| Subject: The Ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove71 |
Author:
Schnee
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Date Posted: 19:01:39 03/30/01 Fri
In reply to:
Schnee
's message, "The Ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove" on 18:57:34 03/30/01 Fri
Casting my eyes toward the church, I try to discern whom the woman is calling. I can’t see her with the headstones towering around me, but I’m certain that’s the direction she’s calling from. Sensing it is unlikely that she would be calling to us, I shift my focus back to Michael, only to find him gone.
How does he do that? How does his slip away without me even sensing it? And where could he have gone? Why would he leave without me?
The woman’s voice sounds closer as I can barely make out what she’s saying.
"Michel où es-tu? Ne me force pas à te chercher."
Michel?
Michael’s fast exit begins to make sense. I glance around considering where he could have gone. With all the bulky headstones, he could be hiding anywhere. As I take a step to leave, a voice calls out, startling me.
“Who are you looking for?”
I turn to find that the French-accented voice belongs to a child. A young boy with russet curls, carelessly leaning against a tombstone to my left.
“I’m not looking for anyone. Why?”
“I saw a man with you before. And now he’s gone. Are you a Brit?” he eyes me curiously as his curls blow in the wind. “You sound kinda of like one, but not exactly,” the boy surmises as he jumps down from atop the gravestone.
“No, I grew up far away from here. In a place on the other side of the world.” I answer, feeling very aware of my Aussie drawl. “My name is Nikita. And you are?” I ask, as I’m not sure how closely this boy was watching Michael and I.
“I’m Michel,” he says, kicking the gravel with his unlaced sneaker as he moves closer to me. Casting a glance up at me, I catch sight of his emerald green eyes. The same green eyes that I know very intimately. I quickly avert my eyes. Feeling dizzy, I get the strange feeling that Michael has not disappeared, but instead has been transformed into this little boy.
I take a step back and almost utter the name Michael. But then I realize this boy is whom the woman is calling. However, the resemblance to Michael is almost uncanny. It could easily be him at seven or eight years old.
“Is that your mother calling you? I’d bet she’s worried about you.”
The boy shrugs as he continues kicking the gravel. I decide to take a different approach.
“Your English is splendid. Did you learn it in school?”
Michel seems bored at my mention of school, and begins scouring the area. Soon he finds a stick that he uses to draw lines in the gravel.
Sensing that Michel’s interest in me has waned, I consider that it may be best to leave him to go find Michael. But before I can, Michel’s mother approaches.
“Michel!”
“Mama, I was just talking to this lady.” Michel attempts to use me as an excuse for ignoring his mother’s pleas.
“You need to come when I call. I can’t be running after you.” Michel’s mother scolds.
I understand the woman’s position as I see that she’s expecting.
“You wouldn’t have to run after me. I know the way.” Michel struggles to explain.
“I must apologize for my son,” the woman addresses me. “He’s far too independent and strong-willed for his own good. I’m sorry if he bothered you.”
“Oh, no. He was no bother at all.” I try to assure her. “You have a very handsome and charming son. Michel is delightful.”
I sense the weariness in her eyes, as she tries to smile at my compliment. But that’s not the only thing I notice. Examining her features more closely, I see that her eyes are brown and not green like Michel’s, but her coloring is very close to his. My mind reels with the possibility. Could she be who I think she is?
“By the way, I’m Nikita.” I add as I reach my hand out. My curiosity has the better of me.
“I’m Marie,” she replies with some shyness, lightly shaking my hand.
I feel my heart beating wildly against my chest. This must be Michael’s sister! It would explain Michael’s rapid departure. He wouldn’t want Marie to see him. There would be no easy way to explain, even with us being free of Section.
Marie’s attention shifts from me. I turn to see Michel trying to climb atop the headstone of ‘Michael’s’ grave.
“Get down now, Michel!”
“Yes, Mama.” Michel replies with an air of resignation. Slowly, he abides by his mother’s wishes.
“He’s not normally like this,” Marie explains. “He’s become more difficult these last few months, with the baby on the way. I guess the fact that he’ll no longer be the only child is affecting him. And the fact that I don’t have the energy to give him my undivided attention.”
“I completely understand.”
“You have children?” She asks, seeming surprised by my response.
“Oh, no. But I am expecting my first. I’ve never felt so exhausted before.” I’m not sure what feels more weird—saying that I’m pregnant or the fact I’m saying it to Michael’s sister.
I glance over at Michel again only to see that he’s flipped his eyelids over. I find it impossible to suppress my laughter. After flipping them back to their normal appearance, Michel’s face light up, as he’s succeeded in getting the attention he sought.
“Michel has much of my brother in him,” Marie sighs. “In fact I named him for my brother. But I had no idea just how many traits my son would share with my brother.”
I try best not to show my surprise at hearing those words. Where I can see Michael’s looks in the boy, I have a hard time picturing Michael flipping his eyelids for attention.
“But not even little Michel can replace my brother. I just hope his passions don’t lead him down the same road.” Marie’s voice cracks as her hand motions toward the grave.
“What happened to your brother?” I gently ask.
Feeling grossly deceptive and manipulative, I immediately wish to take my question back. This poor woman has been through so much in her short life, losing both her parents and then her brother. She’s opening herself up to a complete stranger, unaware that I know much more about her than I let on. By asking that question, I’m using her openness for my own benefit, to fill in the gaps of my knowledge. Admittedly, this is a question I should be asking Michael, not her.
“He was killed during the prison riots.”
Studying her face, I see that Marie’s expression appears blank. It’s as if she has locked away all of her hurt deep within as a means of protection.
“Michel wasn’t a real criminal. While attending University he picked up political interests. He became passionate in speaking up for the working class and the oppressed and became involved in protesting the French government. He and others unfortunately employed extreme measures in order to protest the ills of the government. Their ideas were good, but their means of attaining those ends were wrong. He was so young and still angry over our parents’ deaths. Michel was killed before his case ever made it to trial.” Marie explains wistfully.
“You’ve lost a lot. Parents and a brother. I couldn’t imagine….” I’m not sure what to say; the words I have uttered seem all wrong.
“Yeah, you could say that. But I’ve also been very blessed. I have a wonderful husband and son. And another baby on the way. I can’t help but think those who have gone before me are watching over us.” Marie smiles.
I smile back as I admire her strength and courage. She’s a stronger woman than I.
“I’ve taken too much of your time. You came here to remember your family. I should leave you.” I begin to excuse myself, as I still feel guilty for asking the question.
“I will pray that you will blessed with a happy and healthy child. And that your labor will be short. My labor with Michel was almost a full 24 hours and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.” Marie says with a laugh as I’m certain she sees the mortified look on my face.
“And I’ll pray for you as well. You have less time to go than I do,” I smile, reflecting on the relation between her unborn child and mine
Looking toward Michel, who is now using the stick as a martial arts tool, I add, “Goodbye Michel. Be good.”
~~~~~~
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