an easy rush of air and steel. With a thwack, it found its rest at the bottom of the track, throwing the head neatly into the basket. But this one bled, and profusely. The body bounced off into a large wicker casket beside the gurney.
Danielle covered her face with her hands and drove her face into the ground.
She returned to the Little Farm when darkness fell. She felt her way rather than saw it, for her eyes were full of the hideous visions of the courtyard. Marie and Clarice were on the path, panicked for the loss of their friend, and when they saw her, they ran to her and held her close.
But Danielle would have nothing of it. She said simply, "I must die."
Marie shook Danielle's shoulders. "What are you saying? Where have you been?"
But then Danielle said, "But should I kill myself I go to hell! Should I live I live in hell!"
"Oh, sweet Mother of God," said Clarice, "what has happened to you, dear friend?"
Danielle broke away, and reached the barn to see if she'd made a mistake, to see if Alexandre was waiting for her in his stall. But the straw was kicked about, and the pitchfork dropped on the floor where Alexandre had tried to protect her. His jacket was in a tangle by the wall. Danielle wailed, picked up the jacket, and clutched it to herself. Her friends stood in the doorway, dumbfounded.
"I must die, too!" she screamed.
"Danielle!" It was Clarice. "Come out of there. Talk to us! You've got us frightened!"
Alexandre's journal was on the beam. But the Bible was gone. Danielle dug through the straw, clawing and sifting the sharp, golden bits, but the Bible was not there. Alexandre had not taken it with him. But it was no longer there.
What had happened to it? She wanted it for herself, to take it with her to her death.
Danielle stood and fled the barn. She knew the answer, as surely as she knew LeBeque and Blue Eyes and the man with boils and the man at the beheading machine would go to hell for their civil and humane test. She shoved past the other maids, saying, "I shall go to the places where the prostitutes wander. I shall make myself available to a murderer, that's what I shall do! I will go to heaven if I'm murdered. For I will not live without him!"
Marie and Clarice tried to grab Danielle to hold her back, but she was too fast, too mad with grief, and they were left clutching air and the first raindrops of the evening.
They followed her. Against Clarice's concerns that they'd be relieved of their duties for leaving Bicetre without permission, they scurried after Danielle, shawls drawn up around their faces. Down one. narrow Parisian street after another they went, calling for their friend, but not so loudly to attract the attention of the increasingly frightening citizenry of the streets. The rain let itself go in full force, driving some pedestrians from the roads and leaving only the determined, the tardy and the mad.
Danielle pushed her way to the rue Leon, a small and dismal alley lined with tall, narrow whorehouses, saloons and tenement shacks, some of which leaned precariously on poor foundations. The rain blurred the lights of the lanterns which sat in splintering windowsills. Whores stood in petticoats and stockings in sagging doorways, thrusting their breasts and wiggling their tongues. Drenched clients in coats hurried for the warmth of the diseased temptresses, and vanished into the houses with low chuckles and growls. A skeletal dog limped across Danielle's pathway and wormed its way into a tenement cellar through a cracked window. In the shadows beneath rain-blackened stoops and behind rust-banded barrels lurked eyes that seemed to have no sockets. Teeth that seemed to have no mouths.
Danielle stopped in the centre of the alley. She stared up at the dark, rain-sodden sky and raised her hands as if bidding some divine spirit to save her.
"Kill me!" she said above the drumming of the rain on the cobblestones and rooftops. "Come now, there is surely someone who would relish the chance
Danielle covered her face with her hands and drove her face into the ground.
She returned to the Little Farm when darkness fell. She felt her way rather than saw it, for her eyes were full of the hideous visions of the courtyard. Marie and Clarice were on the path, panicked for the loss of their friend, and when they saw her, they ran to her and held her close.
But Danielle would have nothing of it. She said simply, "I must die."
Marie shook Danielle's shoulders. "What are you saying? Where have you been?"
But then Danielle said, "But should I kill myself I go to hell! Should I live I live in hell!"
"Oh, sweet Mother of God," said Clarice, "what has happened to you, dear friend?"
Danielle broke away, and reached the barn to see if she'd made a mistake, to see if Alexandre was waiting for her in his stall. But the straw was kicked about, and the pitchfork dropped on the floor where Alexandre had tried to protect her. His jacket was in a tangle by the wall. Danielle wailed, picked up the jacket, and clutched it to herself. Her friends stood in the doorway, dumbfounded.
"I must die, too!" she screamed.
"Danielle!" It was Clarice. "Come out of there. Talk to us! You've got us frightened!"
Alexandre's journal was on the beam. But the Bible was gone. Danielle dug through the straw, clawing and sifting the sharp, golden bits, but the Bible was not there. Alexandre had not taken it with him. But it was no longer there.
What had happened to it? She wanted it for herself, to take it with her to her death.
Danielle stood and fled the barn. She knew the answer, as surely as she knew LeBeque and Blue Eyes and the man with boils and the man at the beheading machine would go to hell for their civil and humane test. She shoved past the other maids, saying, "I shall go to the places where the prostitutes wander. I shall make myself available to a murderer, that's what I shall do! I will go to heaven if I'm murdered. For I will not live without him!"
Marie and Clarice tried to grab Danielle to hold her back, but she was too fast, too mad with grief, and they were left clutching air and the first raindrops of the evening.
They followed her. Against Clarice's concerns that they'd be relieved of their duties for leaving Bicetre without permission, they scurried after Danielle, shawls drawn up around their faces. Down one. narrow Parisian street after another they went, calling for their friend, but not so loudly to attract the attention of the increasingly frightening citizenry of the streets. The rain let itself go in full force, driving some pedestrians from the roads and leaving only the determined, the tardy and the mad.
Danielle pushed her way to the rue Leon, a small and dismal alley lined with tall, narrow whorehouses, saloons and tenement shacks, some of which leaned precariously on poor foundations. The rain blurred the lights of the lanterns which sat in splintering windowsills. Whores stood in petticoats and stockings in sagging doorways, thrusting their breasts and wiggling their tongues. Drenched clients in coats hurried for the warmth of the diseased temptresses, and vanished into the houses with low chuckles and growls. A skeletal dog limped across Danielle's pathway and wormed its way into a tenement cellar through a cracked window. In the shadows beneath rain-blackened stoops and behind rust-banded barrels lurked eyes that seemed to have no sockets. Teeth that seemed to have no mouths.
Danielle stopped in the centre of the alley. She stared up at the dark, rain-sodden sky and raised her hands as if bidding some divine spirit to save her.
"Kill me!" she said above the drumming of the rain on the cobblestones and rooftops. "Come now, there is surely someone who would relish the chance
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