by Libby Sparks
“Sort what out!?” Remy was seething. Francois had really lost his mind.
“The tower issue. I want them to make sure construction stops. I don’t want them to kill anyone, or anything like that. I just want them to make a change in what the government won’t. They’re really on our side, Remy, they just work different.”
“Work different” You can’t release a pack of diseased dogs and hope that something good will come out of it!” Remy squinted. “What exactly is it that you need my help with?”
“I just need to borrow some money. I don’t have enough. They’ll want more than I can spare; I can’t take anything more from my family, they won’t make it.”
“I’m not giving you money.” Remy almost laughed at the idea.
“Please, Remy, I’ll pay it back. Not straight away, but over time. Please, you’re the only one that will help me. You’re wise with money; you don’t drink it all out at the tavern every night. Please, Remy?”
“No Francois. You’re only going to get yourself hurt, and other people as well. Even if they do take you up on your offer, do you think they’ll leave you alone after that? You can’t trust these guys, once they know you, and know what you’re all about; they’re not going to leave you alone.”
”They’re only rumors! You don’t know that they’re exactly like that.”
“Rumors have a way of starting with the truth. I’m not getting involved in this. I can’t risk it. You would be wise if you didn’t, either. Don’t go to them, Francois.”
“But I--”
“I don’t want to hear it. You’re being ridiculous over something that’s really not that serious. Go home.”
He turned his back on Francois and crossed the bridge to the island.
* * *
Remy breaks from lunch just after noon. He rides his bicycle to the Champ de Mars and sits down on the grass. He eats a meager meal of bread and some cabbage, and watches the workers on the tower of Monsieur Eiffel. He’s far enough away that they definitely cannot recognize him, although he’s sure they wouldn’t anyway, the same way Claire didn’t. Not a lot of them had ever seen him without his beard. The last time some of them did was before he’d been able to grow one, and that had been a good fourteen years ago.
He wonders what it must feel like, working so high up. So far, he’d heard that there has only been one death. It is one of the safest construction projects so far. Everyone is shocked at how few injuries there are, and people are starting to admit that Gustave Eiffel knows what he’s talking about. The tower is starting to look spectacular. It’s very out of place among the rich stone buildings that are scattered across the city, but it’s beautiful. Remy feels sure that the hostility towards the tower will change once it’s finished.
He sighs deeply. Despite the modern beauty, he hates the sight of it now, with all his dark secrets strung to the metal beams like spiders webs. And still he can’t stay away from it. He’s tried a couple of times to have lunch somewhere else; to cut himself a little bit of slack and just have a pleasant meal for a change. But on the days he wandered the streets to find a place of calm where he could sit down and eat, he only found himself back on the grass at the Champ de Mars after a tiring walk, scowling because he’d wasted all his time fighting something he can’t beat.
Remy pulls open his bag and counts the money he made in the morning. He’s pleased with how things are going. When he started miming he was scared he wouldn’t be able to make enough to live on, but it looks as if working for himself includes a strange freedom among the rewards, and he’s starting to like the idea. Not having a master to answer to gives him a sense of elation. He’s been pushing himself hard, working hours that drain him and saving every bit of money he can spare, living on even less than he thought was possible before.
The feeling vanishes quickly when he takes out the little black bag he carries with him. He knows it’s ridiculous to carry it around, but it feels as if it’s the only way he’ll be able to remind himself of everything. He pats the bag and a cloud of dust explodes from it. Remy looks up at the tower, shakes his head slowly, and returns the little black bag to the bottom of the larger one. In the distance he can hear the bells of Notre Dame, and he knows his lunch time is over. Getting back on his bicycle, he heads back to the Louvre.
* * *
A sudden snow storm made it hard for the workers to keep the pace, and when Remy got home in the evenings his fingers were frozen and his body was stiff and tired. Sometimes he went to bed without eating, he was so exhausted, only thinking of food in the early hours when he was awakened because the fire in his small apartment had died down to a miserable heap of embers. This went on for days on end, and quite a few passed before he managed to call on Claire again. Somehow, the physical exhaustion was nothing to the longing for her that grew stronger everyday he didn’t see her.
When he reached their home on the other side of town one evening, instead of the beaming ray of hope he longed to find in her smile again, she opened her door with a distressed look on her face. Remy frowned.
“I’m sorry, Remy, I cannot visit with you today. My brother has not come home for two days now, and my mother is very ill.”
”Is there anything I can do for you, to help?”
“No, Remy,” she looked behind her and then stepped out, quietly shutting the door behind her. “My mother is asleep and I don’t want to wake her. She hardly sleeps anymore and I fear it won’t improve her illness. She’s very proud. She won’t tell anyone that we are in trouble. When my brother stays away he keeps his money with him, thinking of us only when he’s had his fill of beer and fighting. We’re lucky when there is any money left over for us. The snow storm has also been hard on us.”
“Here,” Remy fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a hand full of coins, “I know it’s not much, but maybe it will help?”
“I don’t want to take money from you, Remy!”
“Please take it, I want to help and I have more than I need right now. I have only myself to feed.”
She looked at him in silence for a long time. Then tears welled up in her eyes as she wrapped her hands around the money and his hand.
“Thank you,” she whispered, “my wages are never enough for the both of us.”
He finally gave up resisting and reached out to pull her into him. She didn’t resist and leaned willingly against him. It was the first physical contact beyond a hand shake, and it felt like electricity exploding inside of him. But now was not the time to revel in her closeness.
“I’m sorry about your brother, Claire. Call on me whenever you need me. I’ll do what I can.”
She smiled at him, wiping the tears off her face. She took his hand and pressed it against her lips.
“Thank you,” she said softly and opened the door, slipping quietly back inside.
Remy stood in the dark street, wishing he could do more. She was so closed off, and so independent. So strong. And he didn’t know her well enough to do more. It would be an intrusion. Still, he wanted to so badly to just step in and fix everything for her.
He jammed his fists into his pocket, suddenly aware of the cold in her absence, and sauntered down towards the avenue. Despite being so concerned for Claire, Remy’s heart floated in the sky as he remembered what it felt like to hold her so close.
Remy headed towards the tavern. It would be warm there, and he could do with some company tonight. The fact that he stayed on the river and not at the edge of the Rive Droit isolated him quite a bit. It was far for him to walk to see the people he knew and worked with. But he didn’t dare give up his apartment because it was in a formerly classy neighborhood. His living conditions were far better than those on the edge of town. He didn’t really have the stomach for what he encountered on his visits to become the definition of his everyday life.
Just as he reached the tavern doors Leon rushed out to meet him. He hadn’t stopped to even pull on his coat, and he spoke fast.
“Francois is in troub
le. He’s meeting with les frères at the tower as we speak. You have to go help him!”
“What? Why me?”
“Because you are the biggest of all of us. Perhaps you can reason with them. You need to go now.”
“He should know better than to talk to les frères but if that’s what he wants to do then who are we to stop him? I told him not to go to them when he asked me for money but he is a grown man.”
“You didn’t give him the money!?”
“Of course not,” Remy frowned, “I didn’t want to give him the means to get himself into trouble”
“He was already in trouble when he came to you! He arranged with les frères and their price was more than he had so he asked all of us and I ended up sending him to you!”
Remy stood, his body suddenly feeling the wind pushing down the collar of his coat and the ground frozen beneath his feet and he made sense of Leon’s words. And then he ran.
It was far to the tower and the cold air stung his lungs with every intake. He ran until his legs were dead and sweat was soaking the layers under his coat. He stopped a couple of times, bending over with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath, ignoring the shooting pains that every intake sent pulsing through his chest, and then pushed on.
When he finally got to the Champ de Mars his lungs were cramping and he was coughing wildly. He paused and tried hard to take slower deep breaths. The street was consistently lit, but the site was dark, building material propped up against the foundations of the tower. Still, in the distance Remy could make out shadows and he walked closer cautiously.
As he came nearer he could make out Francois’ pleading tones and the hoarse voices of one of the brothers swearing at him. From what Remy could tell in the dark, there were at least three of the brothers.
Remy crept closer until he was only a few feet away from them, his breathing steady enough now for him not to too pant loudly and give himself away. He kept hidden in the shadows, keeping building material between himself and the brothers. He could clearly hear Francois now, begging for more time to get the money. Fear was all around them, filling out the corners and choking him. Remy started to shake. He knew he had to do something, but he didn’t know what. He knew the brothers wouldn’t fall for him trying to reason with them, not with the type of language and aggression elicited by Francois’ pleading. In fact, it would be a very hostile setup if he got involved. And if he just jumped out and attacked? Even if Francois had the courage to try and fight them, they would be outnumbered, and Francois was a small man, with little promise of retaliating at all.
As Remy sat there, feverishly trying to work out what to do, he caught movement to his left from the corner of his eye. He whipped his head around and strained to see in the dark. He was hoping Leon followed him, or maybe one of the other men at the tavern. Surely there would be more who were worried about Francois? He could really use some backup now. If they had enough manpower, they could maybe do something.
He shifted a bit, trying to change the angle. The person seemed smaller than any of the men he knew, and for a moment he tried to figure it out, until the wind blew and the light from the street a short distance away caught a few strands of hair flying up.
Remy’s heart sank to his stomach and his legs felt like lead. It was Claire.
What was she doing here!? She shouldn’t even be out after dark, least of all here, where Remy was pretty sure something terrible was about to happen. She stood in the dark and he could see her chest heaving, probably out of breath and from fear. Instinct took over at the thought of a woman falling to the terrible fate of les frères.
Adrenaline raced through his veins, taking over from reason, and he stepped into the clearing. For a moment, everyone fell quiet as they decided how they felt about his presence.
“Easy, boys, I’m not looking for trouble,” he said as calmly as he could.
“What are you doing here?” one of the brothers growled.
“I couldn’t help but overhear; I was passing by. I understand that Francois here owes you money.”
“It’s none of your business.”
“I’ll give you the money, whatever he owes you.”
Silence fell for a couple of seconds and Remy could hear Francois exhaling in relief. The brothers stood around them, but no one moved.
“You don’t have that kind of money,” one of them spoke up. “And I don’t think I like you getting into our business.”
Fear was back on Francois’ face. Remy was standing with his back to where he’d last seen Claire and he was hoping she would be clever enough to stay hidden.
“Let’s just talk it over,” he kept his voice calm, “I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement, and then we can all go home.”
Francois was scared; he could feel him next to him, his fear hanging in the air like a thick fog. His eyes darted from one brother to the next and he kept on wiping his brow with his sleeve, sweating despite the freezing cold. Remy just hoped that Francois would keep it together. The brothers were tense and they wanted either money or blood; both, if they could.
“Francois, how much money do you owe them?”
Francois licked his lips, and he looked as if he was trying to speak, but only short groans and whimpers escaped his lips. This caused the brothers to snicker at him.
“He’s like a lost puppy,” one laughed,
“I say we have some fun with him,” another piped up.
This was not going the right direction.
“There’s no need for anything to get messy,” Remy tried again. “Let’s just settle this now and be done with it. I’m willing to pay you what Francois owes. Do we have a deal?”
The brothers looked at each other, assessing the situation, but none of them looked as if he thought the idea of settling everything without violence was any fun. This was what Remy was afraid of. If he’d known that Francois had already spoken to them when he asked him for money it would have been a different story, but the fool never spoke up. It was ridiculous to even think of it in the first place.
“Do we have a deal?” Remy asked again, talking slower, trying to draw them back to the idea of money, and away from bloodshed. He hoped Claire was gone by now, but he didn’t dare look over his shoulder. He didn’t want to risk giving her away.
Before Remy knew what was happening, Francois started running, blind with fear. The brother closest to him was faster, and grabbed him by the back of his coat, yanking him backwards so hard he fell to the floor and knocked his wind out.
“Going somewhere, buddy?”
Remy’s heart sank. That was probably the worst thing to do. The brothers were like cats playing with a mouse. It was all a game. They relished fear, but cowardice really fuelled their bloodlust.
“Wait!” he tried to stall them, and for a moment their attention was back on him. But Francois scurried to his hands and knees and tried to crawl away. Worst mistake. Ever.
The brothers were ready to play now. They pulled Francois back by his leg, laughing at him yelping, and kicked him in his ribs. Remy lunged forward, but the other two brothers each grabbed an arm, stopping him from doing anything at all. Remy was big, and strong, but they were both his size and he couldn’t do anything against two of them. He watched helplessly as they played with Francois, letting him think he can get away, only to pull him back again. At some point, Remy heard a soft whimper behind him. He froze, hoping no one else heard it, but they were all too caught up in their game. Then his body went numb and he closed his eyes. Claire was watching, and every time he heard a hit, a little bit of him died for her.
It didn’t carry on for long. The brothers lost interest quickly enough and stamina wasn’t one of Francois’ strong points. Everything quieted down. They dropped Remy in the dust, kicked him once for good measure, and then disappeared into the night.
Remy coughed, trying to get his lungs to function again. His ribs were on fire and he gasped for air, desperate to feel the sting of the cold air in hi
s lungs. But then he managed to breathe in deeply, albeit painfully, and after a few gasps and coughs he got his respiratory system working.
He crawled over to Francois, who was lying face down on the concrete. He shook him by the shoulder, but he already knew. He sat next to the lifeless body for a second, feeling hollow and numb, when suddenly he remembered about Claire. He jumped up, softly calling her name, but she was gone.
It was well past noon the next day when Remy finally got to his apartment. He’d taken care of Francois’ body the night before, going to people that he could trust. They took care of Francois and gave him as much of a farewell as they could in the dim hours before dawn. All the way through, Remy had been looking for a hint of emotion, a threat of a tear, a pang of sorrow, but there was nothing. Just a big void inside of him, filling him up with nothing at all.
He’d gone to Claire’s home after that, when the sun was well above the horizon, but of course she was at work, and he didn’t know where to find her. Now he stood in the street, a small black dusty bag filled with ash in his hand, looking up at the stone walls of the apartments on L’Ile Saint-Louis. How was it possible for so many things in a person to change in such a short time, he wondered.
His eyes traced the lines of the yellow stone walls as he replayed everything, looking for ways he could have done it differently, ways he could have saved Francois, ways he could have spared Claire. And then as if a dark cloud descended on him, his shoulders sagged and his hands trembled as the reality of it all started to hit him.
Francois was dead. Francois was dead because Remy wouldn’t give him money, so it was his fault. It was heavier than any load he’d ever carried. He didn’t know guilt could be so choking. He would have to go and tell someone. Maybe find Leon, because he would understand. People needed to know what had happened. Francois was well-known and would be missed. He looked up at the sky. Everyone would be at work now. He should be too, but he was tired. Endlessly tired. So tired he felt he could sleep for an eternity. He decided he would go home; sleep a bit first. Maybe after that, he would be able to face everyone, be able to trudge to the tavern and spread the news that Francois was gone. Would they understand that it was the brother’s doing? Or would they blame him? He blamed himself.
