Work Text:
A Dance Remembered
“Un, deux, trois.”
The sound of a woman’s voice echoed through the nearly empty dance studio, as the rays of the setting sun filtered in through the large glass windows on either side of the building.
“Quatre, cinq…”
A tall and slender woman stood in front of the large mirror that took up an entire wall of the building. She was wearing a black leotard paired with white tights. Rose-pink ballet shoes were on her feet. Her jet black hair was pulled back into a small bun, which was tied with a blue ribbon.
“Un, duex, trois,” she said again, as she switched between the first, second, and third ballet positions. Her hands and legs moved effortlessly with each word. She then crossed her legs, quickly switching between the fourth and fifth positions. “Quatre, cinq.”
“Un, duex, trois…” repeated a small voice, and the woman turned her head and looked down.
A young boy, no older than 6, was by her side. He was wearing black tights, a loose fitting white t-shirt, and small black ballet slippers. Messy red hair covered his head.
“Quatre, cinq…?”
The boy struggled to stand straight as he switched between the fourth and fifth ballet positions.
“Oof, I still can’t get it right…” said the boy with a sigh. The woman bent down to pat him on the head.
“Everything takes practice, Raphael,” said the woman. Her voice was as soft as the sound of curtains rustling in the breeze. “You’ve only just started ballet last week and look at how much you have improved already!”
“But Mama,” said the boy, as he looked up into the woman’s brown eyes. “I want to be as good a dancer as you!”
“It will take time, my dear,” said his mother, smiling. “Everything takes time.”
The boy furrowed his brow and looked deeply into the mirror before him as he resumed the first position. A sudden, loud creaking sound from behind startled the both of them. The sound came from the dance studio’s only door, and both the woman and the boy turned to look at who had just entered.
“Oh, sorry,” said a man who had poked his head through the doorway. He sported a head of messy, dark red hair and there were slight bags under his eyes. “Am I interrupting you two?” He had a deep, gruff voice, but he spoke in a gentle manner.
“Oh no, Isaac; we were just finishing up,” said the woman. “How was work today?”
“If I had to be honest with you, Amelie,” said Isaac, stepping into the studio. “It could have gone better.”
Isaac let out a long sigh as Amelie walked quickly towards him. Raphael followed dutifully behind his mother.
“Oh dear… Did something happen?” asked Amelie.
“The client wanted me make a painting of his prized topiary trees. That in itself is fine, but he wanted to undercharge me! Can you believe it?” Isaac fumed. “He’s a rich business man who’s thrown who knows how many Euros into maintaining his trees, yet he can’t even be bothered to pay a proper price for a painting!”
Isaac drew a deep breath as both Amelie and Raphael stared at him intently.
“In the end, I managed to get him to raise his initial offer,” continued Isaac. “I suppose I should be thankful for that. But the negotiations lasted longer than I expected… I apologize for being so late to pick you up from practice.”
“It’s alright,” said Amelie. “You were busy with a client. I understand.” She wrapped her arms around Isaac and gave him a small peck on the cheek.
“I just felt bad for leaving Raphael with you today,” said Isaac, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “I knew that you were busy today, what with the big show coming up tomorrow…”
“Oh hush,” said Amelie playfully, releasing Isaac from her hug. “Raphael’s always been a well-behaved boy. And he helped me practice today, didn’t you Raphael?”
Raphael nodded and happily let out a “Yup!” as he ran over to hug his father’s leg.
“Papa, when I grow up, can I become a ballet dancer like Mama?”
For a split-second, a shocked expression crossed Amelie’s face. She gave a quick glance at Isaac, who looked equally shocked. There was a short silence.
“Well…” started Amelie, reaching down to pick Raphael up in her arms. “Male ballet dancers are always in demand, but your father and I always thought of this as… more of a hobby for you than a possible future career.”
“So I can’t become a ballet dancer?” asked Raphael. A frown began to form on his young face. Amelie shook her head.
“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” she replied softly. “It’s just… being a ballet dancer is a very tough job.”
“Yes,” chimed in Isaac. “You have to practice every day and perform in front of large groups of people, who will be watching every step you take. It will be very hard work. Do you think you can handle something like that, Raphael?”
From his mother’s arms, Raphael looked down towards the floor and said nothing.
“Raphael, I’m sorry,” said Amelie. “I didn’t mean to scare you like that.” She gave him a kiss on the forehead and softly placed him back on the floor. “Let’s not worry about such matters now, okay? You still have a lot of time ahead of you to think about all of that. Alright?”
“Yes, and it’s getting late now,” said Isaac, motioning with his head towards the windows. Outside, the very first streetlights were starting to light up. “Why don’t we all head out to dinner tonight? You know, to celebrate your mother landing the leading role in tomorrow’s performance!”
Raphael quickly brightened up again.
“Oh!” he said. “Swan Lake!”
“Yes,” said Isaac. “Your mother will be playing the role of Odette.”
“It’s a very important role,” mused Amelie as she placed one hand to her cheek. “I hope I can do it justice…”
“You’ll be fine,” said Isaac.
“You’ll be fine!” repeated Raphael happily.
Raphael was lying on the floor of his room, doodling with crayons in a cheap blank sketchbook. It was noon, judging by the small white wall clock that hung on the blue-painted wall. From where he lay, Raphael could see through his window that rain was pouring outside.
From his bedroom, he could also hear his father angrily yelling on the phone in the living room downstairs. It appeared that the client from yesterday was having second thoughts and wanted to lower his offer again. Raphael could also hear sounds from the room next to him—his parents' bedroom. His mother seemed to be hurriedly rushing around the room; probably putting makeup on and getting ready for her performance that night.
Curious about how his mother was doing, Raphael got up off of the floor and walked over to his parents' room. The door was slightly ajar, and he peeked in. The room was a bit of a mess—the bed was unmade and drawers and closet doors were all ajar. Various cosmetics were strewn on the vanity at the far end of the room. Raphael noticed his mother near it.
“Oh no…” said Amelie, who was sitting on the floor crouched over something. She was dressed in a plain red coat and dark blue pants. Her black hair was loose and reached down to her shoulders. It was quite an unusual sight as she usually kept her hair tied up in a bun.
“Is something wrong, Mama?” asked Raphael as he pushed the door open and walked in.
“Ah, Raphael,” said Amelie, noticing him. She was clutching her ballet shoes. “It’s just my ballet shoes… there’s a hole in one of them.” She held it out for Raphael to look. Indeed there was a hole in the sole of the right shoe.
“I must have worn a hole in my shoes from practice yesterday,” sighed Amelie. “Of all the times for this to happen…” She ran her fingers over the hole in the shoe and shook her head. “I don’t think I can mend this in time. I’ll have run to the store and get a new pair before the performance starts.”
“But isn’t the store that sells ballet shoes really far away?” asked Raphael, as his mother stood up and put the old ballet shoes into a handbag nearby.
“Yes, unfortunately,” replied Amelie. “Which is why I’ll have to go right away.” She took a quick look into the vanity mirror and frowned. “I guess I’ll just have to try and finish my makeup at the theater…”
“I thought we were all going to the theater together at 4 o’ clock?” asked Raphael, meeting eyes with his mother through the mirror.
“I’m sorry, dear,” said Amelie. She turned around and knelt down so that her face was level with Raphael’s. “I’ll probably have to meet you and your father at the theater. It will save me some time if I drive to the store and then straight to the theater.”
From where he stood, Raphael looked out the bedroom window. Rain was now pounding on the glass.
“Is it okay for you to drive to the store by yourself?” asked Raphael, worry clouding his brown eyes. Amelie let out a small chuckle.
“Oh, Raphael, I’ll be fine!” said Amelie. “It’s just a little rain.”
Raphael stared down at the carpet lining his parents room.
“Is something the matter?” asked Amelie.
“I…” started Raphael. “I just don’t want to go to the theater alone with Papa… not when he’s like this.”
From below, more yelling could be heard. Amelie pursed her lips for a moment, before putting both of her hands on Raphael’s small shoulders.
“…I understand. Papa is probably very scary when he’s acting like this, right?”
Raphael nodded.
“Even though he may act like this sometimes,” continued Amelie. “He… is a truly kind person inside. And he loves you very much, and he would never do anything to hurt you.”
“Is that true?” asked Raphael, his voice scarcely above a whisper.
“Of course,” said Amelie. She planted a kiss on the top of the boy’s red hair. “Raphael… everyone has their moments of weakness sometimes. Your father is… going through a rough time right now.”
A pause.
“If there ever comes a time when I’m not here to support him,” continued Amelie, “Can you promise me that you’ll do your best to take care of your father?”
Raphael nodded again.
“Thank you, dear.” Amelie hugged her son tightly, before standing up and walking towards the door with bag in hand. She paused in the doorway.
“And Raphael?” Amelie turned her head to look at her son. There was a beaming smile on her face. “Always remember that I love you very much.”
With that, she disappeared through the doorway. Raphael was left standing in the room, alone. The sound of rain pattering on the windows could be heard.
Raphael bounced in his seat and kicked his legs up and down.
“Raphael, behave.”
It was his father’s voice. Isaac and Raphael were sitting next to each other in the tightly packed theater, awaiting the performance of Swan Lake by the local ballet troupe. Raphael had been to many performances at the Opera House before. If he had to be honest, he never really liked these moments before the show—the lights above were blinding, and everyone was chatting loudly. Far too loudly. It was all too noisy. But the moment the lights dimmed and the curtains raised, and the orchestra started up—well, that moment was simply magical.
Raphael started humming a tune.
“Oh, is that Swan Lake?” asked Isaac, turning to Raphael with a smile.
“Yup!” replied Raphael. “I memorized the score while practicing with Mama!”
Isaac’s eyes widened.
“You memorized the entire score? That’s… impressive!”
Isaac took a quick glance at his wristwatch.
“Raphael, you said that Amelie—I mean, your mother, would meet with us at the theater?”
“That’s what she told me,” said Raphael. “…Is something wrong?”
A concerned expression was forming on Isaac’s face.
“The performance is supposed to start at six,” said Isaac. “It’s already 5:50… I hope Amelie managed to make it back to the theater on time…”
Minutes passed. Then a few more minutes. And then a few more. The lights didn’t dim. The curtains didn’t rise. The orchestra stayed silent.
“Hey, isn’t it 6:08 already?” said a voice from the audience. “When will the show start?”
The loud cacophony of voices suddenly lowered to hushed whispers. Raphael could sense a bad feeling forming in the pit of his stomach, but he didn’t entirely understand why.
“Papa, did something happen?”
Raphael looked upwards at his father’s face. Isaac didn’t reply, but merely stared at the stage. Raphael couldn’t entirely read his father’s expression. Was it concern…?
Suddenly, the curtains from the stage rustled. Everyone turned their attention to it. Instead of raising, the director of the ballet troupe merely pushed the curtain aside and walked out. She had a microphone in her hand.
“Good evening everyone,” she began. “I would like to formally apologize. Our performance of Swan Lake has been cancelled due to… unforeseen circumstances.”
As the audience began to murmur in disapproval, Raphael suddenly felt his father’s hand grab his.
“Papa…?”
“Raphael, we’re going backstage. Now.”
This was a bad dream, it had to be. The last few days (or was it weeks?) just seemed to blend together in one big blur. All that Raphael remembered were adults talking in panicked tones, and being rushed from place to place. No one told him much about what had happened… but he heard enough to understand what was going on.
It was a sunny day, but the sunlight still felt slightly dimmer than usual. Raphael felt numb inside, as he stared at his mother’s coffin being lowered into the ground. His father stood at his side, and there was a large crowd gathered around. His mother must have been loved dearly by the community.
“It’s tragic, that’s what it is.”
Raphael heard a voice from somewhere… possibly behind him? Whoever the voice belonged to, he didn’t care. More voices could be heard all around him.
“I can’t believe she died so young…”
“…left behind a son…”
“How old is he? Five?”
“Six.”
“—died in a car accident…”
“That’s horrible.”
“The kid’s got a kind face though, doesn’t he?”
“It’s because he’s got his mother’s eyes.”
Raphael could barely remember the rest of the funeral procession. Before he knew it, he was back home, sitting on the floor of his room with his back against his bed. He stared blankly at a far off point outside the window. Below, Raphael could hear his father chatting with some sort of woman in the foyer… his mother’s acquaintance?
“I brought some rose macarons,” said the woman. “I know they were Amelie’s favorite…”
“Thank you, Natalie,” said Isaac’s voice. “It’s very kind of you to take time out of your schedule to visit us.” Even though Isaac’s speech was polite, his voice seemed to be cracking slightly.
“She was a good friend of mine, how could I not come by and check in on you two?” said Natalie. “Is… is Raphael okay?”
“He’s holding up better than I am,” muttered Isaac. Raphael could hear his father pacing around in the foyer below. Natalie fell silent.
“Damn it!” Isaac suddenly yelled. There was a loud crashing noise. Raphael flinched at the sound. He heard Natalie let out an audible gasp.
Raphael quickly went out of his room to peek down the staircase, into the foyer. He saw his father as well as the woman named Natalie, who was standing near the door. Tears were streaming down his father’s face, and his father’s right hand–-clenched into a fist–-was bleeding. Isaac had punched a small decorative glass mirror that hung on the foyer wall. The mirror’s shards were now strewn all about the floor, glistening in the midday sun that streamed through the windows.
“Isaac!” cried Natalie as she rushed over to him, careful to avoid the glass shards on the ground. “Are you alright?!”
“Ugh, leave me be!” shouted Isaac, waving her away with the hand that wasn’t bleeding. “If I had just been there—if I had been the one to drive Amelie that day… then maybe, maybe…”
“Isaac,” said Natalie, in a gentle yet firm voice. “If you had both been in the car that day, Raphael would have lost two parents.”
It was Isaac’s turn to fall silent. After a moment, he finally said, with a shaking voice:
“Please just… leave me and my son alone for today.”
Before Raphael knew it, his life was changing before his very eyes once again. His room was now almost completely bare, save for the bed and a few drawers and shelves. Everything else had been packed into cardboard boxes, which covered almost half of the room. His father, Isaac, was bent over; attempting to dismantle a small desk in one corner of the room.
“Papa, why do we have to move?” asked Raphael, as he sealed another box shut with tape.
“I told you already,” said Isaac, grunting as he fiddled with some finicky screws. “We… I can’t afford this house anymore. So we are moving to a small apartment.”
“Why can’t we afford this house anymore?”
“…You know the answer to that already, Raphael,” sighed Isaac.
Raphael stared at his father for a moment, before running over to a half-open box. He grabbed a small backpack from it, and headed towards the bedroom door.
“Raphael, where are you going?”
Raphael didn’t answer at first. Turning to face his father, who was now staring at him, he said simply: “I’m going to the dance studio.”
Isaac’s face became cross.
“Why are you going there?”
“Because I want to practice ballet,” said Raphael almost matter-of-factly. Neither his voice nor his face showed any sort of strong emotion.
“How are you going to get there?” asked Isaac, overtly agitated. “Your mother and I were the ones who drove you there in the past.”
“Well… I can probably catch a bus. Or something.”
“Are you crazy?” Isaac dropped what he was doing to walk over to his son. “I’m not letting a six year old kid ride the bus by himself.”
“Will you take me there, then?” asked Raphael. Isaac could see that there was determination in his eyes.
“…No,” replied Isaac. “I won’t.”
“Why, Papa?”
“I don’t want you practicing ballet anymore.”
At this sentence, the boy’s façade broke and he became visibly upset. “But Papa, why?! First you won’t drive me to the dance studio anymore, and now you won’t even let me dance?”
“Why are you so damned determined to go to that dance studio anyway?” Isaac countered.
“…Because I want to become a dancer that can make Mama proud,” answered Raphael, his voice shaking.
Isaac cringed and looked away.
“Please, Papa!” cried Raphael, grabbing ahold of his father’s hand. Tears began to form in his large brown eyes. “Take me to the dance studio! I want to dance! I don’t want to forget what Mama taught me!”
Raphael was stumbling over his words now as he struggled to convey his emotions.
“And maybe… if we go to the dance studio… maybe Mama will be there, like always–”
“Don’t you understand?!” shouted Isaac as he pushed Raphael away from him. “Why can’t you understand, boy?! Your mother’s never coming back. She’s DEAD!”
A heavy silence descended upon the room, but Isaac could’ve sworn that he heard a cracking sound—the cracking of his son’s heart. Raphael had a pained expression on his face—an expression that no child should have to make. And those eyes, which looked so much like Amelie’s, bored into Isaac’s soul.
“Just… just help me pack up the rest of the house, Raphael.”
Isaac quietly returned to what he had been working on, turning his back to Raphael. Without turning around, Isaac could hear his son run from the room. He could hear the bathroom door at the end of the hallway being slammed shut, and loud sobs coming from it.
Raphael didn’t speak to him for a full week afterwards.
Isaac drew a paintbrush slowly across the clean canvas. He was sitting on a stool in front of a large easel, laboring away at another piece of art in the early hours of the morning. Scattered all around him were bottles of paint, unused canvases, and paintbrushes. His dark red hair was uncombed, and stubble covered his chin. Such was an artist’s life.
It had been a year since Amelie’s death, and he and Raphael were now living in an old two-room apartment. Isaac had managed to get the apartment for an extremely cheap price, but the downside of this was that the apartment was visibly falling apart. There were cracks in the walls, the bathtub sometimes only ran cold water, and the floors and doorframes creaked noisily at every slight movement.
While the apartment was a mess, Isaac and Raphael’s relationship had fortunately improved. Although they initially had a bit of a rocky relationship in the weeks following Amelie’s death, the two quickly became rather close. After all, it was just the two of them all alone in the world together, now.
Isaac mixed some paint on his palette and tested it out on the canvas. It was a bright red color, reminding him of Raphael’s hair. Isaac felt a pang of sadness inside of him. Although he was trying his best, he was just barely able to provide for Raphael. Sure, they weren’t going hungry or anything; but they barely had any extra money. The days when they often visited theaters and ate out at restaurants were now long gone. Although Raphael seemed to have returned to his normal self in the past few months, Isaac could see that Raphael was much less vibrant than before.
And that wasn’t the only thing worrying him. Raphael seemed to be getting tired all the time now. Isaac assumed that it was just because Raphael had formally started grade school. Being at school all day was probably a new and somewhat exhausting experience for the boy.
Isaac glanced to his side, towards the only table they had in the apartment. Beside some more bottles of paint, there lay a flyer. Raphael had brought it home one day after returning home from school, and had handed it to Isaac without saying anything. It advertised some sort of dance program. Although Isaac had refused to allow Raphael to take ballet lessons after Amelie’s death, perhaps it was time that he allowed the boy to at least take up some form of dancing again…
Isaac was soon snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of an alarm clock. It was 7:30, and soon he would have to walk Raphael to school. Isaac stood up from stool and went over to their one bedroom, which he and Raphael shared.
“Raphael, are you up?” asked Isaac as he quietly opened the door. “It’s time to get ready for school—“
Isaac stopped midsentence the moment he fully opened the door and saw the scene in front of him.
Raphael was lying on the ground beside his bed, still in his pajamas; with the blanket half-strewn over him. It’s possible that he had just fallen out of bed, but what worried Isaac most was Raphael’s face. The boy’s face was flushed and his eyes were still closed.
Isaac ran over to the young boy.
“Raphael, are you alright?!” Isaac grabbed Raphael by the shoulders. It was only then that Isaac noticed how heavily Raphael was breathing. The boy was also covered in sweat. Isaac began to panic. “Raphael, can you hear me?!”
Raphael didn’t respond.
“Well, it’s a good thing that you brought him to the hospital when you did.”
It was the doctor, but Isaac was only half listening. Isaac was currently seated in the doctor’s office, while his son was in one of the patient’s rooms a few doors down.
“…Could have had a far worse outcome…”
Isaac’s eyes darted around the doctor’s office. The doctor himself was a somewhat lanky man, with dark green eyes and tousled brown hair with flecks of gray. The desk in front of him was covered in all sorts of folders and documents. There was also a bookcase behind the doctor, filled with books with long titles—probably the names of various parts of the human anatomy.
Isaac shuddered slightly. The room felt slightly cold—was that just the air conditioning or did all hospitals have this sort of atmosphere? Beyond the door, the sounds of nurses and other doctors rushing about through the halls could be heard.
“…he’ll have to stay in the hospital for a long time.”
“How long?” asked Isaac, who snapped out of his state of stupor for just long enough to catch the doctor’s last few words.
“It’ll depend on his condition,” said the doctor, staring at the papers he held in his hand. “But I’m guessing at least two years.”
“Two years?!” exclaimed Isaac.
“AND he’ll still need proper care and medication after he’s released,” continued the doctor.
“…How much will it cost?” asked Isaac.
The doctor put down his papers and looked Isaac in the eye.
“Do you really want to know, at this time?”
Isaac nodded. The doctor did a quick calculation of the estimated costs on a blank notepad beside him, causing Isaac to cringe slightly when he saw the price.
“It’ll really cost that much?”
“Yes, unfortunately,” said the doctor. “…Are you going to be alright, sir?”
“Yes,” Isaac mumbled. He felt as if he were suffocating underwater. “I’m just… going to check in on my son for a bit.”
The doctor did nothing to stop Isaac as he half-stumbled out the door. It didn’t take long for him to reach Raphael’s hospital room, but Isaac paused as he placed his hand on the door knob. Would he be able to handle the scene before him?
Isaac took a deep breath, before quickly opening the door to his son’s room. He suddenly felt as if the bottom of his stomach had dropped.
Laying before him on a hospital bed was his son, hooked up to all sorts of machines with all kinds of tubing. There was also an oxygen mask placed over the bottom half of his son’s face. The cacophony of beeping sounds from all the different machines was almost deafening. The entire room was bare, save for these machines keeping his son alive. Raphael’s bright red hair stood in stark contrast to his pale face and the white of the sheets. His eyes were still closed, in what Isaac could only hope was a serene slumber.
Isaac couldn’t take it. He felt sick. Just a year ago, he had seen his wife, moments before she died, looking the same as Raphael did now…
Isaac had no idea how he managed to get out of the hospital and walk to the café across the street, but he was now sitting at one of its outdoor tables. There was a cup of coffee in front of him, which he had also apparently ordered but seemed not to remember how.
Isaac felt like an alien as he watched the streets of Paris from his spot at the table. Nothing around him seemed real. The hustle and bustle of the streets were so close and yet they felt so far away, so removed from his situation. People were walking past, smiling… talking. Why were they smiling? Was there no tragedy in their lives? Isaac felt a surge of envy towards the people around him, which quickly turned into a deep sadness. He had never felt so isolated in his life. Having his wife taken from him so quickly almost broke him; but he persevered for his son’s sake. And now his son’s life seemed to be slipping away also. It was too much to bear.
“Hey fella, you look like you could use some help.”
Isaac slowly turned to look at the source of the voice. A strange man in a gray overcoat was now sitting across from him, his face shadowed by the trilby sitting on his head.
“What do you want?” said Isaac. “Just leave me alone.”
“Are you sure you want to shoo me away?” asked the man. “After all, your son is sick and you are in great need of money—“
“HOW THE HELL DO YOU KNOW ABOUT MY SON?!”
Isaac was now standing up. He had slammed a fist down on the table, spilling his coffee in the process.
“Now, now; please sit down,” said the man, grinning. “We don’t want to disturb the other customers, now do we?”
Isaac looked around him and saw that a few other customers of the café were staring at him with puzzled looks. Isaac sat down quietly, and began to clean up the coffee as best as he could with some of the napkins that were on the table.
“How the hell do you know about my son?” asked Isaac again, in a whisper that was full of venom. He studied the man more closely now. The man had a round face, but it was hard to tell what his body type was because his loose-fitting overcoat was completely buttoned up. The man also wore loose-fitting dark brown slacks.
“Let’s just say,” said the man, “That I have eyes in many places.”
The man began to reach into his pocket.
“You’re the famous artist aren’t you?” continued the mysterious man. “The one who can replicate things perfectly through his paintings.”
“I don’t know about famous,” said Isaac. “But yes, people have said that I have a talent for recreating what I see perfectly through my artwork.”
“I have a proposition for you,” said the man. He finally pulled his hand out of his pocket. In his fist were a wad of banknotes. “I want you to paint a few things for me.”
“What kind of things?” interjected Isaac. Although he was already wary of the man upon appearance, this sort of behavior only made Isaac more suspicious.
“Oh, we can talk about that later,” said the man, pocketing the banknotes again. “First, I want to know for sure that you’ll accept the offer.”
“…How much will I get paid for it?”
“Enough to pay for your son’s medical bills.”
Isaac hesitated. Did he really want to accept this man’s deal? It was very likely something illegal. Would he be able to handle the consequences? Isaac wanted to refuse, but his thoughts returned to Raphael, lying in the hospital bed…
“Will you be able to pay for ALL of my son’s medical bills?” Isaac slowly asked. “He’ll need care and medicine for a few years after he’s released as well.”
“Yes, yes;” said the man, seeming to grow impatient. “It will all be taken care of.”
Isaac closed his eyes, dreading how much his simple life would change because of the next few words that came out of his mouth.
“…Fine. I’ll do it.” Isaac sighed. “…For my son’s sake.”
“Good!” said the mysterious man. “Good. I’ll get you started right away. And oh, I can give you a new apartment as well, with plenty of space for you to do your work…”
It was a full moon’s night, not that the moon could match the lights of the streets of Paris below. Raphael, now eighteen, was leaning against the parapet of a rooftop. He was dressed in a dark, navy blue suit that was unbuttoned, revealing a white collared shirt and a bright red tie. A navy blue fedora with a red band sat atop his head of messy red hair. He was playing with a small golden coin, embossed with a strange symbol, in his left hand.
“It’s been three years since I last saw him now…” Raphael mused, as he stared at the city streets below.
“Woeuf?”
Raphael turned to look at the creature sitting beside him. It was a slim white dog with a brown spot over its left eye, and a red handkerchief tied around its neck. The dog was staring at him.
“Sorry, Fondue; I was just thinking about Papa—er, I mean, my father. I wonder what he’s doing now…”
Fondue let out a low whine. Raphael smiled.
“You probably don’t understand anything I’m saying, do you?” said Raphael. He quickly checked a large clock display atop one of the many shops down below.
“Hmm, 8:40,” said Raphael. “We still have a few minutes to kill before the heist at nine.”
Raphael leaned over the parapet and took a deep breath of the crisp night air. The sounds of traffic and tourists milling about could be heard down below. And also… music. Isaac looked straight down below where he stood. A small band was playing on the streets that night. The song sounded somehow familiar…
“Ah, that’s Swan Lake!” exclaimed Raphael.
“Hurf?” said Fondue, tilting his head to the side and raising one ear up the air.
“I haven’t heard this piece in ages,” said Raphael. “I wonder if I still remember the steps…”
Raphael walked away from the parapet and towards the center of the roof as Fondue watched curiously. Raphael then stopped and stood up straight. He began to move his arms; in front of him, outwards, and over his head. He also moved his legs, crossing them and uncrossing them. It was the five basic positions of ballet.
Raphael recalled how he had struggled with these ballet positions as a kid. However, as a young man now, he was able to move through all five positions with ease. It was a shame he never got the chance to learn more ballet, but nonetheless being able to pull off these basic moves filled him with a small sense of joy. Maybe somewhere, above the skies, his mother was watching him. And maybe his father was too, somehow.
Raphael continued to go through the ballet positions, up on the rooftop above the lights and the sounds of the city below. He mouthed some words under his breath, scarcely audible.
“Un, duex, trois…”