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Montparnasse stepped out of the way as a carriage rattled past him. He slendered forward letting his eyes discreetly observe the people who rushed by.
It apperead like a lazy action; a dreamer walking around with an absent look, his lips curled in a faint smile that he had perfectioned just right over the years to make him look careless and harmless.
But while everyone else spared him just a glance and then kept going on their way, he observed every single person who passed him by: rich and poor, young and old, smiling and frowning, almost all of them had something he could obtain with just a quick snatch of his hand, an excusing smile and a bow. Sometimes less, sometimes more, it always ended with his pockets being just a little bit heavier.
He stepped over the stinking remains of one of the horses that had rushed by earlier, it was already disgustingly mingling with the grey snow. As he did so, he took a moment to admire his new shoes. They were black and shining and had belonged to a man who had walked with his chin raised high, with several rings on his fingers and a watch on his pulse. He had encountered Montparnasse’s glance and frowned, an almost patrician disdain had appeared on his crunched up face. A renmant of the old aristocracy, then? Montparnasse had thought, and had barely contained a grin. And as he had recognised the stitched family sign on his waistcoat that Babet had showed him some days earlier, he had decided.
He had followed the grey haired man into an alley, looked around if there would be any witnesses, found none, and advanced. The man had just had time to widen his eyes and open his mouth and then it had already been too late.
It had been way too easy to kill him, really. His shoes were just a little bit too big for Montparnasse, but he had taken the dead man’s handkarchief, ripped it in two (how easy that fine material had yielded under his touch!) and stuffed it behind his heels, they snugged uncomfortably against his toes now with every step he took, but it had been worth it.
He raised his head again and kept walking, finding that sadly enough there was no one really interesting on the streets today. He fumbled with a button on his coat, it was getting off, again. He sighed, the whole coat wasn’t in a very fine condition, but he had worn it for years now, and he had formed a certain emotional attachment to it. He had still been very small when he had stolen it; it had been enourmous on him, he had looked quite ridicoulous actually. But it had offered him a kind of safety, a kind of shield against the outer world. He remembered standing beneath the thick and warm fabric, his chin up, trying to hide his cold, trembling hands without looking cowardly or pitiful.
He also remembered the man he had stolen it from. He had had brown hair and a big running, red nose. He had coughed and shouted at him to get out of the way as he had accidentally stumbled into him and fallen on the street. Then he had kicked him, still a boy, thin and hungry, barely more than a twig; the man had grumbled under his breath that reeked of alcohol, and started to get going. But then he had swayed a bit, and Montparnasse had watched from the floor, fascinated and a little scared, as the man had started falling.
He had just managed to roll out of the way as the man had crashed down beside him. Blood had started flowing from under the man’s head on the cobblestones, he had been undoubtly dead. Just like that. Montparnasse had stared for a moment, then, already a learned thief, he had begun to go through the man’s pockets.
Just as he was taking the coat off, though, the man had given a shudder, sat forward and tried to grab the boy. Montparnasse had muffled a shout, and as the dirty hands had touched his neck, he had trust the new knife he had just found in the man’s pocket straight forwards, straight into the man’s chest.
The man had gasped, his blue eyes wide, and fallen down again. Just like that, Montparnasse had killed a man for the first time.
Afterwards, he had cleaned his hands on his old jacket, left it behind with the body, and stumbled away, hiding himself in the midst of the Parisian people.
Incredible how clear that memory still appeared in his mind.
Montparnasse shuddered and drew the coat thighter around his shoulders, it still didn’t fit him completely and he doubted it ever would, but he had decided he would keep it until it was completely worn out. Maybe he would need to steal a new one, though. It was getting cold, colder than any of the other years. The sky was grey above him, maybe it would even snow again that day. His breath was forming little white clouds before him. The few trees that raised in the gardens he strolled by were naked and heavy with snow. He rubbed his glowed fingers together and kept looking for a new victim.
And that was when he noticed the slight figure walking just to his right, watching him intently, trying to be discreet. For a second he felt flattered that someone would look so entraced with him. Then he felt anger at himself for not noticing sooner; what was becoming of him, drowning like this in memories? Then he looked at the figure again and found himself unable to think about anything other.
They were tall and willowy. Their hair was red, bound in a long braid full of colourful ribbons. They wore a long dark violet coat and underneath an orange vest with stitched flowers on it. For a moment Montparnasse couldn’t see if they were wearing skirts or a pair of these new oriental wide pants, he couldn’t even see if they were man or woman. Then he decided it didn’t matter. What a strange creature, though. Their face was pale and full of freckles, lovely, but Montparnasse was too far away to recognize their eye colour. For a second he found himself incredibly saddened by this.
Then he shook himself. The odd stranger still looked at him, they didn’t seem to have noticed that they had been discovered. Montparnasse smiled a bit wider; well, time to use this to his advantage.
He kept walking as if nothing had happened, but he felt the stranger’s gaze on him and heard the stranger’s feet clattering on the street to keep up with him. Finally he turned to his left, into a side alley, and heard them coming to a stop behind him. He kept walking for a little while, just to get deeper into the alley and further away from any crowds, the stranger still followed him.
Finally, when he was satisfied with their place, Montparnasse turned around and smiled.
The redhead stopped and looked up at him. Their eyes were brown, Montparnasse gleefully noted, brown like autumn leaves, like healthy wood, a lively, golden brown. He ran his eyes over them, and then leaned forward, brought his face very near to theirs- Well, who are you, little finch? And why are you following me?- he whispered. No one else could have heard him. The stranger was avoiding his gaze and looking down, which was a pity, but their cheeks were almost as red as their hair, and Montparnasse was sure that wasn’t just because of the cold.
They wrung their hands and gave a breathy chuckle -It must seem very odd, that I follow you like this, I admit it is unseemly. But you seemed very odd too, a dark crow in the midst of grey pidgeons- their voice was clear, and their tone was an exciting mix between excuse and embarassment, curiousity and amusement. They raised their eyes again, and Montparnasse let it happen, he lost himself in them for just a moment. He blinked.
They smiled up at him. -You have such an interesting face, dear Monsieur, I couldn’t afford to lose it, though you were truly as fleeting as the muse of inspiration.- So the finch was more daring than he had thought. Montparnasse felt a thrill of expectation run through him. -And? Is it still as interesting from such a different perspective?- He leaned in again, let their noses almost touch. Their eyelids started to close -Even more so.- Montparnasse raised a hand and touched their face, then he gently put a lock of hair behind their ear. Their eyes closed.
So, Montparnasse put his lips to theirs and, in the same moment, discreetly snatched up the wallet the stranger wore almost too obviously in their right pocket. He ignored the little pull of uneasiness in his stomach. They didn’t seem to notice that they had just been robbed.
They were still kissing, though it was only slightly more than a shared breath, a delicate press of lips, like the soft petals of roses, or the touch of dawn. Montparnasse found himself enjoying it more than he thought, and was surprised as he felt regret when he leaned away again. -Why, this was nice, little firefly. But I’m afraid I have to leave you now.-
His voice was raspier than he expected. They were slightly smiling and looking at him through lashes covered in little snowflakes. Had it already started to snow again? He cleared his throat. They raised a hand and passed their fingers lightly over his forehead, over one of his eyebrows, while murmuring, absently -What greek profile and black eyes…What red lips and dark skin….are you a forgotten mythical figure? A classical dream come to me to take me away to a land long dead?- their eyes looked into his, squinted- Or maybe a nightmare? Do you sing and dance with madness in my sleep?- they cocked their head to a side, smiled wider and whispered -You shall be present in many of my future poems, I imagine, dear, black crow.- Montparnasse blinked again, struck speechless.
Confused and a little dazed he stood and watched as the stranger turned around and walked away, the auburn braid swinging on their shoulders, the ribbons funny little flecks of colour, like flowerbuds or butterflies in spring. Could he stand to lose such a marvel? such a strangely fascinating creature?
-Wait!-
Amazingly, they stopped, and waited. He walked up to them, not too fast, to try to keep at least a little illusion of dignity.
He was met with a calm, almost expectant smile. -You didn’t tell me your name.- he said, trying not too sound too interested. Their mouth quirked to a side, their eyes sparkled knowingly- I’m Jehan.- Montparnasse felt his heart beating in his chest as it hadn’t done in a long time. He smiled, gallantly went to one knee and kissed one of their bare, freckled hands. They were not wearing any gloves. There were little ink stains on their fingers. -I’m Montparnasse. Such a pleasure to meet you.- Jehan grinned -Indeed it is- then they surprised him by gripping his wrist, pulling him up, putting an arm around his shoulder and leaning in to kiss him again. Montparnasse felt his heart jump, he smiled into their lips and closed his eyes, raising a hand to run it through their hair, twirling his fingers through the ribbons. What spring-like emotions were running through him, through his veins! He felt Jehan give a chuckle, a clear sound like golden bells from far away.
It was too soon when they leaned away again, when they removed their arm from around him, and revealed a hand holding their very own wallet, just recently stolen. There was an interesting sparkle in their eyes when they pleasently smiled at him, showing white teeth, and pocketed their wallet again -Until next time, then, Montparnasse. I’m sure I will see you again.- their face was flushed, their hair wild.
This time they walked away for good and Montparnasse let them, staring after that peculiar violet coat like a struck fool. They turned around a last time before going back on the main street, grinned and wiggled their fingers at him in a cheerful wave, and then they disappeared into the crowd.
He scratched his head and smiled to himself. He wasn’t even a little picked by the fact that his pockets were not fuller; his heart was, and his mind. Full of flowers, of sweet thoughts and strange wishes, and words he had never imagined he would use. What had that poet done to him?
Slowly he walked back to the main street, and raised his head to look at the sky. Snowflakes had started falling again, they floated down like dandelions, blown by the winds of another time, another century. It made him feel like part of something bigger, of something beautiful.
And for a moment, as his head rushed and his heart hammered, he thought: This is a beginning.