The cramped interior of the house made me feel nauseous. The parlor consisted of two chairs and a small table. At the side of the room was another table with a sewing machine and a knitting frame. A small kitchen was there,at the back.The staircase was narrow and rotten. And all i could smell was a stinging smell of moisture and moss.
"Marcus?" The old woman called from upstairs.
"Yes."
She came down, smiling. She was holding something under her arm.
"These belong to my son.They will fit you perfectly."
"Thank you so much. You're too kind."
It was hard to believe that she trusted me without knowing nothing more than my name. I could have been a thief but then I looked around, and realized that there wasn't much to steal.
"You remind me of my son." She sighed.
"Your son?" I asked, taking the bundle of clothes from her.
"He's dead. Anyway, go upstairs and change the clothes. I'll make something for lunch"
"What shall I call you?"
"You can call me Mrs. Renard. Now, off you go!"
I climbed the stairs, and the smell of moisture filled my nostrils. I held my breath and kept climbing the rotten staircase. There were two rooms upstairs, smaller than the parlor and a small bathroom at the right corner of one of them.
I changed into strange clothes,which weren't comfortable at all but atleast,they fit well.
I looked at my face in the mirror. What would I do? I had no idea how to find my parents, and as far as I knew, this was the least favorable Era to appear. I couldn't stay at Mrs.Renard's place forever.But I had no job and no place else to go. I wasn't even aware of the situation of this place. Reading history books about French Revolution, and living through one was totally a different from each other. Besides, this was Paris; the center of French revolution.
I went downstairs, with my mind exploding with so many queries. My empty stomach rumbled like a chained beast,as I walked towards the table. It was hard thinking about anything, with a growling tummy. But the sight of the table made me disappointed. There was a half loaf of breast cut in two unequal portions. She placed the larger one in my plate, while saving just a bite for herself.
"This is all I have." She sighed, looking at her old sewing machine. I felt horrible, sitting there and eating the last bit of food she had for herself. I divided my portion in two halves, and spoke.
"I'm not hungry at all. I'll just have a bite"
She smiled silently,"We'll get something for dinner. You don't have to worry." I opened my mouth to speak, but she continued. "Now, What's your story? I have to know a little about my grandson after all"
I nodded, swallowing the sentence I was about to utter earlier. "I'm Marcus Alexander Breton. I'm from a 'different' place, not from Paris. I'm here in search of my parents. They came here almost 8 years ago,and got stuck in this place."
She raised her eyebrow. I knew, how stupid it seemed to say that my parents couldn't get out of a city for 8 years. But this was the best excuse, I could think of.
I spoke again,"There's a long story behind it. Unfortunately, this is all I could share."
"8 years...It's a long time. Anyway, you can stay here as long as you wish."
"But if I'm staying here then I'm helping you. I could do anything, I just need a job"
"What are you best at?"
"I'm a painter."
The pale color of her wrinkled face changed to pink, as she smiled.
"If your're a painter, you don't need a Job. You can earn twice as compared to half of the people around here."
"I can?"
"Only if you're good enough." She finished her portion of bread and stood up. "Finish your meal while I return back"
"Where are you going?"
"To spread the word about a painter." She chuckled like a little girl.
I started eating as she rushed out of the door. It took me less than five minutes to finish the tiny meal, and then I roamed around the house. Honestly, it was more like taking few steps forward and then backwards in the parlor rather than roaming around. Suddenly, I realized that I had nothing to paint with. And buying all those things would be too expensive for the old Lady. My happiness dissolved in the sea of disappointment again.
There was a soft knock at the door. I kept sitting, as i knew, it couldn't be Mrs.Renard. It was only 15 minutes since she left. But the knocking continued, and I had to open the door, eventually.
"Mrs.Renard?"
The voice spoke as I opened the door. "Who're you?"
The visitor was a young lady with black hair and blue eyes, in her early thirties wearing a slim fitting frock with a cake in her hands. She was amused to see me, rather than being shocked.
"I'm her Grand son...Marcus."
She laughed, and pushed me back inside the house with a soft push. She placed the cake on the table, and turned her head towards me.
"She's not here. I can't let you inside the house." I said without taking my eyes off her.
"You're not her grandson. And she won't mind having me around for a while in her absence."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm her daughter,Pauline Josephine Renard." She sat on the chair facing me. Her playful nature was making me uncomfortable. There was something wrong with her, but I couldn't point out what.
"But her daughter is dead." I shot a blind arrow which hit the bull's eye.
She frowned,"Lucy wasn't her only daughter. I'm sorry for what happened to her, but it isn't my fault.She can have a stranger in her house, rather than her own daughter."
"If you don't mind, Can I ask what happened to her?"
"Who are you again?"
"Marcus... the pretending Grandson. Actually, I came here in search of something and your mother offered me a place to stay."
She nodded,"It's not a new thing. She had offered her place to stay to almost everybody."
She remained silent for a minute and then continued," My brother, Hansel was a painter. He fell in love with a girl, who was of higher status than him. He was afraid to tell her, so he stalked her around and painted her pictures. She became an obsession for him. He was caught watching her sleep one night and her father killed him. Later, he found out about portraits of her daughter selling all around the market. What angered him the most was her naked ones, that got out after Hansel was murdered. People used them to condemn and protest against the brutality, and his tortuous death."
There were tears in her eyes, that she managed to absorb back without shedding a single one.
"He was whipped to death and then his head was hanged in front of our house. I was too young then, but Lucy was elder than both of us. Mother sent me away, to my maternal Uncle outside Paris and told me not to return back. Lucy had to stay back to take care of her. I heard, about one week later than they took Lucy with them. She was raped many times, and then she was marched around the streets naked as a symbol of punishment. She committed suicide a month later."
She was lost in deep thoughts, so I remained quiet. She kept staring at the floor, and continued.
"People don't care about the side they are on, they just love talking. Those portraits were lost, in the new gossips about my sister. My mother lost everything she had, but she still refused to left this place. She forgot about me. She never came to meet me, not even on my wedding day.But here I am, 20 years later, living just few streets away from her with a gambler husband and two daughters. I don't know, why she can't look at me like she used to. Sometimes, I need my mother.... Everybody does."
I got up and gave her a glass of water. She gulped the water, like it would neutralize the fire inside her but it was useless. She burst into tears, and buried her face in her lap. I was about to comfort her, when the door opened behind me. Mrs. Renard walked inside.
"What are you doing here, Pauline?" She spoke coldly.
"Happy Birthday, Mother." She got up, and started walking towards the door.
I spoke," I'm really hungry and the cake looks delicious. Why don't we celebrate your mother's birthday together?"
Pauline looked at her mother and she nodded. Mrs. Renard was lost in her own thoughts as we savored the delicious cake. Nobody spoke anything but I knew, Pauline was happy. Suddenly, I felt a part of a family. I never had that feeling with Ethan, although, Nicholas was someone I could relate to. He was like a Not-likable" sibling to me.I watched the both woman eating the cake while fighting silently in their heads. At the end, Mrs.Renard spoke.
"Can I know the name of your Mother and Father?"
"Alice and Alexander Breton."
"I think, I found them."