Perfect Freedom (10 page)

Stuart's hunting expeditions were also largely fruitless. He was a good shot but he rarely saw anything to shoot at. Antonin frequently brought them gifts of fish and game, laughing when Stuart asked him where he found them. Antonin treated him with the tolerance of an adult for a child. Whatever he attempted, whether it was sowing seed, or killing a chicken, or turning up the earth, Antonin would take over, saying:

“Here. Let Antonin do it. You're not used to such things.” He reminded Stuart of Uncle Ben.

“I don't suppose you play
boules
,” Antonin said one day when he had brought his horse and plough over to work Stuart's ground.

“Sure I do. Not very well, though.”

“Me, I'm a champion.” Antonin grinned. “We often have a game on Sundays. Perhaps you'd like to come. Of course, we're not educated people.” Antonin spoke as bluntly about himself as he did about everything else. Stuart accepted with pleasure and began to meet the farming community.

Helene was tolerant of his interest in the local people though they meant nothing to her. If it was friends they were after they would have done better to stay in New York. When Stuart asked the Roquièttas for dinner, she resented them for coming. They should have known as well as she that they had nothing in common. She was sure Stuart blamed her for the stiff formality of the evening. It was one of the few small clouds that had darkened the uneventful contentment of her days. She was as happy as she could remember ever being. She was working hand in hand with Stuart; she was essential to the realization of his dream of making a self-sufficient life. At times, she caught herself thinking that Robbie really
should
be at school. Perhaps next year, when they knew more about living costs, they could send him away to a good school and she and Stuart would have each other to themselves for months at a time.

The expenditures Antonin encouraged Stuart to make didn't always strike her as sound and when the chickens didn't lay, the pigeons produced unfertilized eggs, greens for the rabbits became increasingly difficult to find, she began to wonder if their neighbors weren't amusing themselves at Stuart's expense.

Of course, the unusual cold was to blame. Everybody agreed that it hadn't been so cold since … Various remote winters were cited. In an ordinary winter, Stuart would have had a reasonable chance of putting his modest projects on a paying basis. But tools, feed, fertilizer, countless unexpected expenses were all pure loss and instead of catching up, as he had planned, he found himself falling farther and farther behind. Debts accumulated imperceptibly until as Christmas was approaching he discovered that he had committed all of his next two months' income. He expected the first few months to be difficult and he could always draw ahead a bit, but spring suddenly seemed a long way off.

One of his first economies had been to stop Odette's allowance; he and the girl had reached the decision by mutual consent the afternoon they encountered each other for the first time after his move to the house. Nothing had changed. They had only to look at each other to know what they both wanted. He had spent weeks of dedicated labor creating a home for his family and the time had finally come. He had earned the right to a brief change of pace. He wanted to throw off his clothes with her and share the pleasures they had denied themselves. All work and no play was the order of the day but the lustful kid in him clamored to be let loose for half an hour. She immediately felt the renewed liveliness in his response to her and warmed to it with delight.

“
Enfin, chéri
,” she exclaimed. “Will you let me show you where I live?”

“Nothing more?” Their eyes teased and taunted each other.

“You've made me wait so long. I should punish you but why should I punish myself?”

The village had two centers, one of which was the main port, the other this big plane-tree-crowded square away from the sea where the vegetable market was, and the notary's office and the cinema and numerous other little businesses. Stuart found that as a householder this was where his errands usually took him and weeks often passed without his seeing the port. There was more human activity here and he felt less self-conscious about being seen with Odette than in the narrow empty little streets leading up to Boldoni's.

She hustled him across the square under plane trees that were losing their leaves. They exchanged odds and ends of news to keep from laying hands on each other, then looked at each other and burst out laughing.

They turned into a side street. He took the precaution of glancing about to see that nobody he knew was in sight before she led him through a doorway that gave on to a narrow stairway. They hurried up it, jostling each other, panting slightly. At the top of three flights of steps, she flung open a door and quickly closed it behind them and they lifted their arms to each other and exchanged their first real kiss. She drew back, giggling breathlessly while she pulled her dress over her head.

Stuart tossed his clothes aside and looked around him. They were in a large room with sloping ceilings, a bed against one wall, a fireplace with some pots beside it, a table with chairs around it in the middle. It was shabby but immaculately clean. A curtain masked a makeshift bathroom. He caught a glimpse of a tall enamel pitcher on the floor beside a portable bidet. He got his shoes off and freed his legs and straightened to feel her nakedness against him everywhere. He held her away from him and looked at her. She was roundly, prettily naked. He had known her for so many months, had imagined this happening so often that there was no danger of its altering life in any way. Their friendship would simply acquire a new dimension.

They moved against each other slowly, discovering the secrets of their bodies. He touched at last the firm gentle curves of her breasts. She lowered her hands to his erection and stroked it, her eyes on it.

“Oh
chéri. Ta grosse bitte
. It looks even bigger when you having nothing on.” It was a part of a man she had never particularly wanted to look at. It served its purpose but she didn't think it deserved any prize for design. His was different, long and straight, lifting superbly from his lean, muscular, mostly hairless body. His nakedness was marvelously naked. It made her feel that their bodies could perform miracles of union. They both uttered sounds of delight as they moved in close against each other and tumbled onto the bed. They played together, they kissed, they rolled about on her bumpy mattress. She wriggled out of his embrace so that she could look at him. His big body was more beautiful than she had known a body could be.

“
Chope et fume
,” she cried and illustrated her meaning by sliding down over him and drawing his erection into her mouth. He was reminded of Marguerite again. She looked as happy as a child with a lollipop.

She wanted to take outrageous liberties with him to convince herself that she had him. He was a god. She could have wept with happiness, but was careful not to let him feel the intensity of her worship. There was a carefree boy in him who wanted the girl she had once been. He somehow made it possible for her to recapture her old self. She led them easily from play to the ecstasy of his possession of her. She gave herself unstintingly to the magnificent demands of his body. She was wholly his and was beginning to make the boy in him hers. She had felt from the beginning that it could happen. By taking her, he ennobled her, lifted her out of what she thought of as her class. If she couldn't have him all to herself, at least she would never give herself to one of the crude uneducated men she had thought of until a few months ago as her lot in life.

Stuart reveled in her cheerful uncritical adoration of him; it was balm to his beleaguered spirit. Burdens and responsibilities dropped from him. Life could be fun. He felt nothing like it with Helene, nor did he want or expect to. Every moment with Helene was an experience, defining and shaping the future, tempered by the worries and problems that they shared. It was real. Taking Odette was a happy self-indulgence that couldn't form the basis for an everyday life.

When they had exhausted their lusty ingenuity, Stuart had a quick wash at the sink behind the curtain and dressed. Odette put on a plain little dressing gown. She looked up at him, sparkling with pride.

“That was worth waiting for. I've never known anything like it.” She turned, taking in the room. “You see what you've done for me? I'm a respectable member of the community now. You don't have to be ashamed of your girl.”

“I knew I wouldn't ever be.”

“The Widow Muguette is pleased with my sewing. I'm going to be making enough to take care of myself now. I don't need your money.” It was the happiest moment of her life. She was no longer a charity case. She was his girl, his mistress; his equal.

“You're sure?” He took her hands with a quick smile of affectionate relief. “I can't pretend that I haven't wondered how much longer I could let you have it. Everything's costing more than I expected.”

“Don't wonder. You've saved my life. I'll never be able to repay you.”

“We have a beautiful time together, don't we? It's about time we let ourselves enjoy it.”

A pattern evolved. He never went into town expressly to see her, but when he had half an hour to spare after he'd finished his errands, thoughts of being naked with her sent him to her room and he usually found her there. She was a warmly loving connection with town, his only recreation as life became more difficult, permissible because it cost nothing. Because desire for her never hit him except when he was within reach of satisfying it, she remained safely compartmentalized, outside the mainstream of his life. If it had been otherwise he wouldn't have let it happen; his goal was freedom, not the bonds of a demanding mistress.

Leaving her one afternoon, he ran into Antonin's wife and offered her a lift home. He nodded toward the bakery two doors away, which he'd known from the beginning might prove useful as an alibi. “I was just going to pick up a loaf of bread.”

A few days later, the farmer's wife happened to say in reference to a story she was telling Helene, “Oh, but of course, you know
la Veuve Muguette
.”

“No,” Helene said. The Widow Muguette? She had never heard the name.

“Then your husband does. I ran into him at her house the other day. No, no. I'm forgetting. He was going to the bakery next door.” Mme. Antonin went on with her story while Helene made a mental note to ask Stuart who the woman was.

When Stuart was finishing his work in the vineyard that afternoon, the sky cleared after several dull days and a wind sprang up. He was aware of it as he started back to the house and saw, toward Italy, range upon range of mountains he had never noticed before. The weather was about to spring another surprise on them. Everything had become hard and brilliant in the late-afternoon light. When he got to the house he called Helene out to look.

“How superb,” she exclaimed. “It must be the
mistral
.”

“I suppose.” Stuart had heard the local people speak with awe of the wind. There was a legend that it blew always in multiples of three, for three, six, or nine days. They stood for a moment, hand in hand, looking at the mountains and at the waves that were beginning to dash up on the rocks below them.

“It looks almost like a real ocean,” Stuart said.

They knew they were in for trouble when Helene tried to light the stove to cook dinner. In a few minutes the room was filled with smoke and when Stuart opened the door to clear it out, he was almost knocked over by the force of the wind. It swept through the room, extinguishing all the lamps.

“What's the matter with that damned stove?” he demanded.

“I don't know,” she replied with exasperation. “It just won't start. Why don't you light the lamps?”

“Easy does it. Don't get excited.” He found a lamp and struck a match.

“How're we going to cook dinner?” Robbie inquired anxiously. Helene frowned at the boy, confident that Stuart would set things right. He relighted the lamps and went to the stove and jiggled the draft to make sure it was adjusted properly.

“Shall I try more paper?” she asked. “We don't want to go without dinner.”

“Try a pine cone. If that doesn't burn, nothing will.” She did as he suggested and together they peered at the stove as the wind forced the smoke out into the room once more. He looked at her and shrugged. “Experiment concluded. I'll have to ask Antonin if there's anything to be done about it.” Unlikely, he thought. Even Antonin would be powerless against the elements.

“Let's think,” Helene said. “Isn't there something we could do? We should have one of those kerosene stoves.”

“We should have but we don't,” he said, groaning inwardly at the thought of additional expense.

“What about Robbie? The child needs a hot meal at night.”

“The child will survive.” He cocked an eye at Robbie, who was sitting on the foot of the bed, watching them intently and wondering how he could draw some advantage from the situation.

“Come on, old love. Throw us a bone. Don't you have something we could roast over the fire?”

She laughed, ready to take her cue from him in a crisis. “No suckling pigs in the larder, but we'll manage.” She put odds and ends and leftovers on the table. They ate in enforced speechlessness. The wind made a steady roar around the house. Before they had finished, the room began to fill with smoke again.

“Oh damn,” Stuart shouted. “I suppose the fireplace's going to act up now.” It was. He struggled with logs but stood back finally, his eyes closed to ease their smarting. “I'll have to get these logs out of here. Robbie, put the lamps over there in the corner.” He posted Helene at the door, seized a log with the tongs, and rushed it out. Showers of sparks were caught by the wind and thrown into the air. “Quick. Get some water,” he shouted. There were a few moments of chaos as the logs were removed one by one and extinguished. By the time the fire was out, the room was icy. Stuart pushed the door to, breathing heavily. “Well, I guess that puts an end to the evening. We all better go to bed.”