Chapter Text
Love is blindness, I don't wanna see.
Won't you wrap the night around me?
Oh my heart, love is blindness.
– Love is Blindness (U2)
When I left Europe and came to New York, I met Grantaire--who represented everything I despised--but, if personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him. He was a cynic, but he believed in love and freedom, and he had an extraordinary gift for hope, something I have never found in any other person and I will never find again.
My family have been prominent. My father, Auguste Combeferre, agreed to finance me and that's why I came to US. Permanently, I thought. I rented a house on that island which extends itself due east of New York and where there are two unusual formations of land. Twenty miles from the city.
I lived at West Egg. My house was very close to a huge place with a swimming pool, a big garden and, for sure, a lot of rooms. It was Grantaire's mansion. Or rather, as I didn't know him, it was a house belonging to a man of that name.
Across the bay there was the East Egg, where Charlotte and Enjolras lived. Enjolras was a distant relative and I met Charlotte some years before.
I didn't know why they came to New York. They had spent a year in France and then came back here, bored and rich together. This was a permanent move, said Enjolras over the telephone, but I didn't believe it.
**
And so it happened that on a warm evening I drove to the East Egg to see them. Their house was big and more elegant than I expected. Charlotte had changed a lot. She was, without doubt, the one who had everything in control, the dictator. Two shining, arrogant eyes had established dominance over her face.
We talked for a few minutes on the veranda.
"I've got a nice place here," she said, as if she lived alone there.
We walked through a big hallway and I saw Enjolras with a young woman. I must have stood for a few moments listening to them.
The woman introduced herself as Eponine.
Enjolras smiled and then laughed, an absurd, charming little laugh, and I smiled too and hugged him.
He began to ask me questions in his low, thrilling voice. His face was sad and lovely with blue eyes and a bright passionate mouth. His hair was still blonde and long.
We talked for a while about the old days, when Charlotte rested her hand on my shoulder.
"What are you doing, Combeferre?"
"I work in a book shop."
"Which one?"
I told her.
"Never heard of it," she remarked decisively, and that annoyed me.
"You can come one of these days," I answered shortly. "If you're not planning on leaving again."
"Oh, I'll stay here, don't you worry," she said, glancing at Enjolras and then back at me.
"I'm bored," Eponine complained, "I've been lying on that sofa for as long as I can remember."
"Don't look at me," Enjolras retorted. "I've been trying to get you to New York all afternoon."
"No, thanks," said Eponine. "Combeferre, you live in West Egg," she continued. "I know somebody there."
"Uh, I honestly don't know a single--"
"You must know Grantaire."
"Grantaire?" demanded Enjolras. "What Grantaire?"
Before I could reply that he was my neighbor, their butler--I didn't even know they had one--announced dinner.
Enjolras was still looking at me.
"We ought to plan something to fight this heat," yawned Eponine, sitting down at the table.
"All right," said Enjolras. "What'll we plan?" He turned to me helplessly.
We were talking when a phone rang. Charlotte's. She frowned, pushed back her chair and without a word left the dining room. Enjolras leaned forward again, his voice glowing and singing.
"I am really happy to have you at my table, Combeferre." Then suddenly he threw his napkin on the table and excused himself, and left the room too.
Eponine and I looked at each other. I was about to speak when she shushed me. She leaned forward, unashamed, trying to hear what was happening outside.
"This Grantaire you spoke of--" I said.
"Shh. Don't talk. I want to hear what is happening."
"What?" I asked innocently.
"You mean to say you don't know?" said Eponine, honestly surprised. "I thought everybody knew."
"I don't."
"Oh..." she said hesitantly, "Charlotte's got some man in New York."
"Got some man? A lover?" I asked.
Eponine nodded.
"He might have the decency not to call her at dinner time. Don't you think?"
Before I even realized that Charlotte had someone else, she and Enjolras were back at the table.
"It was important! Sure!" cried Enjolras.
The telephone rang again, and Charlotte left the room for a second time.
Enjolras took his face in his hands. He had changed a lot too for sure, but not outside.
"We don't know each other very well, Combeferre," he said suddenly.
"We haven't been in contact for a while, true."
"True." He repeated. "Well, I've had a very bad time, and I'm pretty cynical about everything, recently. Me! Can you believe it? I have to go to bed. Good night, Combeferre. Eponine."
I was confused, said goodbye to Eponine and drove back home.
**
I saw the silhouette of a man close to my neighbor's mansion, standing with his hands in his pockets and looking in front of him. I wasn't able to tell if he was looking at the stars or at the house in front of his--Charlotte and Enjolras' house. Something suggested to me that it was Grantaire himself.
I decided to say hello to him and introduce myself. But I had a feeling he was content to be there alone. Even if I wasn't close to him, and couldn't even look at his face, I could have sworn he was trembling. I glanced at the same direction, and saw nothing except the house and a single red light, that might have been the end of a dock. When I looked once more for Grantaire he had vanished.