Over nine months I felt the result of that night move inside me. I was so torn in my world between an abandoning husband, my loving son, and my expected son Phillipe to be. But I felt as proud as every mother would feel. I felt I was adding another piece of life to the world. My only regret would be that I would be adding another Pierre to the world. Why did it feel like it was Pierre? Call it a woman’s instinct. All crop growers know what seed they plant, and what crop they will sow.

A year later, Phillipe grew in our lives. He was as lively as any boy would be with the addition of an absent father. Yet, in spite of Pierre seeming not to notice Phillipe’s existence, they seemed to share the bond of genealogy. At this young age, with them almost fifty years apart, they seemed to understand each other, as if Phillipe was his comrade in his political party. Pierre had stopped asking me altogether to attend any events. And I wondered, after that night I never forgot with another woman’s perfume in my nostrils, how he attended these events without me as his wife next to him.

So, I did what any sane woman would do. I went through his things. When he was out, and with Phillipe playing around me, I went through his dinner jackets to see what I could find. There are some moments in a married life when you realize how happy you are that you have a proud husband who made no effort to hide the trail he had left. It almost felt as if he was taunting me and he had left what I found on purpose.

There was that picture of a beautiful young woman staring at the eyes of the beholder. On the picture was a heart drawn by lipstick and under it the name Jeanne. I tried to remember if there ever had been a Jeanne that looked like her that we both knew during our married live together. Images flit through my brains and I thought I might have landed on the right Jeanne. But I thought to myself that that it was impossible. Jeanne was barely a child back then. I looked again at the picture and I could see the resemblance. I saw how that child could become that woman.

Knowing that he would deny having an affair with her, I used what womanly wiles I had left in me, after taking depression drugs, and go to one of the event with him. It was no easy task to convince me before I convince him that I would go. When he refused, saying that he had found ‘another way’ to introduce me, seeing that I am always in a sickly fashion, I threatened him that I would simply spread the rumor that he was having an affair. And a rumor was good enough to ruin his political career. Under such pressure, he reluctantly agreed to take me with him to the next event. The big question on my mind was: will proud Pierre bring his wife and his mistress in the same place. Knowing him, he probably would.

At the event, I could see the gleaming eyes staring at me as if some had already known the secret I was about to discover. I walked in an evening dress of my own choice, conservative and non-revealing. I did not care how they stared at me or what they thought of me. My only concern and eyes were on if Jeanne would make an appearance. I sifted the women through the crowd but no Jeanne was to be found. Maybe I was wrong about Pierre after all. Maybe common sense does know how to make way into his mind.

And the same as last time, the women separated into the parlor. And the same as last time, the gossip fired up. But I wasn’t the country girl anymore. I was a woman with viciousness on my mind. I was a woman with determination to get what’s mine and keep it, even it costs someone else’s life and this time they could feel it. I did not drink as much because I wanted to stay sober because I had a feeling something would happen.

Suddenly, we were all called outside. We went out to find the head of the political party standing in the hall and saying ‘My dear friends’ raising a glass of wine. ‘and wives of friend. We are celebrating a special occasion tonight.’ There emerged Pierre from among the ranks like Poseidon from the sea ‘it is with great honor to announce our latest party’s representative in parliament. Monsieur and doctor Pierre Chevallier. Please raise your glasses in his honor.’. I knew I had to keep up appearances so I rushed across the hall from where I stood to show him my wife’s affections. And as soon as I reached him, he swerved in pretense of addressing someone else. Someone else was there and she was Jeanne.

Pierre said “You know Jeanne, Monsieur Dupont’s wife.” in an attempt to introduce her to me. I put my hand forward to her and shook it. “Yes, of course. I know her all too well. Wasn’t just a small child when we met her 10 years ago.”. Pierre said with a shaken voice. “Yes. Well, the years fly by so quickly.” Then he whispered to me. “Don’t ruin this moment for me, you fat cow.” I said sarcastically. “Which moment exactly are you talking about dear?”. Then I said out loud to her. “Where’s your husband? Does he know you’re here.” She actually replied with such composure. “Yes, of course. But he’s got a business to run. You know some things in life need money to happen and there are those who provide money for them and my husband is one of them.”. I said. “It’s funny that I didn’t see in the parlor where all the women were.”. She said “Well, that’s because that’s where you belong. I like a more liberal view” and she looked at Pierre admiringly. “Don’t you just feel proud that our Pierre has won his seat in parliament? Do you think he would have done that with you hiding in the parlor. Sometimes, a man needs his woman next to him.” And her hand slid down and the tip of her little finger touched his. “Of course,” I said. “the wife, not the bimbo. After all, what respectable conservative party will accept the liberal view once they know how wide open it is?” And with that I left them together.

I watched from a distance and it appeared that she was furious but there I was on side of the room with other people, none of whom interested me and I was of no interest to anyone. I was beaten by so many things that I was almost going to give myself up to drinking for the second time. But maybe I was saved by the one person I expected the least: Mrs. Carron. She showed up out of nowhere and knew exactly where I was looking. She stood next to me and said “You remind me of myself years ago when I came here knowing nothing till I learned everything. You know what I learned dear.” She came close to my ears and whispered. “Some things just don’t get settled. You need to settle them yourself” and then she opened my purse and put something in it. She finally said: “Only you can set yourself free. As long as there is a slave owner, there will always be a slave. You know what happens to slaves dear when they ‘expire’? They don’t send them to a nursing home. They get shot. When the time comes, which end of the gun would you like to be?”

A couple of days later when I woke up, I didn’t find him next to me in bed. This was not surprising to me as he often left to work and left me sleeping. I started stretching when a few minutes later, I found him walking with bedroom robes holding a tray in his hand. The tray has a lush assortment of breakfast items with a rose on one side of the tray. I was dazzled. My hero has returned and he has finally come to his senses. The first words that came out of his lips were “I’m sorry you had to go through such a nasty crowd. If you think these women were vicious, you have no idea what happens with the men, Trust me. I am as much as a greenhorn among the men as you were with these women.”. I sipped the freshly squeezed orange juice and said in a hurry “These women said such mean things.” Then I stopped before I took the first bite from the croissant and said “Pierre. Have you been unfaithful to me.”. I’m not sure if I imagined that he hesitated for a second and his eyes rolled before he said with such envied confident voice “Search me, dear. Look deep into my eyes and see if I you are not my one and only.” I was about to debate that when there was a knock on the door.

It couldn’t haven been anyone else at this time of day except Michelle’s nanny. Pierre moved from my beside and I got up in a hurry, my nightgown all ruffled from the night’s sleep. We both opened the door wondering what she would want. She spoke and said “I’m sorry madame but I believe that Michelle has quite a high fever”. We hurried out of our room with the Nanny to Michelle’s room. Pierre put his hand on Michelle’s forehead and his face became quite changed. He gave order to the Nanny to prepare icy cold wet towels. We stayed next to Michelle completely worried about the case that he got. Pierre checked his other symptoms and declared that Michelle had scarlet fever.

Pierre contacted some of his doctor friends and they prescribed medication for him. There were also instructions that included that no one except the parents are in touch with him because the disease was contagious and can spread quickly. This meant dismissing the Nanny and any other help in the house and it would only be the three of us. Or, more likely, the two of us. As Pierre announced, to save his political career, he would be in the house but not in the room with us.

For a week, our house was ghost place. Around the corridors, there were sound of echoes, as I took Michelle to my bedroom. And there, I waited for either fate to be resolved. For Michelle to be cured and for Pierre to come back. His specific instructions were that we stay away from each other for fear of catching the disease and then he would be of no help to us. In this week, my passion for Pierre grew stronger as the more absent he was from my life, the more I longed for him more. I was hoping he felt the same.

The week passed and Michelle’s symptoms began to disappear. I called for Pierre wherever I could find him but I wasn’t sure whether was he in the house or not. Finally, he appeared. I told him about Michelle’s condition. He wore a medical mask and came to see him. He told me that the danger was over, and we could the help and his Nanny back in the house. All has returned to normal or so I thought. All returned to normal but it seemed Pierre caught the disease of seclusion and isolation. He never returned to the bedroom except twice.

He came to the room the first time to announce his big announcement. After Michelle’s recovery, we were going to attend the political party’s second major event. I adamantly refused. He started pleading with me. “I can’t go without you. The party prefer me to be with their wives. This saves me in the ranks of the political party. I might become a minister one day. Don’t ruin it for me.”. This time I rejected his plea. “You mean you want me there as your fun item for you and your friends. I told you what happened last time. Thank god that Michelle got sick so I don’t have to go and see these faces and hear these voices again. These voices that are still in my head. I can’t shake them. I won’t go.” Then Pierre continued to plea some more till his tone of voices shifted. “You know my parents were right. You’re simply not cut out to be a politician’s wife. I should’ve known better with your weird country accent, and your strange habits that I never understood till now.”. I stood silent and then I said words that to this very day I had no idea from which subconscious it came from. “Well I married the doctor, not the politican. You know, the one that actually helps people not manipulate and cook their lives the inside of a kitchen no one knows anything about its rusted cutlery and tarnished pots and pans.” I seemed to have won the day as he was stupefied by what I said and stormed out of the room.

I had no idea that tears can run so hot as they burned into my cheeks all night. I sat there in Michelle’s room watching him as I remembered the fond memories of first meeting Pierre. That charming smile and overwhelming confidence. If one thing helped me get through the war, it was him. What was our mistake? We were young? We took life and everyone else for granted? I was so sure of him and he was sure of me. Can really the life of politics ruin a man’s soul? Is this the time to ’prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet”? The I started remembering how he got busy with all his political party matters. There wasn’t a day that went by that he wasn’t either busy with their business or chattering away about their business.

I walked slowly from Michelle’s room to my bedroom. I kept staring at the emptiness of things as I wanted to so many things at once including smashing a thing or two. But I thought to myself that it wasn’t worth it. Maybe things will clear in the morning and somehow the clock will reverse and only those pleasant items will re-emerge. I dragged myself to bed, dimmed the light, and I thought I felt a blackness like Pierre pass me by. His whispers were soft almost like the hissing of a snake. All too soon he was performing husbandly duties and getting his way with me. But this didn’t feel like Pierre. It felt like a phantom of him. His delicate caress was gone. It felt like he was pounding to take something away from me and not hand something over to me. It felt all too vicious and malicious. I could smell a cocktail of women’s perfume and alcohol off him. But I didn’t care. I hungered for him. And out of our passionate entanglement came our second child, the witness to my downfall.

Finally, we were in our home. The war was over, and the nurse’s cap and the doctor’s halo were removed, and we were what we always were: ordinary people. But it seemed that what war united, peace divided. I remember the first time Pierre came to me with love and passion, unhinged by the niceties imposed on him by those around us; We gave our bodies to each other willingly and I felt every curve of his delicate body as he took me from virginity to womanhood. Every moment he was with me felt like an eternity and there was no power on earth that could change this. But, as it turned out, there was. They’re called children. No sooner than him touching me, and in nine months, we had our first child Michelle. He was a beautiful boy and the new love of my life. It seemed he was so new that I may have forgotten the ‘old’ love of my life.

But life went on and Michelle grew up a fine and healthy boy, so full of life. Then, Pierre told me that he had joined a political party and was now ready to embark on his political career and that he needed me by his side. I told him that it may be best that I was not with him. I did not understand politics very well and I feared that I would embarrass him with my ignorance. He told me that that could not be because all the members of the political party would be there with their wives and that he would look like a complete fool if he was there without his.

I struggled with myself thinking about how on the outside I might gloss and shine, with sophisticated dresses, latest makeup and expensive jewelry but when I open my mouth all these glamorous items might turn pale. I thought about feigning a condition that would lead me to apologize for the event. But I did not want to lose Pierre, the love of my life. This was so important to him and apparently me appearing by his side meant something in that world.

So, the important night came. Pierre appeared dashing in his tuxedo and I wore my black dress with an open back which he admired. I gave last minute advice to Michelle's nanny to make sure he was well fed and goes to be at the right time, and not stay up late no matter how much he nagged about it. We got into our car and headed to the political party headquarter. I could see a lot of light coming out and the sound of music, faint at a distance, roaming around us like a sneaky fog. We got out and stepped into the headquarters where we were greeted by a butler who took our overcoats.

We headed into the crowd and Pierre started shaking hands with people who appeared to me not only as strangers but also strange themselves. From an overaged man to a man whose height not really overreach. Then came the part I dreaded and that was wife introducing. And Pierre started flaunting me as his prized possession 'This is my wife, Yvonne. She was the headnurse at St. Marie's hospital'. I was no such thing. I was just an ordinary nurse. Then, these strange men started kissing my hand and saying 'Enchante, madam. Pleased to meet you. Pierre has told so much about you.' Really? What has he said about me exactly? When exactly did he do that? It didn't seem to me that I would be his topic of conversation. Then came the turn of introducing other men's wives and Pierre would say 'Mrs. Carron, this is my wife Yvonne.' and said wife looks at me and says 'Wow. She's a gorgeous woman. You should join us in the parlor for a drink away from the men and their awful politics. They're always fighting, oh, God knows about what! Almost everything.' I just smiled and I wanted to say something but I really didn't know what was the right thing to say. Pierre joined in immediately 'Of course, she will, as soon as we have met the other members. This is our first event, and it's important we meet everyone'. 'Ok, dear' said Mrs. Carron smiling. 'We'll be expecting you.'. I wasn't really sure if these words were being directed to me or Pierre.

Finally, the panoramic circle ended and I felt like I knew everyone in the place and yet had not been acquainted with a single soul. There were so many decorated men in fancy suits and women in exaggerated dresses and overblown accessories. It seemed it would take but a moment to deconstruct that smile everyone was wearing on their face to see the reality of the face underneath. I certainly was no better than that. It took the events of that evening to show it.

As the evening went on, and we dined. The gentlemen retired for a meeting and as promised Mrs. Carron took us to the parlor where we had drinks. There, every wife manifested her true feelings towards men, money, and politics. It seemed that second was the priority and very little to be said about politics. Mrs. Carron told everyone 'Let me introduce to our newest addition. Madam Chavellier. You know dear. Here all gloves are off. Our men like to parade us like precious item and we let them. Why? Because we love them, of course!". There was a round of laugher in the room. 'How much do you lover your precious Chavellier, dear?' said one of them. "He's the love of my life, and the father of my child and the only man I've ever known.' I replied. One of them hissed from somewhere in the room. "Well, that's about to change soon." Another one said. "He's the only one in your life. Are you sure you're the only one in his?". The question shook me to my foundation. It is not possible that Pierre would be unfaithful to me. We had such love and passion. We stood up against the world so our love would thrive. I answered "I'm sure I'm the only woman in his life." They all laughed almost hysterically. One of them said "Well I can't say that about that fat big I'm married to. He's definitely got his hooves into someone. I'm not sure which of them I feel more sorry for' and then she snorted like a big with a loud voice. I really couldn't take what was going on. I couldn't leave with Pierre and I couldn't stay and I didn't want to make a scene, so I drank and I fended the offensive missiles that came at me from every direction.

The evening quieted down and it was almost an hour after midnight. At last, Pierre came to my rescue. But it wasn't rescue I needed. It was schooling. And apparently Pierre had an education for me. He pressured my arm under his and said with scolding but smilingly 'You're drunk! What's the matter with you? Do you want to embarrass me in front of the party?" I vaguely remembering saying something like "I love you and now they all know it. You don't know the other woman, do you?" Then I thought I saw myself caress his face. I think he just dropped my hand down. As we walked towards the door I heard voices saying something like "Nice to have met you, Mrs. Chavellier. Please come again." I'm not sure if I heard "It's been such fun." or "You're so much fun."

I woke up the next day not sure exactly where I was. I was dressed in my nightgown but have no idea how I got into it. I felt like everything weighted on my head as if everything around was magnified. I couldn't stand the sound of my own voice. I kept trying to remember what happened between the time we left and the time we got home. I remember saying many things I didn't like to hear in the car. I tried to focus on what he said. Did he say "This is my future." and "You have to something about it."

and "they were right". That's all I could remember. As the day went by, I just formed another impression of Pierre. Pierre the hero became Pierre the ambitious and it seems these two were not the same person I fell in love with. I was in love with Dr. Jekyll but it seems he drank the potion of ambition and he remained Mr. Hyde although Obvious he would become within days from this day.

Where am I? I'm in hell with a view. That's right. With a view. From where I live I can see the sea with its tranquil colors and its pacifying texture. My life has been as mysterious as this sea that can feel like your best embracing friend one moment and your worst enemy the next. What do I do? I do the most mystic job in the world. I help women bring their newborn into the world. I help the living feel alive. It seems odd that one day I ended someone's life as much as he ended mine. The difference is that he is six feet under in, I imagine, his own private hell while I still live here waiting everyday for the day of my retribution. What did I do? Well, I'm sure you are here to know this story.

At the time of war, people can be only see in three lights: the victims; the heroes and the angels. And the constant meeting of all three is always the hospital. I was a poor country girl called with a sense of duty to help those misfortune consequences of a war that could be avoided. And in the chaos of war, there are those like me who see the heroes in all their glory, with nothing else but the halo around their cranium. In my case, it was the halo on a doctor. I gazed at him from a distance in the tumult of the wounded and fatalities and felt that I needed to know him and be close to him. His confidence, in spite of the obvious fatigue, glowed on him. And when he smiled, he took my breath away.

As we took uneven breaks from treating the influx of the broken ones, we mismatched being in the same place at the same time. So, whenever I wanted to sneak the chance to find a way to speak to him, he would simply disappear. And whenever my shift was off, I am certain he was always there. Of course, the eternal question was on my mind. Was he spoken for? Would I go through all this effort only to find that there is this other boasting woman claiming him for herself? I just couldn't live with this kind of devastation. I shook off my thoughts. My loyalty was to my country first. Romance can come later. Much later.

But affairs of the heart are not to be dismissed that easily. Day after day, night after night, and I simply couldn't shake him off my mind. I decided to do something about him. At the end of the day, we all have our war to fight. So, I waited after my shift was over, hoping that he would appear. I was lucky when it was one of those rare moments when chance meets with will. Across the hall, his halo shone as he approached from the end of the corridor, and as bodies lay in silent or loud torment around us, I headed in his direction.

I made sure that my headed was looking down with my white nurse's cap leading the way. I stopped every few moments to make sure that he was exactly in my way, and as I heard moans and faint whispers of 'nurse' on my way, I still trotted on knowing that we would end up at some point together. I turned to one of the patients without really listening to what he had say, and I know what the repeated words were, and then I swung to find my head at his chest level. He looked at me and smiled and I felt my spine tingle with sensation. 'What seems to be the problem, nurse?'. I said knowing that it was unrelated to any case. 'The patient is in pain, doctor, and I'm not sure how much morphine to administer to him'. He said 'Let me see.' And as he took a look at the patient's chart, he radiated another smile at me.

It wasn't long after that that we met, smiled and nodded at each other whenever the chance came. But he hardly said a word to me, and I was hoping he would just let out a word of at least 'How's it going, Yvonne?' to which I would reply fondly 'Just fine, Pierre. You?'

It wasn't until that day when they brought this young boy of eighteen years old moaning from a wound in his leg. I started the initial treatment but the boy held on to my hand and said 'Don't leave me. I don't want to die. Don't leave me.' I talked back to him. 'My dear. If you just let go of me, I can treat your wounds.' And it seems the scene was so outspoken that other staff from the hospital, including Pierre, showed up. 'Young man,' he said with authority and it seemed, I think, jealousy 'you need to let go of nurse's Yvonne's hand so she can treat your wounds.'

He knew my name. Oh, what ecstasy! He then proceeded to unlock the grip of the boy from my hand and his hand touched mine. It felt it was a touch with a meaning. I looked at him and our eyes met. He knew and was willing without objections. To say that my heart was aflutter would be an understatement.

We met in places at such time where we could. It was not easy, and every time he talked to me, he told me more about him. He told me about his dreams to enter politics and mix it with his medical profession so he could, as he told me, better the medical care that existed in France. Wow! What a man was he? A rebel, a hero, and ambitious and the more he told me, the more I loved him for it. Not only that but I could see it in her eyes that admired me more and more and felt that I was the one for him. There was nothing in the world that could tear me and Pierre apart. But, apparently, there was.

With a day of celebration since the war had ended, there came our day of celebration and finally announce to the world that we are to be man and wife. The fairy tale of France: the country girl with the elegant high class doctor. My Chevallier was to stand before the whole of France and his family announcing me his bride. And as much as he stood up to them, they stood up to him. It seemed I was not good enough for this family that had some roots in nobility. I was the social climber trying to climb my way out of my modest roots into one of the noblest families in France. But it seemed they were noble enough to let their son choose. And choose he did and won me over. I was to be officially Mrs. Chevallier.

"I'm maybe a stranger to your ways

But you made me familiar

You've shown how a man from the divine strays

And traces tracks that couldn't be sillier

My heritage are legends and fairy tales

A man to man and sword to sword

One man wins and one man fails

Only the conquerors stay on the chess board

Silly me I thought life was boxing match

Two worthy opponents in the ring

And in the end they MUST bury the hatchet

And go on to the next best thing

You taught me one kid who knows no better

Can take down a handful in drones

Some like him, or not him, who just chatter

Deserve no soul, just scattered flesh and bones

I've never been nor will ever be at that end

That doesn't mute the sound of pain oceans away

An improper send off of family or a friend

When ONE thought finger on a trigger had something to say:

I thought about killing you in my nightmares

When I'm scared, I wanted you to be scared too

So I came Chrome .45, pearl grip, prepared

What's that? Can't hear you. Too loud to win or lo..

Years ago, I had love

One morning, gone

Still searching the cause of

What’s worse, the predator or pretense nun?

Ask a friend? muted in masks

Ask relations? Lost just the same

There’s no one left to ask

My Hell simply has no name

Hello, history

I just wonder

How many pages from your book were torn

How many tyrants from atrocity on your page heroes reborn

Hello, history

How much in the public eye was an image painted

And sinner of the night in the sun suddenly sainted

Hello, history

I just wonder what makes you so believable

Most written things are debatable, yours is just a receivable

Who wrote your pages?

Historians? Who paid their wages?

How many people did they have their interest at heart

And how much did other parts play a part?

Hello, history

Why do they call you his-story

Instead of their-story

How many plundered in category

And you returned them burning in glory

I'm sorry history

If there is such a thing

I wish they'd call you what you are

h y p o c r i s y

Asked: What inspiration

Answer: A woman

Yes: a destination

To find her

I know where she is

I know where she lives

I know how she acts

And I know how she breathes

But I can't remove the wide glass

That puts her there and I'm here

I often wondered how this came to pass

And as life moved it

It moved from wonder to strange to weird

Yes, it was a woman

Who never read a word I wrote

The only thing she'd like to write off

Is that one day I was her in thoughts

Decades have passed and things have changed

The feeling remains unchanged

The strangest thing about inspiration

It keeps the writer a stranger

And as more is written, the inspiration remains just as strange.

It seems I had a dejavu

And saw the same one twice

The first one was you

The second a tricky shadow

I ask myself like movies

Can we see them again?

Can they appear as they were?

Even if. Can they talk then?

A hope for a conversation

To catch up and inform

But told that already they know

A soul without a form

Wonder if you understand

I carried on what you had

I wanted to become that man

You so longed to see him stand

But things are not what they were

Now they plant bullies on the road

They let you know how to live your life

And then you pay them for the toll

You told me the world was a kind

Of a place where like finds the like

Now I search for them and it seems

You find them part on a pike.

I wish it were you that I saw

I wish I could explain where things failed

I wish I could tell why things didn't grow

Or why things that fly no longer sail

I want your visit to be welcome

So we can compare what could've been

But which can I tell you there's at least some

Progress then when you've fled the scene

Now everyone's duly informed to know their place

There are lords and peasants, no in between

Every now and then we'll draw one with grace

Make them the star that paints the dream

So undecided if you should come or shouldn't

I'd like you know the things that I could

And ignore the things that I couldn't

But if you come back, can you tell me the things that I should?

It seems I'm always accused of something

Even if I never was

I think hard and I find nothing

Nothing's ever been and never was

Taught young there's always a wrong

But right is always 'just there'

Giants decide if your world stays or is gone

Simply because you shouldn't dare

Then pass the years, a giant or a dwarf,

You sweat after a night's vague vision

That warns that something's off

Prepare your protection from a dreaded decision

You remember a man, a girl, another giant

Whose threshold you trespassed

You and them were on each other reliant

But somewhere you transgressed

They pull you from the shadows to the spotlight

While they hide in shadows an audience

Whisper to by day, louder while dreaming at night

You wake and it makes no sense

You had a need and so did they

Did need turn to greed and a consequence?

And no matter what it is they say or do not say

What less guilt have they

Than the one they hold in suspense?