much for his daughter. The next moment, he was sweating wi
th desperation that there would be good results. What would he do if the news was bad? How would he manage to pay for all this, and for the treatment that was needed? Natalie had explained that the consult was free of charge, a donation by the doctor, an old family friend. But what about after that? What about the medicine that she would no doubt need? The chills ran up and down his spine.

  After a gruelling three and a half hours, the specialist finally called Jean-Claude and Natalie into his office. Emilie was asleep in one of the hospital beds. The process had tired her out, completely exhausting her.

  ‘Monsieur Pelletier,’ the specialist began. ‘There is good and bad news, I am afraid.’ He paused. Natalie placed her hand on Jean-Claude’s arm to comfort him, surprising herself at the intimacy she felt.

  ‘The good news is that your daughter’s condition is treatable. She has what is called LKX. This is a serious condition, life threatening if not treated, but also curable with the right medicine and therapy.’ He stopped for a moment to let it sink in. Jean-Claude didn’t dare ask what the bad news was. He could guess. Natalie stepped in.

  ‘What treatment is needed?’ she asked.

  The specialist explained the complex procedures and drug treatments that Emilie would have to endure to stop and finally cure the terrible condition. Jean-Claude and Natalie sat quietly and listened to all he had to say. Jean-Claude’s heart sank with every new component of the treatment that the specialist explained, acutely aware of the fact that each extra step was another one he could never afford. Had he come here just to hear that he could not help her? That she was doomed? Feeling his inner turmoil, Natalie took his hand and squeezed it lightly. He was grateful for the gesture but was still in terror of what the doctor would finally conclude.

  ‘The bad news, as you have guessed,’ the doctor said softly, ‘is that the treatment is extremely expensive.’ He turned towards Natalie. ‘I can help you with the time and the consults. No costs there, my dear, but I cannot conjure the medicine out of thin air.’

  ‘Thank you, Enzo,’ Natalie answered to the doctor. ‘How much are we talking about?’ She vowed she would pay for it herself if necessary.

  ‘Tens of thousands of Euros my dear,’ the doctor answered.

  Jean-Claude’s head sank down to his hands. He was lost. There was no way that he would be able to come up with that money. And even with the help of Natalie, tens of thousands of Euros was out of the range that he could expect as help from the President.

  ‘We will find a way, Enzo,’ Natalie assured the doctor. ‘How soon can she start with the treatment?’

  ‘The blood and tissue samples need to be put on culture. That will take at least a week. Then we must determine the correct amount of the drugs that she will be able to tolerate without worsening her fragile health. All in all, I need about two weeks.’

  ‘Thank you, doctor,’ Jean-Claude finally said. ‘But there is no way that this can happen.’ His breath caught. ‘How long does she have?’ The terrible question. He didn’t want to hear the answer, but he needed to.

  ‘Not long, I am afraid, if we do nothing.’ The doctor paused. ‘Maybe six months.’

  Jean-Claude sobbed openly now. His greatest fear had come true. He would lose her, the light of his life. His little angel.

  Natalie took him into her arms and held him through his pain, her own tears close to the surface.

  ‘We will find a way,’ she said to Jean-Claude. And then repeated it more forcefully to the doctor, ‘We will find a way. Please start the procedures, Enzo, I will make it happen.’

  The doctor nodded, not doubting her resolve for a moment. This was a strong and forceful woman if she set her mind to something. And this little girl had touched all their hearts, including his.

  Jean-Claude gathered himself. He wiped his eyes so that Emilie wouldn’t see his pain and his grief. It was to no avail; the little girl homed in on his sorrow the moment he picked her up.

  ‘Don’t cry, papa,’ she said, drying his remaining tears with her small hand. ‘It will all be good soon.’

  ‘You are right, mon petit’ he answered. ‘Now we go home.’ He turned to the doctor.

  ‘Thank you, monsieur.’

  ‘You are welcome. I am only sorry that I cannot do more for you,’ the doctor answered sincerely.

  ‘We will see you soon, Enzo,’ Natalie assured him and the father and daughter. They left the hospital.

  Natalie brought them home and helped Jean-Claude put Emilie to bed. The little girl insisted that Natalie tuck her in. She obviously had taken a liking to her.

  Closing the bedroom door, Natalie went over to Jean-Claude and once again touched his hand as a support. He looked her in the eye.

  ‘Why do you help us so?’ he asked.

  ‘Because I want to,’ she answered straight from the heart. They stayed that way for a few moments. Natalie kissed him softly on the cheek and took her leave. ‘I will be back again soon with the first medicines,’ she said as she opened the door. ‘Somehow, we will make this work Jean-Claude. Believe that.’

  ‘I want to.’ He shuddered at the thought of the only other scenario. ‘I need to.’

  She closed the door softly and left the apartment. Jean-Claude went back to the bedroom and sat on the bed next to his sleeping angel. Hoping against hope.

  Things were going well.

  It was obvious that Jean-Claude and Natalie liked each other. Natalie was actually smitten. Maybe as a compensation kind of thing for the affair she was caught up in, maybe because he was the exact opposite of Armand. Who knows? Not that it matters anyway. My plan was that they fall in love, and they were playing in my cards to the letter.

  Emilie was another factor in the equation. It was impossible not to fall for the little angel. She had that effect on everyone. Natalie was no exception.

  Natalie and Jean-Claude saw each other almost daily. Emilie was a defining factor, but not the only one. They also enjoyed each other’s company. They talked a lot about important things: emotions, politics and mostly Emilie. Sometimes they even laughed, at each other and life in general.

  Emilie lit up when Natalie came. They obviously clicked big time. The otherwise quiet Emilie talked all out when Natalie was around. They shared ideas, fashion and silly girl stuff. Jean-Claude watched and loved it all. He had not seen Emilie so animated for years and so he felt good for a change.

  He also noticed that he was enamoured by this wonderful woman who had walked into their lives. For the first time since the death of his wife, he actually entertained the idea that he might not be destined to be a single father. He even dared to have feelings again, or maybe, just maybe, fall in love.

  Natalie was, as Father Julien had seen, completely smitten.

  She had never felt so at home as when she was with these two in their tiny apartment, sitting on the threadbare chairs, taking about the little girl’s dreams. Her visits soon became the highpoint of her day. Her otherwise terrible existence was completely overshadowed by the love and acceptance of these simple, honest people who lived on the bad side of the city. It was invigorating and humbling at the same time.

  When Emilie was in bed, Natalie and Jean-Claude talked. Sitting closer and closer together, they shared their triumphs and their failures; their loves and their fears. It was so easy to talk. It felt so good to unburden their souls.

  The inevitable happened. They fell in love.

  One evening almost three weeks after Natalie’s first visit, they were so close that it was impossible to ignore the feelings they had for each other. Finally, they voiced their love and crossed the final step to their union.

  I was summoned to the President’s Office.

  He was acting unnaturally high-strung, even for him. Initially there were a few others in the office. They were all party to a heated discussion regarding the national budget and how they would be able to make cuts in the expenditure. The national debt was sky high and once again the EU had set a deadline for improvements. Otherwise there
would be repercussions.

  But that wasn’t what was bothering the President.

  I entered the room. He acknowledged me slightly as I walked over to my “spot” against the wall where I usually stood. The atmosphere in the room changed immediately. There was some apprehension. Why had the President called for me? What did it have to do with the current discussions? Who was I here to observe? Who would be blamed for something?

  Enjoying the game, I played my role — observing the attendees and their body language. They were an open book. All terrified for their own well-being. All looking out for “number one”. I loved the effect I had on these small-minded men and women. For me it was, I suppose, some sort of revenge for all that you humans did to the world. Something petty like that.

  I turned my attention discretely to the President. He was not following the discussions. Something else was on his mind. Guessing that it probably had to do with his more private life, I wondered what he was obsessing about. The man was polar. He could only do something one-hundred percent or nothing. There was no in-between. Having zoned out of the meeting he was in, he must have felt my gaze, or he was just fed up with the company, but anyway, he stopped the discussion.

  ‘This is getting us nowhere,’ he announced. ‘There will be cuts. You know the numbers. That is not debatable. You are responsible for the mess we are in, so solve it. Don’t come back until you have a solution.’ He dismissed the ministers. They all but fled the room, casting glances at me on their way out of the door, anxious to get even a short glimpse of what they could expect. Nothing could be read off my face or body language. I just stood there stoically, enjoying every frightened look.