(It is a day-and-a-half later.) I let this sit awhile, because I felt a bit self-righteous upon finishing. I’ll add this to it, rather than attempting to revise; I don’t think I have it in me to revise anything anymore.
Perhaps I “spoke” too soon. If you are planning on going away again it might actually be a “far better thing” for you to actually meet with Toulouse, so you can (both) “get it out of your system.” I don’t want to be the Gestapo.
I suppose there aren’t any rules, are there? So for me at this point to try and make them seems a little arrogant. I do not mean to sound all over the map, and am sorry for that. But I am
Sincerely,
Trinnie Trotter
A THIRD LETTER
Dearest K,
First off, may I say how gladdened I am you took the time to read my letters, and also took time to so thoughtfully respond.
Secondly, your point on the “romantic” front is well-taken. Katrina, I think the world of you, but promise I do not harbor such illusions notions. You are to me — aside from being the mother of my son, which is itself a new and astonishing complication — like a friend with whom I once shared many things, turbulent and joyous, and with whom I have recently had the pleasure and good fortune to make reacquaintance.
As for the boy — I can’t say they are forever dead but whatever demons drove me — well, they are so quiet or at least now so distant that I can’t make them out against the general landscape. Perhaps they lie in wait, as on that long-ago morning; perhaps they’ve met their match in therapist’s pharmacopia. But your point was, as usual, well-made, and well-taken.
I see the above was a bit unclear. What I meant to say was that the sirens do not call. Not anymore. And that I have not commingled your presence — the existence of you — with the boy’s. And that my head is on straight about it.
[three hours later] Katy, I must now divulge something which it now seems clear you’ve not been told — I have met the boy. I know that
[one hour later] If I have violated a confidence, so be it — it does me no good to part with information which my sponsor, my father-in-law if I may, might rather I had kept to myself. He never said as much, mind you, so I don’t feel the complete opprobrium of betrayal; still, he has been so kind and I am uncomfortably shy in exposing him. But I fear if you WERE told — you may be in possession of such knowledge at this reading for all I know — if you WERE told and I did not mention this development, you might feel again wronged by me and have fuel for myriad resentments and suspicions. I do not wish such emotions to come between us. It has been difficult enough.
Katy, I do not know what goes on at this time between you and Louis; but I do believe that your father, for reasons which I shall put forth in a moment, must have had the very same thoughts as you regarding the urgency of a summit between Toulouse and myself, and so arranged a meeting on Christmas Day. (He had his own “intelligences” for believing the boy was in fact ready to see me, or ready as he might be.) An opportunity to meet him on home ground dovetailed with your absence; why he decided on Saint-Cloud I am uncertain. He had brought me there to show the maze, and we were then, I had been told, to move on to the Hotel Bel-Air for a rendezvous with our son. But then your father felt poorly and rubbed a bit at his neck as if something pained him so we stayed instead and cold tea was brought for him to drink and a wet towel to lay on like a poultice.
The most peculiar thing was that I had already “met” the boy without having known it (this is the “intelligence” of which I spoke). You see, I had a grievous chore to attend to and the vehicle called the Mawk was borrowed when our own broke down. When Toulouse found out I was to be onboard, he stowed away. It was such a sad errand for me, Katy, that I saw him but did not really notice, and thought he belonged to the the driver, Mr. Blade. In any case, I was certainly not introduced. When Louis learned of it, he said to himself what I imagine to be the very same thing you put to letter: well, that the two (or at least Toulouse) should “get it out of their systems.”
Anyway, I won’t go on much more just now — I’m only hoping THIS piece of intelligence, as dear Louis might say, finds you in a charitable, forgiving moment of your day. Lay the blame on me if you wish, for I can bear it, especially from you, but your father was not at fault. He is the best of men, with the best intentions. Katrina, forgive me! My words sound rife with patronization, but I’d rather be back on the streets, mindless and unhinged, if they were to be taken as such, which is the furthest from how they are meant!
Earnestly, and with
MW
P.S. I recall that Louis was emphatic in voicing his desire that you should know that meeting took place; perhaps he has not yet found the right time to convey what transpired. I hope the time I found — and took — was not the wrong one.
A FOURTH LETTER
Katrina,
I understand your silence. In my fear you would sever contact, I selfishly failed to even mention how the meeting with our son Toulouse went. It did not go all that bad. I made inquiries of his schooling and while the boy was reticent to engage in much discussion, he was clearly not afraid, or intimidated. This, I know, does not sound valedictory or sanguine — but is relevant in that he might have heard many unfounded but terrifying rumors about his father.
I have not seen him since, though I long to. I am leaving it to Louis — and to you — and to the boy himself of course — to decide otherwise. I know that you desired to limit your correspondence with me and I don’t wish it to seem I am enlisting you into some sort of contract where I await your delegations; this is so damn difficult, Katy.
I will leave you in peace and am sorry to have disturbed you but felt compelled to send this corollary.
May you have a Good Day,
Marcus
A FIFTH LETTER
January 24th
The Post Ranch Inn
Dear Marcus,
It is all right about you meeting Toulouse; how could it be otherwise? Didn’t I suggest it in my letter? I was taken aback that it happened at Saint-Cloud, and accept your explanation (with some concern as to Father’s health. I have since called his physicians). But I’m not sure why he had you there at all. I do respect your relationship with Louis and have not mentioned the “incident” for precisely that reason, though it is not my job to protect anyone. (It was one of the housekeepers who told me you were there.) Nor could your telling me have any repercussions; Dad might have half-understood you would pass it along to me anyway. He does know we are have corresponded. He isn’t so petty — nor am I. It’s just that I am not feeling very close to him at this moment. I would ask you though, for my sake, to decline any further invitations to Saint-Cloud; if you are to see Toulouse, I feel it should be on neutral ground. Our son He needs to feel safe in the house where he lives; by “safe,” I mean, Toulouse needs to be secure there won’t be any big surprises thrown at him there. Surely, you understand?