I light two of the other candles and place them on either side of Mirabelle. Then I light the last candle and put it at her feet. Beside it, I stand the almost empty bottle with the pear inside. I settle myself on the floor for a last look. I stay there in the dark at her feet on my knees for a long time. I’m trying to create a vision of her for myself, for the long years ahead. Finally it is time.
‘I hope you like this, Mirabelle. I think it will be years before anyone comes and finds you. You are close to home and with those you love. I wish I could stay here with you but I must go.’
I stand and look down at her. She seems so small, so alone, but it is all I can do.
‘You will hear the bells, Mirabelle. I can always think of you listening to the bells, being part of them. No one else will know what those bells mean, only us. I’ll never forget you, my love. Goodbye, Mirabelle, goodbye. You know how much I love you.’
I open the trapdoor and begin backing down the stone steps. I close the door behind me. I can barely make it down, my knees are shaking so, and I’m crying. I open the door to the tower, go through, and lock it behind me. I look at the key in my hand, I decide to keep it, I’ll carry it always as the key to all we had together.
I climb back over the fence and run across the boulevard, back to our apartment. I take another bath, change into my clothes for the airport, roll the clothes I was wearing into a ball, and stuff them into yet another blue plastic sack.
I go around and close all the shutters and windows. I look one last time at Mirabelle’s beautiful harpsichord, then at her lovely white bed floating in her red room, at my room where she so recently was on my bed. Tears are streaming down my face, I’m sobbing. I turn off all the lights, pick up my paintings, the paint box, and my last plastic bag. I back out the door and lock it. I put the key to the apartment on top of the box for the electric meter. It’s so high I need to jump. Nobody will ever find it.
After I dump my bag of sweaty clothes into yet another trash can, I stand and wait for a cab at the taxi tête de station in front of Le Drugstore. I wait quite a while before one comes. It is growing lighter. I have my box and duffel bag of paintings on either side of me. I look up at the tower of Saint-Germain-des-Prés. I think of Mirabelle up there. I think I see the slight glow of the candles. I lean into the taxi and tell the driver I want to go to the airport at Roissy. He nods for me to get in. He climbs out to help put my box and bag in the trunk. I stay out to help him.
Just then it starts. The bells begin to ring for six o’clock. It’s the bell to wake Mirabelle. I take the bags from the hands of the taxi driver. He stares at me. I shake my head no, still staring at the tower, listening.
Someone else commandeers the cab. I listen through all the bells as they ring and then to the distant answer of Saint-Sulpice. It’s time to go, I know, but not quite yet. I need more time. I watch the sun rise.
Also by William Wharton
Birdy
Dad
A Midnight Clear
Scumbler
Pride
Tidings
Franky Furbo
Ever After
Houseboat on the Seine
Shrapnel
Copyright
The Friday Project
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Text copyright © William Wharton
Originally published in Great Britain, Granta Books 1991
This edition published by The Friday Project in 2013
William Wharton asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
Source ISBN: 9780007458011
Ebook Edition © 2013 ISBN: 9780007458110
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