Rarely does she pay visit to the first floor of their house, not at this time of night. It is late, after all – entailing that she should be in bed already, shouldn’t she? Waiting for Jean Louis like a good and patient wife, but her patience has dried out at this point, four years later. When all his promises have surmounted to nought. Less than. Considering the play in which they are forced to act, Jean Louis and she, along with a drunken Pierre for Pierrot. Mireille moves through the darkness of the hallway, pitch black until she turns the corner, light greeting her from Father’s study, spilling out onto the floorboards before her feet. This is the floor whereon Father used to work, the floor whereon Jean Louis now works in his stead, in his place. Pierre ascends the stairs only on the occasion of a parliament member’s visit, always with her husband by his side. Loyally, as loyal as Jean Louis has been from the beginning. From before the time when everything fell apart between their hands, on that dreadful night…
She comes to a halt in the doorway, her bare feet muted against the wooden floor. Her nightgown has been crafted from a thin, expensive fabric – the draft making her skin break out in goose bumps underneath the all but useless layers of white. She watches him, soundlessly, while he rummages through Father’s drawers, now his own by way of marriage. By way of her. Lips forming the thinnest of lines, the line of the rope walkers that they have surely become by now, she straightens up. Lifts her chin. And speaks.
“For authenticity, I would advise you to keep his papers stored in the cabinet.”
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2013-02-17 06:13 pm (UTC)She comes to a halt in the doorway, her bare feet muted against the wooden floor. Her nightgown has been crafted from a thin, expensive fabric – the draft making her skin break out in goose bumps underneath the all but useless layers of white. She watches him, soundlessly, while he rummages through Father’s drawers, now his own by way of marriage. By way of her. Lips forming the thinnest of lines, the line of the rope walkers that they have surely become by now, she straightens up. Lifts her chin. And speaks.
“For authenticity, I would advise you to keep his papers stored in the cabinet.”