Pierrot's Lover

It was the 45th day of 1915. The day lovers express their adoration with roses and chocolates. I watched the object of my affection clop through the smoky, dark and dirty Salon de Crais. Olivine was the loveliest woman I had ever met. Her skin was the creamy ivory of buttermilk, and her eyes were encircled in heavy fringe of lashes that set off the gray violet hue. She trudged through the salon with thick high heels, and I noticed that her auburn curls hung loose from the rose that held them back in her hair. Olivine was a beauty, she danced and sang in the salon at night, and as the sun rose each morning she scurried up the back stairs to a room where she huddled on the floor as the sunlight gave her warmth to sleep. She was poorer than a church mouse, but Olivine was a queen to me.
I had stayed in Paris after I was released from the army hospital.
The doctor said, “Cecil, you still have your leg, but you’ll need a cane.”
I hobbled like an old man, and women only would take pity on me for a few dollars to sleep with me. I was fooling myself to think Olivine would even give me a smile, but I had to tell her, I loved her.
I dressed like the Pirouette clown Pierrot. I floured my face in white, and took time painting my eyes with the thick black eyebrows and the tiny tear at the corner of my eye. I wore a floppy white shirt and pants. Olivine had did Columbine and Pierrot so many times, I knew it was her favorite.
I slipped up the stairs to her room, and waited just before dawn. The sky was turning the soft blue before the pink burst of the first rays of sun shine through when I heard her shoes on the steps making the clopping sound, like a horse in mud. The smell of her perfume was mixed with the sweat and smoke from the salon, and I almost felt the violets burst into bloom in my nose. I waited eagerly for my Olivine to enter the room, so I could cover her in kisses.
The door creaked open, and I could see clearly from the corner of the room where I hid. Olivine stumbled in and flopped on a pile of straw covered with a blanket. She lounged out and stretched raising her legs nearly over her head as she unhooked each shoe with a moan. I wanted to burst out and grab her, but I waited. The rose was thrown across the room and landed at my feet, and Olivine let out a loud yawn, as she slipped out her brown lace dress. She must have seen my white face in the dark.
“Who’s there?” Olivine asked, holding her dress in front of her.
“I hobbled out on my cane, and smiled, “Cecil, I love you!”
Olivine smiled at me with the sweetest smile, she was speechless.
I made my way to her and held out my hand, “Olivine, you are beautiful.”
Olivine took my hand and looked me up and down before she burst into laughter.
I looked down at my feet, embarrassed by her laughter.
“Why are you wearing, that, that clown costume?”
“It’s Pierrot. Don’t you like it?”
Olivine took a breath, and said, “No, you belong in a circus!” She continued her laughter.
I dropped her hand, and hobbled for the door. I walked out as the sun came up, and my heart was black with anger. I passed through the park, and noticed how the trees were covered with icy dew instead of leaves, and the grass was a mass of orange and brown. The winter was so cold and bleak, and I had become the winter.
I wiped the flour from my face, and I sat in the park for hours, hardly feeling the frigid air. I sat there in the park, and I wished I was dead. I wished I could avoid feeling love or hate, feeling sad or happy. I wanted to look into Olivine’s eyes every day, and say, “I love you.”
As I approached the Olivine’s room, I noticed a soldier hurried down the stairs buttoning his trousers. Olivine laid upstairs, ready for sleep, but it was eternal sleep that I would give her. I opened the door and my beauty lay on her straw mattress spread eagle, and barley clothed. I watched her chest rise and fall, and her parted lips release the sweet breath; I dared to taste in a kiss. Her fingers twitched as though she tried to snap them, and her lips curved into slight smile as she dreamt.
I stood over her, and my hands itched to touch her neck, and feel the pulse of blood in her throat. Knowing, I could press on that vein, and watch her life drain out thrilled me more than a kiss. I couldn’t stand it anymore, and I reached for her neck and wrapped my hands on each side squeezing.
Her hands grabbed mine, and her eyes widened as she recognized my face.
She screeched and gasped.
“Olivine, I love you!”
She squirmed, but my weight held her down. I pressed my thumbs tighter into her throat, and the veins in her eyes popped and red filled the white. Her gray eyes became intense with golden rays of sun of the day, and her limbs were still. I held her face in my hands as I kissed her full lips. Her breath was sweet with wine, and it lingered on her lips.
I whispered in her ear, “You will be with me always.”
I stuck my finger in her eye socket, and pushed into the moist jelly, until the suction let it go, and her eyeball slid into my hand. The round, gray bulb looked into my eyes, and now Olivine would be with me forever.