Dancing In the Shadows
Vive la Rose et le Lilas!
by Pookie
The
silence of the night was only interrupted by the plaintive sigh of an
accordion. On his lonely street corner in the darker parts of Paris, an old blind
man was echoing the murmurs of the Seine on his beloved instrument. The melody
resonated through the quiet town, stirring the night creatures awake.
This
night was no different from any other night; he was once more entertaining the
empty streets and indifferent hearts of the day. Long ago his notion of time
disappeared. Day and night became one in his eyes and soul. The only joys
remaining in him were his old accordion and the young man.
Occasionally,
on what he supposed were nights, a youthful voice would accompany his melodies.
This “Night Singer”, as he had named him, rarely spoke, his youthful voice
always singing. But just to hear that hauntingly beautiful voice the old man
was willing to suffer all the insults of a day with a smile. He rarely heard
the Singer approach, suddenly hearing his soft voice requesting or humming a
song. He was always careful not to startle the old man, a small gesture that
touched him deeply. Yet however discreet his arrival was, his departure was
always noticeable. At first he could not understand why, but now he knew and
accepted it.
On this
silent night, his cue had been a light and joyful hum. Recognizing the familiar
melody, the old man had smiled. It was a lighthearted melody, but he had always
found the words to be quite cynical. He somehow found it fitting for this quiet
night, and so, with a smile, his aged fingers started creating the music.
Slowly
rising in strength, the hypnotic voice echoed through the empty streets,
embellished by a rare merry note.
“Mon
amie me délaisse / O gai! Vive la Rose!
Mon
amie me délaisse / O gai! Vive la Rose!
Je ne
sais pas pourquoi / Vive la Rose et le Lilas!
Je ne
sais pas pourquoi / Vive la Rose et le Lilas!”[1]
Somewhere
not too far off, a desperate woman heard the voice and felt her heart soar. The
warm and cheerful voice seemed a safe haven to her as she desperately tried to
find her way in the maze of streets. She had been quietly walking home from her
disastrous dinner when it came. Grieving over the loss of her good friend
because of a trifle detail, she had not noticed its presence behind her. Not
until it stood behind her and gently embraced her, effectively preventing her
from escaping. Her entire body had frozen and she had not been able to utter a
scream. All she could do was listen in terror as a warm breath murmured a
single, deadly word:
“Run…”
And with that, it had disappeared
into the night, leaving her alone in the dark street, cold sweat running down
her back.
“On
dit qu’elle est tres belle, / O gai! Vive la Rose!
On dit
qu’elle est tres belle, / O gai! Vive la Rose!
Bien
plus belle que moi / Vive la Rose et le Lilas!
Bien
plus belle que moi / Vive la Rose et le Lilas!”
She was running,
trying to find the source of the music, seeking its refuge. She had no doubt
what was after her. It was that murderous monster, the one that had recently
been ravaging throughout Paris. No one knew who, or even what it was. Rumors
said it was not even human. She had never really cared, never imagining she
would ever need to face this demon of the night. All the she knew for certain
was that of all those who had seen it, no one had ever survived. Every single
one of them had been found as ravaged carcasses, and now she was next on the
list...unless she could find help. With that little hope in her heart, she
turned onto another street...
“On
dit qu’elle est malade / O gai! Vive la Rose!
On dit
qu’elle est malade / O gai! Vive la Rose!
Peut-être
elle en mourra… / Vive la Rose et le Lilas!
Peut-être
elle en mourra… / Vive la Rose et le Lilas!”
...only
to run into a dead end. Above her she could hear its sinister laughter. Without
any thought she turned around and ran back out, cutting her arm deeply against
a stray piece of sharp metal. Ignoring the burning pain she grabbed the metal,
intent on using it as a weapon. She kept running nonetheless, hot blood
trickling down her arm as she clenched the makeshift weapon as tightly as she
dared. She was not about to make a stand in this dark street, not without any
help. As she turned into a broad, lighted street she caught sight of a young
man.
“Si
elle meurt Dimanche…/ O gai! Vive la Rose!”
It was
the Singer! She ran towards him as he turned onto another street, his joyful
gait indicating he had not noticed her. She tried calling out to him, but
nothing above a whisper could escape her dry throat.
“Si
elle meurt Dimanche… / O gai! Vive la Rose!”
With the
last of her strength she dashed into the street after him but her tired feet
slipped on the uneven pavement and she went crashing toward the ground. Before
she could hit the ground she was swiftly caught in warm and comforting arms. As
the Singer held her she tried to explain what was after her, but nothing she
said could be understood between her broken sobs. The dreadful fear was
catching up to her, as was the relief of safety.
“Lundi
on l’enterrera… / Vive la Rose et le Lilas!”
She
looked up at him shocked and confused at how little he seemed to care about her
troubles. His face was cheerful and kind, stray strands of hair dropping from
his bound hair, enhancing his attractive features. At the same time his eyes
were shadows and his smile was pleasant and understanding. He looked at her
like someone who knew exactly what was happening. Suddenly the cold realization
of what was happening hit her, sending shivers across her already tired body.
She tried to pull away but his grip was too tight.
“Lundi
on l’enterrera… / Vive la Rose et le Lilas!”
Tears streamed
down her face, her heart pounding with fear, her mind in a frenzy. Yet
something in her was calm and resigned. Her makeshift weapon had slipped out of
her bloodied hand the instant she had found him. Her body was weak and tired.
She no longer had any hope, and fighting seemed useless. She was barely aware
of the deep gash in her arm. All she had left now was the fear, the
overwhelming fear.
He licked
his lips, long sharp fangs shining in the faint moonlight. His eyes ran over
her body, pausing momentarily at the blood-coated arm, and suddenly turned red
with bloodlust. Her obvious fear sent sweet shivers of anticipation coursing
through his body.
As the
melody died out, a muffled scream rose. Somewhere along the river’s edge, a street
side was freshly painted in a thick coat of red as a hunched figure could be
seen dining.
The old
man looked up in the direction of the Singer having sensed him approaching. A
strong smell of blood lingered around him. The musician had heard the rumors
about a deadly beast spreading chaos in lower Paris. He knew who his Singer was
and he had accepted it.
A coin
rattled in his little tin box.
“Thank
you my kind Sir.”
As the
vampire walked by, the old man absently murmured to himself, “Maybe I can have
dinner by the Seine tonight.”
The young man stopped and turned around sharply, his eyes fiercely examining the musician. For what seemed an eternity, he watched the lonely old man gathering his solitary gold coin, until finally a smile curled his lip. As he disappeared into the night, the wind was left carrying a single sentence.
“Bon appetit mon Ami.”
Translation Note:
The song used in this story is a popular French song that exists in various forms. I retype it the way it was taught to me. This translation might be a slightly different from the more “official” version:
Long live the Rose and the Lilac !
My friend is leaving me / Oh yay ! Long live the Rose ! (bis)
I do not know why / Long live the Rose and the Lilac ! (bis)
They say she is beautiful / Oh yay ! Long live the Rose ! (bis)
Much more than myself / Long live the Rose and the Lilac ! (bis)
They say she is ill / Oh yay ! Long live the Rose ! (bis)
Maybe she will die / Long live the Rose and the Lilac ! (bis)
If she dies Sunday / Oh yay ! Long live the Rose ! (bis)
Monday we’ll burry her / Long live the Rose and the Lilac ! (bis)