La Mort des Apparences (The Death of Appearances)

“I feel like I’m running out of time,” Jacques said with the utmost conviction, concern etched across his brow.

“How can you say that, Jacques? You and I have plenty of time,” Zelda, his fiancé responded as she reached to touch his arm. Lovingly, she caressed his forearm in an attempt to assure his despondency was from nothing more than the gloomy, rainy weather filling the Parisian streets. “We have plenty of time to do all the things you want, dear. In a month, we’ll be married. We are young and on the precipice of so many possibilities, so why in heaven’s name do you sound as though your world has come screeching to an unexpected stop?”

Jacques attempted a smile, but Zelda could see how forced it was.

She sensed the invading melancholy. Tenderly, she laid her head against his shoulder. “Please, Jacques. Don’t talk this way.”

“You are right, my sweet,” Jacques said in his thick, French-laced accent as he patted Zelda’s hand. He stood and proceeded across the room to the small tabletop bar. “Would you like a drink, Zel?” he asked, pouring himself a generous glass of amber-colored whiskey.

Zelda eyed him and shook her head. It was not like Jacques to drink whiskey so early in the afternoon. He usually preferred his French wine.

“None for me, Jacques. I will have my usual glass of wine,” she said before heading to the kitchen. Pausing, she glanced back and added, “Wine helps me cook better. Put some music on, will you?”

Jacques did not respond but Beethoven soon filled the early evening air, albeit a bit louder than usual. Jacques must be in a mood if he was playing Beethoven. He was normally partial to the softer music of composers like Chopin.

“Would you turn that down, Jacques? Suzette will be complaining!” Zelda called from the kitchen as she poured a glass of wine. Still, the music blared.

Suzette was the neighbor from hell that Zelda wished on no one, including her worst enemy. For whatever reason – maybe due to the age difference – they had never been friends. If Suzette could find anything, no matter how trivial, to complain about, she would. It was more than likely, too, she would soon be complaining about the volume of Jacque’s music.

“Jacques?” No response. Zelda sighed and gave up. The music was so loud Jacques could not hear her anyway, so Suzette be damned.

Zelda busied herself in the kitchen preparing dinner. As long fingers wielded the knife and performed tasks, her mind touched on Jacques’ mood. She could not deny she was worried. It had been months since he had last seemed to genuinely laugh. Sure, he would sometimes do so it seemed in an attempt to assure her he was okay, but she knew he didn’t really feel it. She had thought he would snap out of it one day and return to being more like his old self. They should be getting married soon, but because of his state, she had to wonder if they should postpone the wedding.

Jacques’ words this September afternoon had left her more hurt than she had admitted. The truth was she was a bit stunned by his declaration he felt at a standstill, as though he was going nowhere and had nothing to offer. He’d said his heart longed for something he didn’t understand and he felt misplaced. The crushed look on her face at the realization she was not enough must have shown. Was Jacques not as fulfilled by her as she by him? He was her everything, and it was inconceivable he would not feel the same.

As if attempting to reassure her, Jacques had suddenly looked at her with those penetrating green eyes of his before he spoke again. “It’s not you, Zel. You are by far the best part of me.”

Zelda had internalized a huge sigh of relief with his word and quickly replied, “Well then, don’t be silly. Time is not running out for you, Jacques.” But, had that been the right thing to say? Doubt surfaced. It was clear from the look on his face, the words she had spoken had done nothing to reassure him or squash the sadness.

The timer sounded. Zelda removed the salmon from the oven. Delicious aromas of lemon, sage, and other spices filled the room. As she poured the wine, she looked out the large window. Living on the twenty-fourth floor provided a stunning view of the Southern side of Paris, and the sunset this evening was beautiful. Bold hues of blue, pink, and yellow filled the sky, worthy of the finest artist’s brush. Hopefully this was a sign all would be fine.

Zelda headed back to the den. Not finding Jacques, she immediately went to the stereo and turned down the level of the music. As she did so, sounds of the city below rose, including resounding sirens. Looking behind, she realized Jacques had left the balcony doors open yet again. The curtains billowed in the soft breeze that flowed in across the balcony.

“Jacques, dinner is ready,” she called as she made her way across the room intending to close the balcony doors, but before she could do so, the doorbell sounded.

Zelda opened the door to find her neighbor, Suzette. As usual, there was no trace of a smile on Suzette’s face. It was clear she had found the music too loud and was there to complain. It was as though complaining gave the woman life and breath.

Zelda rushed in with an apology. “I’m sorry about the music, Suzette, but you know how much Jacques enjoys his music.” She fully expected a sarcastic retort, but instead, something in Suzette’s face gave her pause. Was it actually pity she saw in Suzette’s eyes? They were talking about music, for heaven's sake, so why in heaven’s name would Suzette look as though she felt sorry for her?

Suzette appeared a bit nervous and instead of responding, she glanced down at her feet and hesitantly stepped aside to allow a tall, lean police officer to fill the doorway. Zelda’s mind raced. Was Suzette so angry about the loud music that she had used the opportunity to call the police? Seriously? Zelda cleared her throat as she attempted to think of something to say, but the officer spoke first.

“Mme. Dubois?”

“Oui,” Zelda said while keenly aware of her neighbor’s silence. “I’m so sorry about the loud music. It won’t happen again.”

Jacques was never going to hear the end of this! What would the other neighbors think now that Suzette had involved the authorities? Where was Jacques anyway? She looked over her shoulder anxiously, but there was no sign of him.

“Mme. I apologize, but I am not here because of the music. I am afraid I have some most unfortunate news. We have asked your neighbor, Mme. Moreau, to come to offer support,” he nodded at Suzette. The officer’s English, though stilted, was fluent enough that Zelda had no difficulty understanding.

She quickly stepped aside. “Please come inside. I’ll get my fiancé.” She turned to call Jacques, but Suzette had quickly taken her by the arm and was steering her toward the sofa.

“Zelda, please sit,” the neighbor said, pity now a fully recognizable emotion in her dark eyes.

Dread began to spread, permeating her body. Why would Suzette not let her get Jacques from the bedroom? What unfortunate news did the officer wish to share? Her eyes darted across the room and spied the open balcony doors as she slowly lowered herself to the sofa. Sirens filled the silence, echoing from the busy streets below. Both a fervent fear and denial took firm root in her mind as a horrible thought crept forward to taunt her like an insidious snake silently slithering into a beautiful garden.

The officer removed his hat and took a seat. His brow creased and his lips pursed as he appeared to grapple with the right words.

“Mme. Dubois, is this your fiancé’s wallet?” He handed her a brown leather wallet and though it was worn than when she’d last seen it, she quickly recognized it.

Zelda took ahold of the wallet, her fingers clutching the worn leather with a sense of dread. Jacques was never without his wallet.

The officer cleared his throat, uneasily looked at the floor, and then at Suzette before his somber gaze returned to Zelda. “Mme., I regret to inform you we believe your fiancé leapt from the balcony to his death only a short while ago. We are currently transporting his body to the morgue for further inquiries, but unfortunately, we will need you to identify him. I am truly sorry for your loss, Mme.”

There was a loud buzzing in Zelda’s ears as she momentarily stopped breathing. This could not be happening. The officer must be mistaken. Jacques had just been here, in the apartment, with her, listening to Beethoven, and waiting for dinner.

Tears streamed down Zelda’s cheeks as she repeatedly shook her head in denial. She rose and went to the bedroom, calling Jacques. Suzette followed, whispering words of comfort softly. Jacques could not be found. It seemed the nightmare was real though Zelda wished desperately to awaken.

Zelda eventually took a seat on the sofa again. Lowering her head, she wept. Suzette’s hand caressed her back as she hoped to provide a measure of comfort. Unbeknownst to Zelda, the officer rose and walked around the tiny apartment, taking note of the dinner table setting, the half-drunk glass of whiskey, and the piece of paper atop the desk with Zelda’s name boldly scribbled on it. Picking it up, he read the handwritten note and quickly confirmed his suspicion the man who had jumped was Jacques Lyon. Walking to the balcony, he peered over the wall and viewed the chaos below before returning to resume his seat. Nothing looked out of order. It was apparent this was a most unfortunate suicide.

“Do you have someone you can call, Mme. Dubois? Any family?” he quietly asked. “You should not be alone, Mme.”

Zelda looked up and nodded. She would have to call both their families, but she didn’t know how she would tell them. Suzette handed her a pretty, lace-trimmed handkerchief. Distracted for a moment, Zelda took note of the irony in the handkerchief’s unblemished, delicate beauty. How could something appear so lovely amid this horrific set of circumstances? It was oxymoron, much like a beautiful rose in an otherwise weed infested garden. Zelda thanked her through tearstained eyes and accepted the handkerchief.

“Very well, Mme. Dubois. We will need you to come down to the morgue in the morning, s'il te plaît, and afterwards, to the station as a matter of formality, but for tonight, you should call your family and try to rest. I am truly sorry for your loss.”

Zelda watched the officer rise, don his hat, and leave. Suzette followed behind him and quietly closed the door. Zelda’s senses had gone into overdrive, and she became innately attuned to every fleck of dust on the side table, every precise noise that rose from the streets below, and every attempt at drawing breath her body made.

Suzette closed the balcony doors and then said, “I’m going to make a pot of very strong café, Zelda,” before heading to the kitchen.

Zelda marveled that Suzette, her sworn enemy until now, seemed much at ease with her newly assigned caretaker and friend roles. She had thought Suzette would be the last person on earth she’d want to be with her, but she was more than thankful for the neighbor right now. She would never look at her in the same harsh light again. While it was odd finding comfort in the hands of someone she had never befriended or trusted, tonight had proven to be a night of unexpected surprises. Life was not as it had appeared only a mere hour ago. Indeed, life was now much akin to a carousel going round and round, no matter how Zelda desired to disembark.

As Suzette busied herself with the coffee, Zelda picked up the wallet, lifting it to inhale of its musky smell. Tears stung her eyes anew. It smelled like Jacques. She was overwhelmed by the essence of the man she loved, but Zelda knew she must accept the truth. What immense pain must have filled Jacques to do something so desperate. She was heartbroken and guilt encompassed as she remembered her inability to make him feel better. She should have done more, said more, helped more, and loved him more. She should have known what to say and been there for him even when he pushed her away. Doubt, grief, and guilt consumed in one fell swoop, and Zelda wept with greater intensity, recognizing the scope of Jacques death and her own shortcomings.

Eventually, she reached down to smooth the delicate, lace handkerchief lying in her lap and used it to dry her eyes. Again, she was struck by the stark contrast of the lovely handkerchief and devastating, brutal reality. Lightly, she traced the lace edges. Her life would never be like the pretty lace again, and she would never look at things in the same light ever again.

It would take a great deal to move beyond Jacques’ death. She realized belatedly, she had indeed run out of time – just as Jacques had so desperately feared he was doing. Zelda had created a life of illusion where everything appeared beautiful, but in actuality, it had been anything but. With profound regret, Zelda had quickly realized appearances were nothing more than a façade created for the delusional and the weak. Jacques’ senseless death made her determined to no longer hide behind weak, false appearances for it had been far too costly to do so. Indeed, the illusion of appearances had been no friend. Life as she had known it was now tarnished, and she desired only to view it going forward through clear eyes. She would confront life, including those things riddled with pain, with a stronger realistic sense. She would never fall short of the mark again for those whom she loved. She owed this much to Jacques.

Zelda crossed the room, opened the balcony doors, and made her way to the railing. She knew she was retracing Jacques’ final steps, and it nearly shook her resolve. Determined, however, she peered over the edge, looking down at the street. Her heart ached with unbearable pain as she thought of Jacques in his final moments of desperation and despair. He must have felt so alone and so bereft of any hope. Resolutely, Zelda clutched the delicate handkerchief within her grasp knowing she had been so utterly foolish and so wrong.

With every breath she took, she was aware of the wind seeming to whisper, echoing her regret. Lifting her arm and draping it across the balcony’s ledge, she dangled the delicate handkerchief from her fingertips, watching it dance against the wind. With determination borne of pain, she released it, holding her breath as the wind lifted and carried it across the lovely skyline. After a short while, she lost sight of it, and only then did she allow a huge breath to escape her lips.

Today had been a day of horrible loss, pain, and awakening. Somehow, she knew she must continue to live, moving beyond the immense guilt and regret. Life was no longer an illusion and like the handkerchief, all of its delusions had been carried away on the wind. Yes, life’s false bravado, like Jacques, was gone this night, disappearing into the moonlight with the lace-trimmed handkerchief.