La Dame du Lac, by Jack Allen
We came together in a train station. She drew behind her a large suitcase set with wheels, and the other train-goers made no path for us to walk as equals. I led the way, hoping she followed, and our hands, being once attached, somehow broke from one another in the commotion. In my breast pocket sat her ticket. Pigeons slept on pillars. Trains hurried in their ruts, and they made ugly noises that echoed throughout the great cavern.
Whether joy danced in her dark eye, I could not tell, for when she sighed I felt at a greater loss than I ever had before[1]. The simplest gestures of discontent can sometimes ruin a man. And yet, I won’t fail to mention that I was cheered up some by what looked to be an orphaned boy, a busking child. I say this not because the poor kid appeared homeless and likely starved, but his song certainly improved my mood:
Pêche, pomme, poire, abricot.
Y’en a une, y’en a une.
Pêche, pomme, poire, abricot.
Y’en a une qui est en trop.
C’est l’abricot qui est en trop.
*
Is that how you’d like to die?
J’ai me suis presque noyé il était une fois.
And is that what you’re afraid of most?
Non.
Then what?
Etre seul.
At death?
Toujours.
She smiled then, a perfect fence of teeth that stood white and bare, and she practiced a winning sway as she skipped ahead of me. In her hand was her ticket, and while looking over her shoulder she bit down onto her lip. Her eyes emptied, her eyes were empty, and they beckoned me forward though when I went to cradle her a crowd came between us. At first I was disarmed. In that absence I thought to myself how gutless I’d become, and wondered where my certainty had gone. In that moment of clumsiness, she was borne away[2]. I paused in disbelief. The boy stopped singing and the rush of trains swelled into the quiet. She resurfaced long enough to utter a last farewell:
C’est pas facile de m’attrapper.[3]
[1] W. Scott The Lady of the Lake. “Whether joy danced in her dark eye / Or woe or pity claimed a sigh” (i.19.18-19).
[2] The myth of Orpheus. “In a moment of forgetfulness, to assure him he was still following, cast a glance behind him, when she was instantly borne away.”
[3] Welsh fairy tale The Lady of the Lake. “It is not easy to catch me.”
