Chapter 16

Where Matters take

a Turn for Testagrossa

 

 

 

Journal Entry

 

“I was in a hurry, intending to come between the tactless Gaudin and the hypersensitive Testagrossa, if, indeed, the increasingly unpredictable Italian decided to show up. I spun down the spiral stairs to the perpetually shaded cave with its ancient beams, wooden tables and sputtering candles. After a moment, I spotted only Dormoy, wearing his old worried and confused face, instead of the new, self-assured, alchemist’s one. From where he was seated, towards the rear, Dormoy had contorted his body into a half turn, the better to peer at the ceiling of the cave, furthest from the staircase, into which a small opening had been hewn, to permit the ventilation of air to the outside.

“Through the opening, he could distinctly hear voices that grew louder and more excited by the minute. So loud had the voices become, that they drowned out the rumble of wagon wheels and the cat calls of street urchins with which they had been in competition. As I approached and listened, too, it became clear that the voices were one male and one female, and that they were speaking Italian. I gave my friend a furtive look and pointed, my finger shooting up between our faces, at the gaping hole behind them. Before listening to any more of the exchange and without a word to Dormoy, I spun around and bounded back up the spiral staircase, from whence I had just come.

“Once I had attained the ground floor, I turned, not left, toward the door, but right, into the kitchen. With one foot committed, I halted and turned, having caught sight of my friend, Gaudin, out of the corner of my eye, just then entering the door. Wordlessly, I motioned to my friend to continue on below, while I resumed my path into the kitchen.

“Such was my stride and the determined expression I no-doubt wore, that no one tried to stop me, before I reached and push open the heavy door of the service entrance. Once through the door, I found himself in the open early evening air, my foot partially covering the vent from the cave, below.

“After I had shut out the rectangle of light that had flooded into the alley behind me, I stepped into the arms of the night. On the opposite corner, almost totally obscured in the approaching darkness, except for the first dim illumination of a crescent moon, I spied two bent figures, under a torn awning in the gathering gloom. I was unable to make out their faces, although they could not have been more than 20 feet from where I stood. Nevertheless, I had no trouble identifying the lumbering bear-like form of Testagrossa and the slim, diminutive silhouette of Caterina.

“They took no notice, when the restaurant service entrance door had swung open, and now that I was standing concealed in the shadow of the restaurant building, it was as if both they and I were still alone. Although I could not understand all of their words, I could not mistake the desperation and frustration of their gesticulating arms and crouching body language. I heard the word, ‘bambino’ and a horrible premonition seized me. Suddenly, they turned, startled by the sound of a familiar voice which had simply said the name: ‘Bernardo’.

“Alarm melted into surprise, as I stepped out of the building’s shadow and stood at their side, under the awning. To their immense relief, it was not the heavy set dish washer or Marie’s husband; it was what they desperately feared and needed: a friend.

“‘Henri,’ came the pleading sound, bursting from Caterina’s lips. I could see her raised face, cheeks streaked with tears. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry!’

“‘It’s not your fault,’ said Testagrossa, having regained some of his composure. ‘It is that recreant chevalier who must be made to pay for this!’

“Although certain that I already knew the answer, I posed the question: ‘Will someone please tell me what has happened?’ They both looked shameful, but it was Caterina who raised her head to speak.

“‘I promised Bernardo that I would break it off with him – with Hugh – and I meant to, I wanted to. I returned his gifts and told his servant that the dictates of my honour, my modesty and my heart had so prevailed that I determined thus and begged his gentleness to concur withal.

“‘I felt relieved, but when I returned to our lodgings, my mother was in a torrent of tears, hot with pity and rage. She called me selfish and petty and faithless in my duty to a mother who had suffered long and back breaking humiliation to keep me in clothes and some semblance of genteel prospects. “And what am I to do without title or means? Have you given a thought to my old age, abandoned by your father, abandoned by fortune, fallen from a cottage and modest household to the chambers of a common washer woman? At least with Monsieur de Frontenac there was a chance that we would be favoured with court lodgings – even a gentleman’s mistress and her train are afforded these. Now what shall we do, whom shall you marry – the son of a butcher or stone mason? After all I have sacrificed for you, the least you could do is think, THINK of me!” She raved and wept until I agreed to send to his servant to beg for an audience.’

“‘And what of your honour, your modesty and your word to ME,’ asked the wounded and desperate Testagrossa.

 “All that Caterina could manage were a series of shaking sobs in between rasping intakes of breath.

“I thought about the other side of the triangle. ‘And for de Frontenac you felt…?’

“‘Nothing, and when I saw him next he only confirmed what I already knew, that he was too passionately in love with himself to seek anything but self-affirmation from any other person.’

“I hated to ask what I knew was coming next. ‘Did he take you back on stricter terms, did his pride demand some sort of satisfaction?’

“‘His wounded pride demanded subjugation to his great will. Gone was the polite banter and play of courtship. Teeth bared, he demanded that I unmask my body to him and give myself to him, right then and there, in what I swear was more like revenge than love.’

“‘That base and recreant son of a mongrel BITCH,’ exploded Testagrossa while hot tears of rage seared his puffy cheeks. His fists, raised helplessly to the gathering mists of night, were clenched white at the knuckles.

“Caterina’s eyes flashed in sudden anger, as if it were happening to her right then and there. ‘I turned from him, feeling nothing but loathing and disgust. I’ve never felt so angry, so murderously angry before. I told him “NO” and swung my right arm around, close fisted. I think I hit him in the face, because he stepped back momentarily, but then he came at me. He hit me twice, and when I fell, he dragged me by my hair to a near-by couch. When I made to squirm away he grabbed both my hands with one of his, and with the other he pulled a knife from his belt and held to my throat. Then he released my hands. Without taking his eyes from my throat and his knife, he picked up a goblet from the small round table that was in front of the couch. I also caught a glimpse of an open beaker lying on its side at the edge of the table.

“’Drink,’ he said, through clenched teeth. I remembered my hands and moved to push the cup away, but he was too quick for me. He angrily evaded my hands and pressed the rim of the cup to my lips. I felt the liquid dripping from my chin onto my neck. He poured until it filled my throat and I swallowed without meaning to. Then I could no longer feel my limbs, as if I were trapped in a kind of paralysis. I felt slimy, sticky hands all over me. As if I were a spectator in a nightmare, I watched as he jammed his fullness in me, again and again…and although I tried, I could neither move nor speak.’ Caterina’s helpless anger gave way to racking sobs and uncontrollable tears.

“I put an arm around each of them and made ‘shushing’ sounds, in a helpless attempt to sooth them. ‘It was rape, not love, and the shame, Caterina, is not yours to bear, but his.’

“‘What I have to bear is, I hope, longer lived than shame. My monthly course of blood has stopped. I’m daily sick at the very smell of morning porridge. I am carrying his child!’

“In the muted pause that ensued, I noted that Testagrossa moved his hand ever so slightly until it covered her trembling one. His large, puffy paw softly caressed her thin, filament like fingers and the back of her chilled hand, warming and soothing the pain in rising waves that radiated to her bosom. They lingered thus a long moment, but they never once permitted their averted eyes to make contact.

“‘How long?’ I asked, finally breaking the silence.

“‘A month,’ said Testagrossa, as if the question had been addressed to him. ‘It was one of the nights she didn’t show up for work and Mme Blanchard was in a particularly surly mood.’

“‘And Madame Blanchard is not in your confidence? Does your mother know?’

“‘God, no! I cannot bring myself to tell her.’

“‘And de Frontenac,’ I suggested, as tentatively and delicately as I could. ‘Did you tell him?’

“‘I sent word to his servant, that I wished to speak with him, but the servant returned with a missive from his master that he had no interest in any further intercourse with me, and that he would not receive any further messages from me to him.’

“‘So he doesn’t know you are with child?’

“‘Against his instructions, I sent a note, confessing all, which was returned with the protestation that his lordship does not even know me. His servant warned me that if I persisted in pursuit of either his heart or his fortune, his master would denounce me in the highest circles as a pathetic little drab and a whore.’

“The words came choking from her throat, with a sickly, rasping sound, followed by a flood of heaving tears.

“‘Though I may burn in hell, I’ll slit his throat. I will disembowel him and hang his private parts for public display,’ declared the distraught Testagrossa, his clenched fists raised to the air above him.

“‘Enough, my friend, I pleaded, all the while trying to lower Testagrossa’s arms to his side. ‘Our first concern is with Caterina and the child, and for tonight, there is nothing to do but to keep this to ourselves... Caterina, go back to the kitchen, and no tears in front of Marie or any of the cooks or servers. Bernardo, come with me and we will plot our revenge together.’ I put my hand on my friend’s large, bear like shoulder, but Testagrossa shrugged it off.

“‘No, unhand me! I know what I must do!’ With that, he pivoted on his heels and ran off into the night.

“I was certain that Testagrossa would try to find and kill de Frontenac, and probably get killed himself in the process, the big fool!

“Caterina must have been thinking the same thing, for after only a moment’s hesitation, during which she glanced at the restaurant’s service entrance for perhaps the last time, she turned and ran down the hill to intercept and stop the man who loved her enough to die for her.

“Then I sprinted around the corner of the alley, hoping to still be able to see Bernardo and Caterina heading down the Montaigne Sainte-Geneviève.

“Sure enough, I saw a lumbering, bear-like silhouette and her slender shadow moving somewhere between a fast walk and a trot towards the foot of the slope, where blvd Montagne Sainte-Geneviève intersects with rue Traversiere. I broke into a trot, to cover enough distance to keep the two figures in sight but not to get close enough for them to realize they were being followed. Half way down the boulevard, I slowed a little, to keep my distance, and only then heard my name being called from behind.

“Without breaking my stride, I glanced quickly behind me and saw two figures heading toward me at a full run. A minute later, Dormoy and Gaudin had dropped to a synchronous jog, positioned on either side of me. Gaudin suggested that we draw back some more, since three pursuers were easier to spot than one. At the same time, the shadows were deepening, and we risked losing sight of the two figures in the encroaching obscurity ahead, if we did not keep up. The lumbering giant and his shadowy companion must have been deeply engrossed in conversation, however, because neither of them showed any sign of awareness of their pursuers or anyone else in or near their path.

“When they reached the intersection with Rue Traversiere, the figures stopped for the first time and looked about. I was certain that Testagrossa would insist on continuing straight to Maubert, thence to the Pont St Michel, the Isle de la Cité and the Right Bank, but instead, he turned right onto Rue Traversiere.

“‘That’s away from the river - and away from de Frontenac!’ I pointed out, panting breathlessly. The three us ran the rest of the distance to the intersection and looked right. The twin silhouettes were nowhere to be seen. Had we been spotted? Abandoning all pretence of stealth, we sprinted down the Traversiere to the corner, where there was only a narrow alley to the left and a wide street to the right which cut back, paralleling the Montaigne Sainte-Geneviève. We looked to our right, and there were the two shadows, doubling back in the direction they had come. It was then that the two figures looked around, spotted their pursuers and, turning back, continued their course in the direction of the Ecurie and the Abbey of Sainte-Geneviève.

“Testagrossa and Caterina did not seem to care that we were dogging their steps. They strode with neither hesitation nor haste, like people on a mission who would not be diverted from its completion. They did not go back to the Ecurie as I had, at first, supposed that they might. Instead they headed straight for the main gate of the abbey, and, without waiting for us to catch up, passed through the oaken doors and out of sight.

“My breathless friends looked confused and totally at a loss about what to do next. I smiled and said, ‘I have an idea.’”