The Metropolis Case_ A Novel - Matthew Gallaway [25]
Gina had never seen her daughter in such a disheveled state and grew even more alarmed when, instead of running to her for comfort, Maria stormed into her room, where she slammed the door. Moments later the phone rang; the principal was on the line, accompanied by Sister Mary Michael. “This is a very serious matter,” she said after laying out the details of the felony. “I have every intention of expelling Maria.”
“Expelling? She’s never given anyone any trouble,” Gina protested. “I’m sure there must be some explanation.”
“I don’t know if I would characterize Maria as trouble-free.”
Gina felt flustered, as if she were about to get expelled, but then had a vision of her daughter singing in the living room, at which point all her doubts about Maria seemed to congeal into a hollow vessel she wanted to smash in the heat of accusation. “Nobody understands her, that’s all. She’s very talented—and whatever she said about the sister’s singing, I’m sure she was right.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Sheehan, but whether Maria was ‘right’ or not is beside the point. Assuming the decision is made to accept Maria back into the school—which is far from certain—may I suggest perhaps a little less emphasis at home on Maria’s wants and a little more on fitting in?”
Gina felt relieved after she hung up, and even proud that Maria—who knew how to sing—had given the sister what she deserved. But the second this thought crossed her mind, it was followed by new doubts: Gina wondered if they had played too much music over the years, or if she had overindulged Maria with her backyard productions; after all, the consequences could be serious. Except as she listened to Maria’s muffled cries through the bedroom door, she knew it was too late. A wave of sadness and empathy brought tears to her eyes, and she felt certain that her daughter was afflicted with the same longing as she was. If this, too, was a relief to admit, it gave way to a new fear that if Maria could actually mold her talent into something great and timeless, it would take her places Gina could not begin to imagine.
9
Expériences nouvelles touchant le vide
PARIS, 1851. One afternoon not long after Lucien turned fourteen, he answered a knock on the door and to his astonishment found the Romanian princess peering in as though she had stumbled onto the entrance of a cave. “You’re the son?” she less inquired than demanded, as a pair of domestics hovered behind her.
To this point, he had observed her only from a distance, usually as she entered or exited the courtyard—always in her carriage—or when she hosted one of her famous galas, which were said to be more extravagant than royal coronations. For her most recent one—held a few months earlier, in the middle of February—guests were invited to dress in the manner of “il y a cent ans” and thus wore prerevolutionary masks and dominoes bedecked with jewels and feathers or, for those many inclined to go beyond this basic requirement, yards of silk and velvet—for the women—while the men wore cravats and powdered wigs, some in eccentric shades of blue and orange. There was a procession that led from the Right Bank over the Pont Constantine and featured a Russian countess who arrived in a dress made entirely of black pearls and white silk, upstaging an elderly marquise in partridge feathers and diamonds, while another—to the delight of Lucien and the servant children watching this parade—managed to trip on her way out of the carriage, causing her wig to bounce off her head and into the Seine.
As for the princess, though she seemed quite old and her dresses tended to accentuate