Ticking Hearts – Part 4
Lost a lot of the thread that I had for Sweetest Thing over this last week.
Think Game of Thrones, which is less a study of the characters in Westeros and more of a recounting of the history of Westeros politics. The individual actors aren’t important, and frequently die, but it is the realms and the various political factions which are the true protagonists.
For a counter example of what I’m trying to do, think more along the lines of Aliens. Ellen Ripley is in fantastical situations, futuristic technology, and hip-deep in the series titular antagonists, but it is Ellen which is the driving force behind the story, and what we see of the world is glimpsed around the edges as we follow her and gather in the little details present with each new set piece. We as the reader / viewer are trying to put the pieces together as to how everything fits and connects, but that’s not central or integral to the story advancing. I love that about the movie, that it embodies the spirit of ‘show, don’t tell’ to such perfection.
There’s art to be found in both approaches, but I certainly have a preference for the latter. To me, the ability to master the art of showing us how a world works rather than simply telling us is a true display of craftsmanship.
I hope one day I can emulate such works. For now…
Ticking Hearts – Part 4
She groaned as the light crept over the open window-sill. Her head had been resting on her work bench, staring for hours at the beautiful ring and the brass bird who had stolen it for her.
She still hadn’t decided what she was going to do about either, and now it was time for her to work.
She groaned into the wood; no matter how tired she was, the fish did not sell themselves. She stared down at the tiny bird.
“Will you be okay up here all by yourself Archimedes?”
Archimedes tilted his head, hopping lightly from one foot to the next and gently fluttering his wings. He had been doing this the whole time Hanne had studied him and the sapphire ill-gotten gains.
“I am in no danger up here Mistress Jehanne. There is no reason you cannot leave me here.”
Hanne let out a breath, and then swept the ring into one of the drawers set into the large bench. She’d decide what to do about it after the day’s labors.
“Just stay in the room and try not to make too much noise Archimedes. I don’t know what to tell Master Marchand about you yet, so do your best to make sure you’re not found.”
Archimedes nodded once, his aspect becoming less fidgety and more focused now that she’d given him a task.
She shut the door, listening for the rumbling steps that would signify that the large fish merchant had begun his morning routine. She heard nothing, so she still had time to get things ready. She hated seeing his smug smile when she was caught out with her head in the clouds or at the end of a long night spent tinkering.
She crept downstairs, ready to tidy the shop front, clean the small dock jutting into the Seine, and prepare the display which would soon be bursting with the day’s take from the trade barges making their way upriver.
She reached the bottom of the stairs which led to the living quarters, when a triumphant basso laugh made her stop in her tracks and let out a small groan.
“Oh-ho! What’s this, the prodigal daughter returns to my humble fishery? I could swear she almost works here!”
Edmond Marchand crossed his enormous, muscled arms and let loose a charming smile, full of the same warmth and vigor that he applied to everything in his life. Hanne would never tell him in a million years, but she lived for that smile.
So of course she returned the warm greeting and gentle teasing with her usual rejoinder, a sullen frown full of smoldering anger with some resentment mixed-in, and a huff tacked on for good measure.
Edmond saw through of course, but he played his part in the morning ritual and started making placating gestures as he shook his head and smiled.
“Of course little fish. I forget my place. You’re not my daughter of course. My mistake. You’ve only slept under my roof for almost six years after I caught you stealing. Badly, I might add. I feed you, I clothe you, I pay you, and I care for you. But yes, daughter you are not.”
Hanne shook her fist at Edmond as he mentioned her catastrophic attempt at burglary so shortly after she had obtained her freedom. She’d finally had enough of the orphanage and the pawing hands of those more interested in her body than her adoption, so at the age of ten, she’d simply left the orphanage. Paris was a big city, and her name hadn’t always been Jehanne Le Paris. Edmond never questioned it, however, and the morning he’d found her trying to steal a bass which had to weigh at least as much as she did was still the best of her life.
He hadn’t said anything, he’d simply settled a big meaty paw onto her scrawny shoulder, stopping the would be thief in her tracks as abruptly as running into a wall would’ve. She’d turned, mortified and blushing as he studied her dirt smeared and hunger-pinched face.
“What are you running from, little fish?”
He hadn’t been mean, demanding, or even angry with her. All she had seen in his face and eyes was sadness and worry. Hanne was tired, hungry, scared, ashamed, and more than a little guilty, so what happened next was a rather natural extension of how she had felt.
She simply sank to her knees, dropping the fish as she went, and cried harder than she ever had before. They were the tears of a child forced to learn that no one would care for her. No one would comfort her, or feed her, or care for her. The world didn’t look out for Jehanne Le Paris, and now she couldn’t even look out for herself.
They were the tears of grief as her childhood finally died.
The big fishmongers arms had wrapped around her almost without her noticing, warm as any cheery winter hearth, and she slowly realized that he was crying too. Not nearly as sloppy a job of it as she was managing, but the tears rolled down his smooth cheeks and over his enormous lantern jaw nonetheless.
“Come little fish. Let’s get you some food yes? You look like you could eat through the whole ocean.”
He’d scooped her up without effort, absentmindedly picking up the fish as he got to his feet, and Hanne simply burrowed into him, crying and hugging, trying to squeeze him so hard that all the pain and sadness would fall out of her from the strength of her embrace.
He fed her that day, and the next. Gave her a room to sleep in, even though it took her a few years to realize it had once been his daughters. He’d lost his wife and daughter to illness just a year before their meeting, and having her in the home helped him heal just as much as it helped her. She had learned how to read and write with a voracious appetite for learning that the orphanage hadn’t ever bothered acknowledging, and she had soon read through the small stockpile that had once been his own daughters obsession. The smiles and laughter had begun returning to Edmond Marchands life, and as they did, the books had come. Everything she had wanted and needed had come, and it was because of the big, beautiful man whom she would always call father.
The frown died away in the morning light through the open shutters of the fishery, and her own smile blossomed in answer to his. There was only so long Hanne could fake being mad at the man who had given her everything and asked nothing in return. She dashed over to the big man, throwing herself into a hug which would’ve knocked any normal man over. He barely budged, and his arms enfolded her with the same warmth that they always did.
Jehanne Le Paris may not have a lot of the things she’d hoped for in her life, but she had Edmond. As she stood there basking in his obvious love for her, that was enough.
To be continued…
Fatherfully,
Justin
