13, Rue Therese - Elena Mauli Shapiro [50]
From whence does the majesty of their form come? Perhaps from the absence of all passion.
With these words, Xavier shuts his book and puts it back inside his coat. He asks Louise, “What do you think? Do you think my students will find this interesting?”
He stands there without reaching for her, and she is quite sure she wants to wrap her hands around his neck and squeeze. What does the infernal bastard want from her? Is he saying that if she were some empty vessel, free of desire—then he would find her attractive? What manner of trap has he laid for her today? She feels she might collapse on the gravestone and cry, but a great resolve not to give him that pleasure grips her, since who knows, perhaps this is what he wants: simply to break her, to see emotion explode from her helpless heart the way the too-sweet flesh from a half-rotten fruit would burst forth into the hand when it is pressed too hard.
His hands are in his pockets. He stands there watching her placidly, completely shielded by his coat. She wants to leap on him and tear the clothes from him, get this over with—or perhaps kill him instead? In a fit, she might pick up a loose cobblestone and dash his brains all over the ground with it. It would certainly crown the strangeness of this unexpected day.
“Dear Sir,” she says, her voice high with quivering wrath, “I too have a story that you might find of academic interest. Do you remember the piece of artillery they called the Paris Gun? This was toward the end of the war, and the Germans were shelling the city with it. Do you remember? It was the largest gun ever built and could shoot the farthest. It was many miles away from the city. Do you remember? The barrel of the thing often got so overheated that it would warp and then it had to be changed. The accuracy of the weapon was also quite poor. The Germans only succeeded in hitting the outskirts of Paris with it. This famed and enormous gun did not do much, though oceans of money were drained into it. Think of the size of the foiled investment. It was hardly used and hardly inflicted any casualties. Militarily, it was a failure. It could only hit city-sized targets and was not too successful at doing that. Do you remember?”
Xavier doesn’t move when she tells him this, but she can see that she has affected him. His face is suddenly a florid red. His jaw ripples with a wave of tension. He must be puzzled and furious, and she is glad. Her voice thick with mockery and rage, she says with a creeping smile, “What a pity, no? Such a big gun, and such a failure.”
Something electric travels up from the ground and shoots its way into Xavier’s body. Louise can see it move through him like a wave. His back straightens and his eyes widen; he is galvanized. She thinks at this moment that he might press himself against her and push her back onto the grave and crawl in heated fury all over her—to take her, finally! She thinks that this must be the moment. She is convinced that she can see the impulses of his torsioned heart, his overwrought sex. Is she victorious?
“You wish to see failure?” Xavier growls from deep in his throat. “I will show you failure.”
With these words, he turns on his heel and walks quickly away from Louise toward the gate of the cemetery, his steps echoing eerily on the cobblestones.
LOUISE’S RIDE HOME ON the metro passes through her in a blinding rage. She cannot even begin to believe the foolishness that just happened. She hates him so much! If she were a man, she would beat him senseless. She would take great joy in feeling his muscle give beneath her punches. His groans of pain would be music to her ears. If he fell beneath her assault, she wouldn’t stop: she would kick him while he was down. She wonders if she could feel his ribs crack—would she be able to hear some sticklike snapping sound?
The blood from his broken nose streaming