Chapter One

 

It had been months since Christian had left his apartment for anything. On occasion Toulouse would come by and bring him food and liquor at his request. Christian had lost nearly 30 pounds and was almost a skeleton. He rarely slept and was drinking more than he ever had before. His heart was broken, he didn’t know how to respond to that, and neither did anyone else he came in contact with. When Toulouse would come by, he had learned not to talk to Christian; he would just leave the food on the counter and go. On rare occasions he would have a drink or two with Christian, but Christian would just ramble on about nonsense that Toulouse couldn't understand. It appeared that Christian was on the verge of insanity, and nobody could stop it. Nobody knew how. How do you comfort a man who has lost the love of his life, especially when you have never felt that for yourself?
        On this particularly rainy afternoon Christian ate for the first time that week. He changed out of his old dirty clothes that he had been wearing for days, and he put on his shoes and left his flat. He didn’t know where he was going; he just got up and went. He would know where when he got there. He could go back home to the town he was raised in, a small town in England, where his father had a job for him in his law firm, but Christian wasn’t a lawyer, he was a writer. And a year ago he had dreams of making his living being a great novelist or poet. Now his writings were all about anger and bitterness. Most of them done in drunken rages.
        Christian looked down the long staircase that led outside. The stairway was narrow, and he had a little too many absinthes in him to conquer them. He thought about turning and going back to his flat when a small man stood behind him. It was Toulouse. “Christian, I’m gwad to finawy see you out.”
        Christian turned to look at him, “I need help on the stairs,” was all he could think to say.
        The small four foot ten inch man held on to Christians five foot eleven frame by the waist and helped him down the narrow flight of stairs.
        Toulouse asked, “Whewe you off to?”
        “I don’t know. I need some fresh air, I need something. I don’t know what.” That was the most Christian had said since the terrible death of his love.
        Toulouse had nothing better to do with his day, so he decided to help his friend. “Do you want to get some food?” They started walking down the mean streets of Paris.
        “I don’t have money.”
        Neither did Toulouse. “Have you finished the novel yet?” Not knowing what else to say. All Toulouse knew was that Christian was writing something, and once over a few glasses of absinthe and some beer, he said it was a novel.
        Christian looked at him, surprised. “I have decided, um, not to show it to anyone.”
        Toulouse sighed, not surprised. Not knowing what else to say they just continued walking. Past the huge windmill that was the Moulin Rouge, and now was closed due to financial crisis. It was there, in that huge windmill that it all started. He had such hopes then. He thought that the world was full of possibilities, and he was going to live all of them. And he was going to share all of them with Satine, his one true love. But things don’t always work out the way we expect.

        The rains started to fall, and Toulouse was heading back to his flat, leaving Christian sitting on a bench, just outside the town of Monmartre. As Toulouse walked out of site, a young girl, wearing rags and no shoes came to Christian.
        “Monsiur, please, I haven’t eaten in days. Could you spare a sue?” she asked in her French accent. Christian wondered why she was asking him, he didn’t look like he had money.
        The girl looked up at Christian. There was a sparkle in her eyes, something Christian hadn’t seen in anyone since Satine. Suddenly Christian was distracted from his own troubles and was concerned about the enchanting young girl. He wanted to give her money for food and felt terrible that he didn’t have any. The girl looked sad and began to walk away.
        “Wait,” Christian said, calling after her.
        The girl stopped and looked at him. He looked like someone she’d seen before, but she couldn’t remember where. She walked closer to him.
        “I can’t give you any money, because I don’t have any. But I may be able to get you some food. Do you have a family?”
        She looked at her bare feet. “No, sir. I lived with my Auntie and Uncle. But I don’t anymore, I’m a orphan.”
        “Oh, I’m sorry.” He stood up, a little wobbly; “If you come with me back to my flat I could find you something. I don’t know what kind of food I have, but I must have something.”
        She looked at him, a little wary. She knew what men meant when they asked her to come up to their flats. But she hadn’t eaten in days, so she nodded. “Okay.”
        Christian walked beside her, not talking, just looking at her. She was comforting to him. She was someone who needed him and there is something soothing about having someone need you. “What is your name?” He asked.
        “Corrine,” was her reply.
        “How old are you, Corrine?”
        “Thirteen, sir.”
        Christian looked at her, she didn’t look thirteen.
        “Okay, ten. I’m ten.” She said, a little annoyed that he saw through her lie.
        “How long have you been living on the streets?”
        She kept walking, not wanting to answer his question. “I don’t know, a long time.”
        There was just quiet for a moment. They kept walking, and as they got closer to Christians flat, they saw the Moulin Rouge. The girl looked at it.
        “What ever happened to that place?” She asked.
        Christian didn’t want to remember, but he did. “They closed it down, about nine months ago.”
        “Oh,” the girl said.
        There was more silence as they reached the long narrow stairway to Christian’s flat on the top floor. They climbed the stairs and at the top she looked at him, closely. He looked like a nice guy, a decent fellow. Why did he want her?
        Christian opened the door and showed her inside. She walked in and sat down.
        “This is a nice place.” She said.
        Christian laughed and walked over to his icebox to see what was in it.
        Corrine watched him. He really was getting her food, and before he wanted anything from her.
        Christian found some bread, cut around the moldy part, and some eggs that he didn’t know how long had been in there. They didn’t smell bad though, so he figured they were fine. As he started to cook the eggs to make a sandwich he remembered. He remembered Satine. How he would always make egg sandwiches for her in the mornings before they would rehearse after nights of blissful love. It was almost too painful for him, but as he saw the young girl staring out the window, he found the strength.
        Corrine looked at the Moulin Rouge, which was perfectly visible from the window. It was an interesting building. It was a windmill and had a giant elephant where the courtesans would take their most important clients. She had dreamt of working there, of being a courtesan, making the money they made, dancing in the famous dance hall. She didn’t know it closed down. She felt as if her dream was lost now, too.
        Christian gave Corrine the sandwich. “Sorry, I don’t have any plates, apparently.”
        Corrine took the sandwich and nibbled on it. She wondered what his intentions were, now she was getting the feeling they weren’t what she thought they were. If he hadn’t wanted her, the way other men had, why had he offered her food? She was very confused now.
        She noticed a large stack of papers sitting next to a typewriter. “What is that?” She asked.
        “Oh, nothing. Just something.”
        She chuckled, that was a typical answer. She walked over to the stack of papers. On the top was a title page. “Fly Away, by Christian ”
        “Is that your name, Christian?” She asked.
        “Yes,” he smiled.
        “It’s a lovely name. Did you write this? Is it a novel?”
        He walked over to the stack of papers and took them.
        Corrine didn’t know what to say she knew she had done something wrong. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything…” she headed toward the door to go.
        “Where are you going?” He asked.
        “I thank you, Monsier, for the sandwich, but I need to be going.”
        “Where will you go?”
        The truth was Corrine had no where to go. “I don’t want to be any trouble.”
        “If you don’t have a place to go, you are welcome to stay here. The couch is quite comfortable.”
        She didn’t know how to take the invitation. Was he just a genuinely kind man? She didn’t know. Normally she would decline, but something inside her told her to trust him, there was something about him. He would help her, if she would let him.
        “Okay. Thank you.”

        Corrine had washed up for the first time in weeks, and Christian borrowed some clothes from Toulouse, not telling him what they were for, that she could change into. She was grateful to this kind stranger. He knew nothing of her. He didn’t know that she didn’t know who her father was, nobody did. That her mother gave her up to her Uncle whom drank too much and often took advantage of her, even when she was sleeping. And her Aunt who so powerless to stop him that if she tried he beat her so badly that she wouldn’t be able to get out of bed for a day or so. They kicked her out just under a year ago, when her mother stopped sending them money to take care of her. She would never forgive her mother for that. It wasn't a great life, but at least she had a place to sleep and food to eat. Her mother took that away from her.
She sat in the tub of water and watched it turn black from the dirt. Her dark blonde hair seemed to lighten up a shade or two. She heard Christian out in the kitchen, cooking something, she couldn’t tell what, and she knew he didn’t have much food, she saw his icebox, but she was still grateful. Maybe the world wasn’t all-bad. Maybe there were a few nice people in it. She was afraid to trust that.

Corrine woke up as the sun peeked through the room. It looked like it would be a nice day. She got up from the couch, where she had slept. It was the first time she slept on a cushioned surface since she left her Uncle and Aunt’s. She walked to the water closet. She freshened herself up; happy she had the chance to do it in a basin.
As she opened the door from the water closet, she saw the stack of papers on the desk again. Christian must have moved them back. She walked over to them and picked up a page. She had never gone to school, and couldn’t read very well, but she tried. She only read a tiny line when she was interrupted.
        “Don’t read that.” Christian mumbled from his bed, his eyes just starting to open.
        She was so startled that she dropped the page and scrambled to pick it up.
        “I’m sorry, Monsieur.” She picked up the page and a word stood out. All the other letters made no sense to her, but this one word stood out. Satine. “Monsieur, you know Satine?”
        Christian felt a chill up his spine. He hadn’t heard anyone speak that name in months. He looked at the girl peculiarly, “How…how did you know her?” He asked.
        “She is my mother.” Corrine said.

 

 

Chapter Two

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