Sanguinary Legitimacy-The Forlorn Tune

Sanguinary Legitimacy-The Forlorn Tune




The moon with its mocking glow hung in the cold, foggy night. After dismissing myself from the party I left the pool hall. My costume was not dense enough to protect my skin from the harsh cold. Walking down the street I took a shortcut to the river. I threw my mask into the snowy water and watched it float downstream. Fearful of loosing my way once again, [I had done so last time I visited the this river] I made my way back to the footway and donned my anorak that I had picked up on my way out of the mansion. Looking over the street signs I decided to go a harder walk but a shorter one nonetheless. The fell was hardly steep or treacherous. Laughing at my spinelessness I took a step and attempted to dig the heel of my boot into the thick snow therefore sinking a good four or so inches into the pallid ice, the result of a blizzard the night before. "If only’’ I thought. “ That whiteout could have struck tonight. Then that wretched party would have ended up canceled and I wouldn’t be in this mess, much less this d***** country!’’ Continuing my rant I heard crunching in the snow so I ceased my cursing and turned around. It was a young maid from the Balakirev manor. Feeling quite ridiculous I smiled quaintly and chuckled. In Russian she told me that Mily was wondering were I had crept off too. I apologized for my uncouth behavior and requested her to tell him I had a train to catch early and didn’t want to disturb his conversation with Vladimir. She nodded and politely added that to climb the hill I must brace my feet using many of the rocks that were prominent in the snow. I blushed and looked away fearing further embarrassment. Once she was well away I backtracked my way back to the streetlamp lit streets and decided once again my means of reaching my destination. Taking the alternative way I ascended on the sidewalk. Wishing it wasn’t a costume party so I could have dressed more appropriately I crossed my arms across my torso.  Russia truly was beautiful and I wished I had gotten to see a ballet when in the country. Unfortunately, outside of my job of a professional artist, I was part of the Le Spécial français Force [FSF] that favored Russia in the Russo-Japanese War. I was sent to negotiate the needed supplies and men. Going to the party wasn’t on my list of things to do, but I was too kind to turn down a fans offer. Regrettably.

I woke up after only 2 hours of sleep and neglecting to brush my hair I got dressed and hailed a taxi to the Train station. Forgetting I was in a public car I yawned loudly and smacked my lips. The 3 women that had been eyeing me since I got on, either because of my devilish good looks or unsightly hair, laughed and looked away. I was to tired and sore from last night’s escapade to feel the slightest bit of shame. After a long 2 hours the train stopped in Ufa. My childhood friend Jacques-Louis David boarded. Hugging me he whispered “ I love you.”. I hugged him back. I hadn’t seen him in a while so It was nice to be able to make the trip back to headquarters together.  After ordering a round of drinks we talked about growing up in La Roche-sur-yon and our present jobs outside of FSF.  After literally going over our whole lives we requested blankets and napped for the remainder of the day and night. We awoke to the train screeching to a halt and we were both thrown from our seats to the floor. Laughing at Jacques I tried to stand and help him up. To my delight the three individuals were also on the floor, their hats misapplied, but being the gentleman I was I proceeded to aid them. Blushing they accepted my help and thanked me. When I turned around Jacques was gone, obstinately
making his way to a stewardess to decipher the problem. She told him not to fuss. They had gotten a call from the French government that François Bashen-Lepage was to be immediately thrown off the train for unspecified reasons. “What!!?” I exclaimed jumping up from my seat nearly falling to the ground once again. Looking up she commented that I fit the description: a tall man with shaggy black hair, probably wearing a scarf and carrying around a sketch pad, and I was to remove myself or drastic measures would be taken. Cursing in French to Jacques I told him to meet me at Cézanne. Shaking his head he walked to me and we jumped from the train into the thick snow. Once again freezing and lost we asked the rude stewardess approximately where we were. ‘’Latvia!’’ I screamed.” That means were not even a quarter of the way there!!” Normally I would be the collected one but the Government had really been screwing me over. We walked until we found an inn. “If those b******* expect me to walk I’m going to take my sweet time and spend their d*** money!!” We got separate rooms to run up the bill and ordered breakfast. I pulled my travelogue out of my bag.
Finding the next blank page I wrote:

January 17,1904
My short trip to Russia proved to be move eventful than I had hoped. At the Balakirev Party I had to pass up drinking and dancing to stand in corners with Russian composers and nobles and scholars making small boring and not to mention distressing talk about the war and alliances. They always seemed to forget what the conversation was supposed to be about and it drifted back to my art. Then I walked back to the hotel, freezing my a** off. I awoke too early to just be thrown off the train halfway to France. Right now I’m in an inn called Jelgava in Latvia.
François Bashen-Lepage


Closing the book I heard a knock and ‘’Room service!”
I got up and opened it when the bellhop didn’t come in. He rolled in a cart that had one of every kind of breakfast they had. Laughing I thanked him. I refused to try things I had never heard of and went with a cautionary
choice of pancakes. I knew that Jacques on the other hand would taste everything. Writing music for the rest of the day I laid down in the unpleasant bed and slept.
Waking in the midst of the sunrise, I stood and stretched. Changing my clothing, I walked to Jacques room. "Last night I added to that song I’ve been working on for like 2 months!" He told me, laughing. "Well come on, lets see it!” He sat up in his bed and rummaged in his coat pocket. Knowing I would want to see it, he had taken the liberty of writing another copy of the lyrics separate from the sheet music. And of course it was l love song, written for me.
We walked to the main desk and requested a cab.
Outside the snow was no longer falling. Instead a soft sheet of the white fluff lay on all untouched land. The road was sandwiched in-between the train tracks and a lake. The evergreens towered over, shadowing the water below making a murky, riveting reflection.
Geese flew overhead: migrating. I really couldn’t blame them. I wanted to go a place were winters don’t linger under freezing, a place were there was no snow. Jacques reached over and took my hand. How Jacques stormed into my life and turned it upside down, I could not explain. I was incredibly grateful to have a person like Jacques in my life, someone who refused to give up on our relationship. No matter how many times I pushed him away or walked out on him, Jacques always followed and brought me back in his life. This made Jacques different from every other person in my life. He had accomplished where many others had failed. He had managed to break the ice around my heart and quite forcefully, made a home there. Which was why I cherished and loved Jacques more than anything in the world. Then I slept.
Waking a matter of hours later Jacques asked if my nap was good.. “Sure” I answered. Then I proceeded to hum the tune of a song. I could feel his eyes drilling into the back of my skull, but I was too busy telling the cab driver to stop at the next hotel to care. I always got carsick. The car almost immediately came to a stop. It was a tall house with many quaint windows, but through any of them one wouldn't find a note in sight for guests. I paid the cab fare to the greedy Russian and walked into the bed and breakfast.  It was already almost 12:00. I went to my room. I had an easel packed in my luggage so I set it up. Looking out the window, I took the worn piece of charcoal between my index finger and thumb, holding it just
lightly enough so that it would not fall out of my hand , but yet hard enough so that I would leave the burnt black after path on the page. I had done this so often that I almost need not look at the page, for it seemed to me as though my hand had eyes, for I knew always where each stroke of the charcoal would be placed. For as long as I could remember, I had always had tremendous talent for any kind of art. For a moment, I stared at the candle flickering at the center of the table, lost in what that could mean. As I looked on, the light started to get fainter, until it finally went out. A thin wisp of smoke floated into the moonlight that now surrounded me, disappearing into the night. With an almost sad smile, I left the almost completely bare canvas sitting as it was and crawled into bed. Just as promised a car was waiting in the morning for us. We made the long trip back to France. The clouds were lightly dark above us, foreboding rain. It was like they were only threatening, with nothing real inside of them. Rain...or no rain?

I looked up to see two cars pull in front of us, with 4 Japanese men stepping out of them. They advanced on us, clearly inexperienced and foolish, thinking they could merely approach government officials without more caution. The strangers smiled cheerfully and one said, “You come with us François.”, in broken French. His three companions charged, yelling and whooping for the kill to come. It was the last mistake they'd ever make, and it was over in seconds, at least for François. Jacques and the driver came at one of them from either side and both shot their pistols; the stranger dashed to the side, avoiding them, and in one fluid movement drew his katana and slashed at Jacques. Crimson blood flashed in the air as he spun low and shot twice more, felling the man with a shot to the head. Then out of no were, a backslash...gushing blood...screaming pain from his chest...Jacques spun in slow motion, landing heavily on his knees, coughing up blood and grasping no believingly at the slash in his chest, his shirt staining rapidly from his own blood. He breathed heavily, clawing at the last dregs of life that were slowly seeping away as the world faded from view. I froze. I was unable to breath. Unable to move. Tears poured from my eyes as I ran to his comfort, but was snatched by two of the three remaining Japanese agents.  I hadn't even noticed that the driver had also fallen to his death. “No!! Put me down!” I pleaded. “Jacques get up!!” I continued yelling for my love to come too, until the largest of the men punched me in the stomach, knocking me out. I woke on a cold floor, Hands bound behind me. I had an urge to vomit but held it back while straining my eyes in the dark. Slowly but surely I could make out a window. There were no stars out and no moon out. Starting to panic I groped around in the dark for anything to hold onto. Then it hit me. Everything that had happened played back my head. Jacques. When
I was a born my mother died. My father, who loved her more than anything in the world, blamed it on me. He beat me, raped me, starved me and worst of all, and ignored me. I was all alone. When I was 15 my best friend, who was Jacques, mysteriously knew everything that was going on and killed my father. He killed him and we ran. We started over new lives as artists and somewhere along the way joined the military. Always together. Over the years I had fallen in love with him. No, since I had met him all those years ago I loved him. And he loved me. Back then frustrated tears welled up in my eyes and he gently swiped them away with his arm. No tears for this boy, not anymore. I never told him I loved him, but I didn’t have too. When we would lie together Jacques would slip his hand under my shirt and trace the scars and soothe the remembrance of my fathers hate. I missed that. For the months I was locked up I sat, not knowing why I was on such a mission. Was anyone even looking for me? The loneliness was too much to bear.

From the small window in my cell I could tell that twilight had arrived; the sun was retiring from another prolific day of lighting the paths for millions of travelers that walked amongst the gracious and vicious earth. Spring was alive and many things flourished and thrived. Winter was gone and so was all the icy snow. Life itself seemed to have been reborn within the whole environment. Not just the plants, but also the animals had returned to their lives as they steadily withdrew from hibernation and embarked on another season of forging and fighting. Tears gently fell from my eyes onto my cheeks. I inhaled and sighed softly. With all this exquisiteness and serenity, I felt shoddily out of it. Yes, I desired my once had solitude more than anything, for my life was eventful and far from enjoyable, but so much had happened leaving so much broken and missing. Seclusion, you’ll always be a close companion of mine. After that thought the I felt the cool breeze caress my delicately beautiful face and sieve through my swaying hair. Don’t worry I haven’t forgotten you either I thought with a smile. The wind was also another eternal companion. “How I miss those days,” I said to himself in a low soft voice. Tasting my tears, touching my scars, smelling the air, remembering my lover, I closed his eyes, ready to once again be held in Jacques warm arms.

Fin.