Oppressed by Kira Saito Page A

representative
of everything that is wrong with so-called modern literature.
Horribly unrefined garbage!”
    “ I can relate to Oliver in some
strange, inexplicable way. I find him quite charming and simply
adore him. And don’t get me started on A Christmas Carol ! It’s as if he captured the
very essence and mystery of the spirits themselves…” I said, as I
tried to defend my taste in literature.
    Edmond continued to scoff and rant
obnoxiously while he sipped his champagne and even though I felt
like strangling him I continued to smile.
    “ Charles Dezobry and Stendhal-
now those are real writers!” He exclaimed, interrupting me. “They
write real literature.”
    I nodded. “I agree, but while they are
great they don’t speak to the common man or woman like
Dickens.”
    Edmond ran his fingers through his thick
brown hair and shook his head as if he were trying to reason with a
very small, very incompetent and difficult child who refused to
shut up and see things his way. “Cecile, the common man or woman
doesn’t know how to read; that is why literature and art should be
left to people like me and not the commoners. If we were all meant
to be equal we would be, but that is clearly not the case, is
it?”
    At that exact second he
reminded me of a classmate I had while I was studying in Paris.
Poor Giselle would venomously boo and even make horse-like meh noises every time
anyone disagreed with her taste in fine art. We had all found it
amusing and even entertaining until we discovered that she was
suffering from a severe disease that rendered her incapable of
listening to other people’s point of view. I wondered if Edmond was
suffering from that same dreadful affliction. I nodded and quickly
chugged down the rest of my champagne. “Perhaps,” I said quietly,
not wanting to argue anymore. “Or maybe we’re…”
    “ We’re what?” He leaned
forward and arched an eyebrow.
    “ We’re doing it all
wrong,” I said wistfully.
    His chest heaved with unrestrained
laughter, which further annoyed me. “Are you suggesting the average
person should be given the same opportunities as someone like
me?”
    I smiled stiffly and bit my index
finger hard to make sure I wouldn’t say anything
inappropriate.
    “ Don’t pout, it’s not an
attractive quality,” he said condescendingly.
    I bit my finger even harder and then
gave him a large smile.
    He tasted the Escargots a la
Bourguignonne. “Horrible! That cook needs to be fired! Where did
your Maman find him?”
    I gulped down some more champagne. “He’s
one of the best cooks in the Vieux Carré, Monsieur. He’s studied in
one of the finest Parisian schools. We’re lucky to have
him.”
    “ This is unacceptable!” He
pushed aside his dish. “He needs to be fired
immediately.”
    I let out a quiet sigh of frustration
and smiled. “I’ll speak to her about it first thing in the
morning.”
    He smiled. “Why are you wearing black,
Cecile? It’s such an unhappy color.”
    “ There is no such thing as
an unhappy color, Monsieur, only unhappy people.”
    “ I prefer that you don’t
wear black while you’re under my protection. It makes you look as
if you’re grieving.”
    “ Oui, Monsieur.” I bit my lower
lip.
    “ And your hair. You were
expecting me tonight, weren’t you?”
    I nodded.
    “ Then you should have put
more effort into your hair.”
    I numbly nodded again.
“ Oui, Monsieur.”
    The night went on and on.
    He seemed to scoff at everything. He
scoffed at the food, the china, the gold silverware I had chosen,
and the black gown I wore. Nothing seemed to agree with him, and I
felt my energy quickly draining trying to say something that would
somehow make him smile or please him. I was beginning to think that
the only thing that made him happy was being miserable. I was also
beginning to suspect that his wife probably encouraged him to keep
a mistress so she could get some peace and quiet from time to time.
That’s what I would have