Chapter 59

It was a few days later that I was instructed to make myself presentable, meet my mother in the drawing room, and sit with her. My first suitor, accompanied by a relative, was to visit.

I arrived wearing one of the dresses that Mr. Martin had commissioned – I was not intending to waste my only good dress I had salvaged from the institute – and decorated with many little ornaments that I had earned through various little services under Mr. Martin.

As hard as I had tried, I could not imagine what sort of man I was going to be introduced to.

Rich? Unlikely, I thought, since our station in life had sunk to such depths.

A man of taste? Once again, not likely, given the well-known philistinism of my stepfather, which, I imagined, extended to his circle of acquaintances.

A man of beauty?

I truly hoped for the latter, for that is the greatest preoccupation of a young woman, who has no conception of the cost of a block of butter or a loaf of bread. Sex, sex, sex. That's all I wanted. To have my needs met, my desires satisfied, and my imagination inflamed was all I wanted.

So, let this suitor be uncouth and pauper, but let him have a pleasant visage, a strong body, and a well-fitting clapper to make my bell ring each day!

That was my prayer.

What prayer has ever been answered, I ask? Not that of the starving child in the desert, or that of the man on his dying bed. And certainly not mine.

At the agreed hour, we heard a knock on the door.

The room was filled by the cold light of a late-Autumn afternoon. The cacophony of the room, with its disparate décor, seemed to have lost whatever clumsy charm it might have had. It simply retained a melancholic note, that every effort to achieve beauty was ultimately frustrated.

Mother instructed me to stand and to wait by the sofa.

Cosette, who had deserted her post at the store and had been cladded in a new uniform, as ill fitting as the dresses my mother and I were wearing, opened the door.

An old gentleman and a younger one stood by the threshold.

My gaze quickly went to the young man, whom I studied with growing apprehension that this was an elaborate joke my mother was playing on me.

The young man was very tall. His shoulders were narrow, his chest keeled. Contrarily, his stomach was prominent, and his hips were wide, almost feminine. He possessed long arms that fell lifelessly by his sides. But, what shocked me above all, was his face: this possessed many qualities of youth – its cheeks were hairless, and its general countenance betrayed a great timidity – and none of the charms. His chin was unimportant, and his nose, overly thin and exceedingly long, was noteworthy. His eyes, small and bulging. His lips, thin. His teeth, yellow.

'Mr. Henri Canard, and his son, Eustache,' my mother said, making the introductions. 'This is my daughter, Eloise.'

Eustache looked at me with stupefied eyes. He knew not what to make of me. His lips trembled, then they broke into a gawky smile.

'Give your hand to the girl!' his father said in a boomy voice that made the poor boy jump.

Having offered me the hand, and having I taken it, we all sat around the room: my mother with Hubert, Mr. Henri Canard with his son, and, in the middle, your humble servant.

The two older men, Hubert and Henri, began to converse.

Like my stepfather, Mr. Canard had begun with little and, from there, created his fortune. Unlike Mr. Martin, Mr. Canard had not started with a bucket of buttons, but with bunches of pansies that he picked from the field overnight. He would also plant them to a patch of moss that he lodged inside a walnut half-shell. He would paint the shell and add a few little pebbles to the moss, and he would carry these miniature gardens and the bouquets of simple flowers to the markets in a box that hung from his neck with a string.

The box became a cart. The flowers became artichokes, onions, and spinach. Then came the store at the end of our street, that my mother had visited only last week, without an introduction, demanding whether they also had sons up for marriage, in addition to fruit and vegetables.

'What a lucky coincidence, eh? What do you say, Eustache?' Henri asked, elbowing his son very hard in the ribs.

Eustache had been staring at me with great wonder, quite excited by the prospect that this creature could one day be his. In his enthusiasm, he had passed his time pinching my arm with his fingers.

'Yes, very lucky,' the boy finally replied.

At this point, my mother began to espouse my virtues: well educated, good taste, pretty, and demure.

'This will certainly make a happy marriage,' Eustache's father replied, a little too dismissively. 'My boy too has been raised sparing no expense. I believe he even read a book or two some time ago, haven't you?'

Eustache, now once again preoccupied with the pinching of my arm, failed to answer, but this didn't deter Mr. Canard, who now moved on to a topic much closer to his heart:

'The fact is, my friends, that textiles and vegetables don't go well together.'

'What do you mean?' Mr. Martin, rather offended, rebuffed him.

'I mean that a marriage that connects us to a very different sort of industry than the one we're in doesn't offer an obvious advantage to the family business. In fact, only last week, we've been offered a young woman – granted, not as pretty as this one – that came with many acres of arable land. See? Land and vegetables go well together.'

My stepfather conceded this point. Yes, he could see how there was no obvious symbiosis between the two trades.

'But I like this one!' Eustache exclaimed.

'You'll like what I tell you to like!' his father said, raising his voice. 'But,' now he turned to Mr. Martin and my mother, with a much calmer tone, 'there may be other options… Perhaps in the form of a dowry.'

My mother turned to Hubert, who began caressing his paunch.

'That would certainly benefit your side of the bargain. But what about mine?'

We had reached a difficult impasse.

Tea and cake were served, and the conversation moved in circles, from buckets of buttons to fields of artichokes, then to the state of the textile industry in Europe to the issue of my dowry.

I said nothing, as my opinion had not been requested. Instead, I drank the tea in my saucer with great relish, for it was a superior blend to what was normally served in the house; and, ditching any cutlery, I ate two slices of cake, which had been greatly admired but not touched by anyone else, from my bare fingers.

My mother began to clear her voice.

Mr. Martin looked at my appetite with a worried look on his face.

Mr. Canard commented, under his breath, that the girl could eat, and that was very bad for both her constitution and her future husband's pockets.

Eustache pinched my elbow idly.

I ignored all this and ate and considered that, unless my mother gave up on that design of hers to see me married as soon as possible, I had better leave her house.

But to go where?

This prospect filled me with great fear. I was therefore torn between the tedium of my empty days at Mr. Martin's store, the reluctance to join in lawful matrimony a man of the ilk of Eustache Canard, and the fear of leaving on my own, headed who knows where.

'Well, why don't we let these two alone for a while, to see if there's some sympathy, eh?' Henri Canard proposed.

'That will be splendid, but we cannot forget some of the problems we have found so far,' Mr. Martin replied.

'After all, we have other suitors to interview,' my mother added.

'That will be fine. Sure, sure. Boy,' Mr. Canard now said to his son, 'why don't you and the girl go down for a little walk, so you can get to know each other, while we discuss the matter further.'

Eustache nodded approvingly.

Everyone then turned to me.

I raised my shoulders:

'That is the same to me,' I said.

So, I headed out the door, almost relieved not to have to listen to that talk any longer.

Eustache trotted behind me.

We walked in silence down the stairs; I then looked left and right, deciding where to go. Without as much as a look towards Eustache, I began walking away from the shops and the houses, and towards the field.

Eustache followed me, trying to catch up.

'I'm – I'm Eustache,' he said.

'You said,' I replied coldly.

'Do you think we'll get married?' he said.

'Ah, ah!' I laughed.

'But didn't they say…' he began.

'They can say what they want. I'm not getting married. Not with you, not with anyone.'

'Oh!' he replied, with surprise. 'But why?'

Such a simple question startled me:

'I don't know. I never really thought of a reason. I guess I don't want to.'

'Oh…' he said.

We had by then reached a little depression in the land, covered in shrubs. From there, you couldn't see any of the houses, and you couldn't hear the noise of the horses or the carts rolling on the road.

'If you beg my pardon,' I said, and I squatted, needing to relieve myself.

'Oh!' he exclaimed, looking at the little stream that was heading for his shoes.

'See? What kind of wife would I make? I eat when I'm hungry. I piss when I need to.

Eustache considered this.

'Then… You don't want to be my wife?'

I laughed again and asked:

'What would you do with a wife like me?'

His answer surprised me:

'There's that thing… That a man and his wife can do…'

'Very well, Eustache! That something we both like, eh? But the problem is that I fuck when I want to fuck, and with whomever I want to.'

He shrugged his shoulders.

'That wouldn't bother me.'

'Oh, but it would bother everyone else. Imagine what that would to do your father's business!' I asked.

Eustache shrugged his shoulders again and said meekly:

'I think I would like it anyway.'

'Poor Eustache,' I said. 'You've never done it, have you? You've never had intercourse.'

He shook his head.

'Well, if you promise to marry the girl with the acres of fields, I can give you a little taste of what you are asking.'

He looked at me with an expression of great surprise. He couldn't decide, so I lowered my dress just enough to give him a peek of my nipples.

'I promise!' he said. 'I do, I do!'

I smiled, readjusting my dress, to preserve the modesty I pride myself of.

'Well, let's see what we're dealing with,' I said. 'Show me.'

Eustache looked around, a little shyness now tempering his initial enthusiasm.

'Here?' he asked.

It was now my turn to shrug my shoulders.

'If you like.'

Seeing that the boy made no progress, I stepped towards him and began unfastening his trousers.

'Don't be timid. Those plants protect us from view.'

Imagine my surprise when, having removed the garments that shrouded Eustache's pudenda, I found in my hands a long, and not quite unattractive penis.

'Well, well, dear Eustache! You will make your wife really happy with this,' I said.

I gave it a little shake.

The boy was so excited that the organ reached a good degree of turgidity in an instant.

'The other boys at school made fun of it,' he whined, raising his eyes to the heavens and not daring to look at it.

'They say I have a disease, that no woman would ever love me for it…' he continued.

I smiled and explained to him, in a tender tone, for I understood his difference had caused him great pain:

'It's not very fat, I will admit, but no woman will ever complain about a man with this nice flute of yours. So long to search her into depths most men won't be able to reach.'

'You think so?' he asked.

'You're lucky because, Eustache, if I may be honest, you are devoid of any other attraction, but this – you understand? This here! – will keep your future wife from abandoning you. It won't matter whether your father's commerce fails, if your youth and your health abandon you, if you are unable to buy your wife pretty things. You see, a nice organ of acceptable size is harder to come by that people think, and a woman will treasure it above any other virtue you could possibly offer.'

 All these words confused Eustache, who seemed unable to believe my words.

'You say so only because you don't want to marry me.'

I laughed at these words.

'Come on, Eustache, don't be sad. Of course, I will not marry you, but look here, what an opportunity!'

I then lifted my skirts and revealed my ankles – which made him widen his eyes and open his mouth – then my shins – he then brought a hand towards his genitals – then my thighs – he got a good grip – and finally my bush – which is when he began to jerk off.

'Don't waste it like this. Here, why don't you put it inside. There, slowly… It's quite long – mmh, yes, it is! – and it takes a little time to make room for its length – ah, there you go…'

I widened my thighs and brought him closer, so that we were now standing face to face. I guided his glans towards my little opening and probed its surroundings with the tip.

'Ah! Mademoiselle… You let me take you in this manner!' he exclaimed.

I then pushed that unusually long cock inside of me.

'It's so nice… and warm…' he said.

I then began to swing back and forth. I also encouraged him to do the same, so that our bodies met with each movement. I realised then that a big ship, although imposing and built to tolerate the most inclement weather, cut through the tallest waves, and fight any current, is not truly capable of crossing an ocean on its own. It takes a skilled captain to manoeuvre it so that it can safely reach its destination.

So, it is for cocks.

Those available in that part of country seemed quite unsuited for the task I set. Men there were too busy trying to make money to know anything else. To be a real man, I then philosophised, you either have to be a lot of money or have none at all. In any case, money shouldn't preoccupy your mind when trying to satisfy a woman of sentiment.

What we require is not an efficient act, but the rough and hungry attack of the natural man, or the slow and intricate and whimsical demand of the aristocrat.

Eustache, stiff on his feet, was flailing his arms and swaying his lanky body, in what he believed to be a great demonstration of pleasure.

'Like this?' he asked.

'Am I doing it right?' he asked again.

'Is this good? I think it's good!' he repeated.

God knows where I found the patience to say yes to each demand for reassurance, but I did, and Eustache repaid me with more questions.

I clenched my bud around his thorn, and I moved in a way to hasten his release, so bored had I become with that inexperienced partner.

'Oh, Eloise!' he exclaimed with great transport. 'Oh! Oh, oh, oh! Eloise!'

'Eustache, Eustache, Eustache,' I repeated monotonously.

'Yes, yes!' he cried out.

Seeing that that unfortunate creature was about to ejaculate, I dismounted the fierce steed and, standing beside him, jerked him off, so that his semen spluttered all around, fertilizing the ground.

'Oh, oh!' he panted. 'I never knew I could do such things…'

I patted him on the shoulder, hiding my smile.

I then begged him to get dressed, for it was getting late, and we walked back home in silence.

When we got to the door, Eustache turned to me and whined:

'Are you sure you won't marry me after what I did to you?'

I laughed and assured him I had never been so sure in my life.

'I can convince Father to drop the dowry, if you want,' he said.

'Eustache… Marry your girl with the land. Grow artichokes. Get her to pick pansies and decorate walnut shells. You two will be very happy. I promise,' I told him, patting his crotch affectionately.

Then, noticing a dry, sticky droplet on my hand, I showed it to him and made a great show of licking it. I then winked at him, as he blushed greatly, and we walk back into the house.

'How was your walk?' my mother asked me in a complicit tone.

I stared at her quite cooly and said:

'Passable.'