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“One runs the risk of weeping a little, if one lets himself be tamed.”
― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince
Many times did Verso come back to Lumière. What urged him to return to this town again and again, he had never been truly able to tell. If he had to risk a wild guess, he would blame sentimentalism, this foolish and hurtful thing. What else could spur him to sneak back in a city that was nothing but the husk of his former home, haunted by the ghosts a life forever lost? A place where nobody was waiting for him? However distressing the thought of his own silliness was, at the very least he could find some solace knowing that he was still sensible enough to refrain from mingling with its inhabitants. He was painfully aware that decades spent on the Continent had stripped him of all social graces, he would stand out like a sore thumb amidst the civil company of Lumièrians. No, he preferred to observe them from afar, that was for the best. Besides, there was something both fascinating and tragic in their attempt to cling to a semblance of normalcy, as though they were not all standing in the shadow of the Monolith.
One day though, he broke his self-imposed rule to keep his distance. Perched on a rooftop, Verso was spying on the patrons lounging on the terrace of the Grand Café, fighting the impulse to go sit at a table and order a café noisette, when he heard muffled sobs. A child's sobs. Years upon years of living in the wilds may have hardened him, still his stupid heart bled at the very sound. These were the cries of genuine despair of a young and unguarded soul. It tugged at something deep in Verso’s chest, something that acted against his better judgment and prompted him to seek the source of the sobs.
In an alley close by, Verso found a boy sitting on the steps in front of a house. He could not be more than eight years old, this poor scrawny little thing, with his scrapped knees and a mop of curly brown hair. And he was there, alone, with his legs held in front of his chest like a shield and his sorrow for sole company. The boy was so engrossed in his pain that he did not notice Verso gliding down on a downspout.
"Salut bonhomme. Do you mind if I sit next to you?" Verso said, his voice so gentle that he startled himself.
The boy did not advert his gaze from the pavement in front of him, he merely shook his head. Verso figured this was as good an invitation as he would get. He lowered himself and settled on the cold steps, next to the sniffing boy. They both remained quiet for a while, adjusting to each other’s presence. But as silence stretched on, Verso took the initiative to breach it.
"So…why are you crying?"
Maybe the boy realised that staying mute would not rid him of this troublesome nosy adult, for he resigned himself to answer, his voice a meek whisper:
"The other boys don't want to play with me. They say I'm too weak. They say I can't run fast and I'm not good at climbing trees."
The boy seemed to shrink further on the steps, bracing himself for the final verdict ruled against him.
“They say I’m just a boring nerd.”
Within its tomb of bones and flesh, Verso’s battered heart went out to this poor boy. He recalled all too well how pointlessly cruel children could be. Clea and himself had not always been kind to each other, he remembered how sharp her words could cut, leaving him sobbing in his bedroom.
"Well, that's just mean.” Verso provided, his tone laden with sympathy. “But what about the girls?"
"They don't like boys' games."
Only then did Verso notice the toy that the boy was cradling in his arms, holding it tight against his chest like it was the most precious treasure in the world. It was a tank locomotive, crudely carved from wood, nothing like the onerous tin models he played with as a child. It looked old, worn out by several generations of children who played with it before outgrowing it, dents marring the wood and faded paint flaking out. Nothing in Lumière ever went to waste. In the boy’s hand though, it looked well-loved.
"It's a nice train that you have here. Do you like them?"
"Yeah?" came the boy’s warry response.
"You know, there are still a few of them on the Continent.” Verso said nonchalantly, as a matter of fact, eyeing the boy’s reaction from the corner of his eye. “They're not running anymore, though. Such a pity…"
The boy suddenly wiped his head up to stare at Verso with wide brown eyes where wonder and leftover tears mixed. Any sorrow was all but forgotten.
"Is that true?"
"I would never lie about trains. It’s much too serious business.” Verso grinned. “Besides, my best friend lives in a train station, so trust me, I know what I'm talking about. What's your name, mon grand?"
"I'm Gustave. Nice to meet you."
Gustave extended a hand for Verso to shake, leaving him halfway between bemusement and fond amusement at the sudden seriousness of this distinguished little man.
"Verso, at your service” Verso chuckled, accepting the offered hand. “Gustave, it's nice to meet a fellow train enthusiast. Are you feeling a bit better now?"
The boy nodded, wiping the trails of tears left on his cheeks, the hint of a shy smile now on his lips. Relief bloomed in Verso’s chest at the sight, along with the oddest idea. One that Esquie would definitely approve, and that Monoco would definitely tut at.
"I know I'm a boring old grown-up, but I can play with you. If you’d like."
Something shifted in Gustave’s expression as he considered Verso, his lips pursed and his eyes narrowed. Verso could feel the weight of the careful assessment he was subjected to. Whatever conclusions the boy reached, it must have been favourable.
"Alright." he simply said.
Verso and Gustave ended up spending the whole afternoon together. When was the last time that Verso had had this much fun? He could not remember, he could not care less. What mattered was that they had built together a track system for Gustave's train, made up stories for imaginary passengers, impersonating them with silly voices, chased each other in the back alleys of Lumière and giggled without being able to stop. With some long forgotten franc coins found in Verso's pockets, Gustave bought candies that stuck to their grinning teeth.
At some point, they went to one of the lonely beaches that stretched on the outskirts of town. For the kids of Lumière, these were as much playgrounds as treasure troves. The tides brought the most mundane things back to shore, but for a child, magic and dreams could be kindled from any fuel. With bits of driftwood, a discarded piece of cloth and a torn fishing net, Gustave and Verso crafted a kite, trading stories as their fingers worked. Gustave told Verso about his family, his life in Lumière, his dream to become one day a train driver, and in turn Verso treated him with tales of his adventures on the Continent. Gustave drank his every word with star-struck eyes. Whether he believed Verso or not, though, he did not say.
Once their task accomplished, they gazed at the product of their efforts with not little amount of satisfaction: it looked wonky at best, but it flew. It flew high, high in the overcast sky.
"Look, Verso! Look! It flies!" Gustave shouted, beaming with joy and pride.
And in that instant, Verso was not a bitter and lonely man anymore. He was not nearly a century old, he was eight again and he was playing with his friend. The kite bobbed in the sky, as feather-light and carefree as Verso felt. And like the kite he wanted to forget that his freedom was an illusion, that a leash kept him tethered, forbidding him to drift too far.
Verso, wished he could capture this moment, etch it in his memory, every atom of it: the iodine smell in the wind that ruffled their hair as they chased the kite, the stray rays of sunshine piercing the clouds and warming their skin, the coolness of the damp sand beneath their bare feet. He erased from this moment the looming silhouette of the Monolith, covering it with the echoing sound of Gustave's innocent laughter.
***
Verso stayed a bit longer in the warmth of this memory, replaying it like a shadow theatre on the taut veil of his closed eyelids. Waves roared in his ears and salty spray mixed with pooling tears. He opened his eyes to see the rotund form of Esquie swimming away amidst a frothing sea, Maelle and her friends on his back. He set his eyes on them, waited until they were all too small for him to see, if only not to look down on the lifeless body next to him. For there lay Gustave.
Years after years, Verso had returned to Lumière, first to keep on indulging in his nostalgy, and then to keep a watchful eye on Maelle. During his many visits, he had always spared some time to see how his little friend was faring. From the shadows, he had seen Gustave grow into a kind and clever man, a handsome one. He did not become a train driver like he dreamed to be, but he was not alone anymore, he was well-loved. His life had purpose. This was everything Verso could ever wish for him. And if Verso had to be honest for once, a weight had been lifted from his shoulder knowing that Gustave had been the one to finally take Maelle in. He had known that she would be well cared for.
All of this was gone now. What little light and comfort the memory of that afternoon on the beach had brought into his withered heart had been smothered. He had let it die along Gustave -sweet, innocent Gustave- and he hated himself for it. He hated that he had been too much of a coward to take the risk of having Gustave stand between his goal and him, of having to make a choice. His blood was on his hand as much as it was on Renoir’s.
Verso knelt next to him. Gustave's brown eyes were staring unblinkingly to the horizon, as though even now his gaze could not be adverted from Maelle. With trembling fingers, Verso brushed blood-soaked hair from Gustave's brow, tenderly. Then he closed his eyes, forever shielding his sight from the sad bleakness of this world.
"I'm so sorry." Verso breathed, almost a sob, as he bent down and pressed a kiss on his forehead.
Maybe this would have all played out differently in another life, another world. Maybe he would have been brave enough to take a leap of faith, and dare to hope for another end to this story than the one he had in sight. A future when he would have managed to snap the tether and let the kite finally fly free.