Catherine Sullivan

      I was born, in the late seventeenth century, to parents I have never known. I was raised by a midwife in a tiny village in rural France. Even when I was little I knew of the animosity the villagers held against my presence, but the midwife was necessary and respected, and so I was permitted to remain. She called me Ariat. I lived under her protection for nearly fifteen summers, as her apprentice, until she fell ill and died. I had done what I could in attempts to save her but I failed. When she left she took with her the veil of protection that has guarded me from the villagers and the night of her burial I was driven from my home, condemned to wander the continent in solitude.

      I traveled across Europe, from end to end and back again. I cultivated my skills as an artist and musician and practised my trade, for often did I find a woman in need of my services as I went.

      Years later, while wandering between Europe and the Orient I was brought before the shah of the country in which I was staying. He had come to hear of my talents, for by then I was a gifted artist and could play almost any instrument I touched, though my favorite and best was my own voice, and he wished me to perform for him. It was to be many years before I left those palace walls. The shah was enchanted by my music and refused me the right to my freedom. For safe-keeping I was locked within the walls of his harem and soon became the only woman there to never have been touched by him, though it cannot be said he lacked effort and I was forced to be inventive at ways to keep him at bay. In the end my attempts proved unsuccessful. He sent for me one evening and I stepped into his chamber the doors were locked behind me. I fought in earnest that night, but in the end he won me by force. A few months later I suffered a miscarriage, lost his child, and was forced into exile for it was widely believed that I had caused the termination of my condition.

      `I made my way back to France and soon enough my name was whispered by the rich, a mysterious musician, but the finest teacher that could be found. My pupils were many; famous some of them, all rich, children who came with their beautiful innocence to learn the joys that music could bring.      Claude was not a child when he came to me. On the contrary he was twenty, full of youth, full of life, and completely charming. He demanded to be taught and with his careless vibrancy he drew me from the darkness into which I had ensconced myself. I customarily kept the drapes of the music room tightly closed, the lamps dim, and my own dark cloak keeping my features shadowed. I did not wish my patrons to know the secrets that I kept, for my protection as well as theirs.           For his first lesson I prepared to meet Claude as I had met all my students. I waited at the end of the room, hidden in the darkness with my back to the door, listening to hear him enter the room. Without warning the opposite end of the room was flooded with light. I whirled to face him, careful to keep my cloak concealing me, but as I beheld him, the sunlight, flowing in through the window where he stood, catching him at the best advantage, the harsh words I had intended to speak died in my throat. He was handsome, not only in face, but in every way imaginable. I was barely able to push the words out when I spoke, and it took much effort to make them cold, as I directed him to close the drapery.      He simply stared at me, our eyes locked and I stood frozen, transfixed. He crossed to the other side of the room and opened the drapes there; he repeated this procedure until he stood before me. Every window was full of the brilliant sunlight and it shimmered across the inlaid wooden floor in shifting patterns light and I felt as though I were drowning as I gazed into the depths of his eyes. He forward and the seconds stretched across time as pushed back my hood and then slid the cloak off my shoulders. It crumpled on the floor as he stepped even closer to me, his hand reaching out, his fingers fanning across my cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of my lips. He then leaned his face towards me, tipping my chin up.      I flinched away at that last moment. I knew then and there that I loved him, and that I was not ready for this. I looked back at him, he was surprised but not upset and in an effort to dispel the oppressive silence we began his lesson.

     That was how it began. Claude came twice a week for his lessons and after a time began to suggest that he would like to pursue a proper relationship, I agreed. He made me feel wonderful, he made me feel alive again, I had felt so dead for all those years, ever since that night, and I had forgotten how truly exquisite a feeling is to live. Weeks passed into months and our relationship developed and grew stronger. I no longer turned from his kisses, I savored every one. He took me places and by his side I could drop my concealing hoods and turn to face the sun. We would walk in the parks, sit by the river and in the summer we had picnics in the country. Those quite afternoons were the most pleasant of all and he would sit with his back against a tree and I would lie in the soft grass with my head in his lap as he slipped his finger through my hair. He loved my hair, to hold it in his hands and run his fingers through it, and so I wore it down for him.      This state of affairs continued for over two years. We grew ever closer and one winter's night he came for dinner and brought with him a necklace from which hung a heart-shaped diamond pendant. That evening I invited him upstairs and the next morning we shared a delightful breakfast. He stayed over many more times after that and the summer of that year was the most wonderful we had shared but when the colder weather returned his manner towards me began to show a certain chill. When the first heavy snow blanketed the ground we took a sleigh ride to the country. I had news for him that I was certain would return his warmth and affection to me, I could also tell that there was something he wished to share with me.      When he spoke of his news it was the worst I could have imagined. He was to be married in just over a month. I knew the girl, a beautiful young lady, of noble birth and a titled heiress. He had fallen in love with her and the family approved of the union. He talked of her as I withdrew into myself, I wanted no more than to run, far, far away and hide from the world. He then asked me what my news for him had been. I could not tell him the truth, I could never speak of what I carried to him, and so I told him I was leaving Paris, he seemed both upset and relieved. We returned to the city in silence.

      I spent that winter preparing for my departure. I cancelled my accounts, bid fare-well to my students, and purchased a house in the country for myself. It was an isolated cottage, in a forest, a full days ride from Paris and several hours from the nearest village. I settled there just in time for my condition for my condition was becoming obvious and I wished only to live the remainder of my lonely days as far from man-kind as I could possibly be. I had neither seen nor heard from Claude since his wedding day. I had attended of course; to say a private fare-well and to see him for what I had thought would be one last time. I saw his bride, she was a perfect creature, but she lacked the one thing I could give him, what we shared.

      I had been at the house for a time and my condition was becoming quite cumbersome on the day when my solitude was intruded upon. There was a knock at my door and when I opened it I found Claude standing there. He walked into the house as though he lived there, acted as though nothing between us had changed. He was objecting about how difficult it was going to be to come here and see me as he dropped into my fireside chair. Only then did he turn to look at me and I watched realisation dawn on him, as he understood why I had left Paris. He demanded to know who I had been with, who the father was. I calmly told him that he had fathered my child. He took this information indifferently and then offered me monetary support. I refused it, my years teaching the children of the wealthy had made me wealthy myself; I was in no need of his money or pity. I asked him to leave me alone and never to return. He did and I put him behind me once and for all.

      The child was born about one month later. I was both saddened and slightly relieved when I beheld my son, I had hoped that he would not resemble his father and he did not, but it broke my heart to see that he resembled me. I lived in peace with my child for many months. It was a dark night, winter was fast approaching and the chill that rode the wind was biting. I had just put the baby to sleep and come downstairs when the door flew open. Claude stood there, the darkness from outside framing him and the firelight casting a sinister glow across his features. He was I a fury, raving about his wife and a trust of some sort and children. I sharply told him to lower his voice for the baby was asleep. I regretted those words the instant I spoke them, the gleam in his eyes spoke of things I did not want to contemplate. He must have seen the realisation of his intent in my features for he began to move towards the stair. I was closer and reached them before him, I raced up to my son's room and placed myself between the cradle and Claude. I told him he should never have my child. He struck me then, hard, and the blow sent me to the floor. I struggled to my feet as soon as I could and tried to fight him, but my efforts proved futile. He struck me again this time pinning me to the ground. He tore the necklace he had given me from my neck and then pressed a cloth to my nose and mouth, it must have had some sort of drug in it to render me unconscious for the last thing I heard before the blackness claimed me completely war the sound of his voice.      "He is my son now, you hideous slut, you shall never lay eyes on him again,"

      The sun slanted through the windows when I finally woke. The cradle was empty, my baby gone. I left the house that night, never to return, everything remained exactly as it had been that night.

      Many years later I did find my son, at a carnival, under circumstances I dare not remember for they sadden me to no end. My spirit failed me and I could not muster the courage to free him, tell him of who I am to him, or even to speak so much as a greeting to him. I started following him like a shadow wherever he went. France, Spain, Italy, India, Russia, Persia, and back again. I followed him through them all, watching him as often as I could, and always keeping my distance.

      I now stand gazing over Paris; I have followed him here too, as I have for nearly forty years. I am an old woman, my end is near. But I cannot die without speaking the words I have always longed to say, and so I lift the delicate mask, shaped like a crescent moon, that covers the right side of my face, and dry my tears as I speak to the wind, willing it to carry my words to him….      "I only wish you to know that wherever you go, whatever you do, whoever you become, I, your mother, have and shall always love you, my son, my Erik."