The Girl Who Couldn'T See Rainbows

Chapter seven-1

Chapter seven

My ears buzzed and I felt as though I was surrounded by hot black mud, from which I couldn’t escape. Mr Mc Laine’s welcome wasn’t as cold as I had expected, perhaps because he simply ignored me, and didn’t answer my greeting. Throughout the morning he pretended that I wasn’t there, and I was overcome by unhappiness.

“s**t! This damn computer!” He punched the table, one inch away from the computer.

I tried to talk naturally. “Is something wrong?”

He sneered, without looking at me. “Something? Everything’s wrong. Everything.”

I waited in silence for him to explain.

“It stopped working, damn it!” He pointed to the computer, his tone full of bitterness.

I clumsily walked to his side, in an attempt to help him, even though my technological knowledge was very limited.

He didn’t object when I bent to look at the screen. I felt his eyes on me, and his breath was so close that I could feel its warmth on my cheek.

I got up as quick as a cheetah, and I went back to my side of the desk, stumbling over my own feet.

“Do you want me to call a technician?” I suggested weakly.

“First try turning the light on, please.”

My fingers pressed the light switch several times, with no results. “There’s a black out.”

His gaze flew in my direction. “It's not the first time. This isn’t London, Miss Bruno. We are troglodytes. Perhaps you should go back to the great metropolis.”

My throat dried up at that suggestion. If he should send me away... My lips parted but no sound came out. I was too much of a coward to express my fears.

He grabbed a notebook with a glossy cover with an aggressive attitude. “I won’t allow the innovation to prevail over the past. I’m inspired, and I can’t waste precious time.”

He pointed to an old chest of drawers in the corner of the room. “There's a pencil box in there. Give me a blue pen, please.” He said strictly.

I opened the two doors of the cabinet with hands that trembled uncontrollably. I was hoping there would only be blue pens in the box, or I would’ve been in trouble. The cabinet was antique and smelled stale, as if it hadn’t been opened for a long time. It was packed with books, papers, cards, notebooks. In one corner was the pencil-case; the zipper was half-open, the hood of a pen was popping out of the fabric. The palm of my hand was so damp with sweat that the case slipped to the ground.

Mr Mc Laine didn’t comment on my clumsiness, and I was grateful for that. We both knew that I would have had a nervous breakdown if he had spoken.

My hands rummaged through the case, and grabbed a pen randomly.

He looked at my outstretched hand, and didn’t take it. “I said blue, not red.”

I dropped it on the desk as if it burned, and I grabbed another one, exhausted.

“I said blue, not green.”

The case contained at least thirty pens; we risked spending the whole day looking for the right one. I froze, surprised to find that I was still breathing. The weight of my handicap had tripled in the last few minutes. My cheeks blushed with shame. In the space of a few hours he had caught me lying twice; I shrugged my shoulders, a weak defence against his unavoidable anger.

“Melisande? We don’t have all day.” His voice was remote, as if it came from the afterlife.

I set the case on the desk, unable to hold anything with my shaky hands. I don’t know how, but I found the strength to look at him.

He was also looking at me with a strange, fiery intensity. He wasn’t as indifferent as I thought, but, still that didn’t comfort me.

“I can’t see colours.”

I thought I would feel free once I had spontaneously pronounced those words, but I didn’t. I felt more harassed than ever, perhaps because I knew I would have to give more extensive, longer and humiliating explanations.

“I had noticed it almost immediately,” he said impassively.

I was speechless with surprise, and I stared at him in awe.

He forced a smile. “The pens. The case. I was just testing you.”

I tried to smile, without fully understanding his reasoning. “I could have picked the right one at the first try.”

He laughed mirthlessly. “That would have been tough,” he said plainly. “There are no blue pens in that bag. Only red and green ones.”

That was another shock, and I was unable to answer him.

After an endless time I murmured. “But how...?”

“Tell me everything, Melisande. I want the truth this time.”

“I don’t want to talk about it. If you want to fire me, go ahead, but you can’t humiliate me for your personal fun.”

My challenging tone failed to divert him. “Speak up, Melisande,” he said coolly.

“I told you, I can’t see colours. And I'm not colour-blind, if that's what you’re thinking. Mine is more than a genetic abnormality, I’m the only one in the world to have this so-called flaw. At least I think so. You know... I don’t go around flaunting it...” I tried to joke about it, in order to survive that moment.

“Go on.” His voice was stern, and I instinctively rebelled to it.

“What else can I tell you? My world is black and white. I know my hair is red just because they told me so, to me it’s as dark as yours. I see no difference. And what is red? I don’t know. And I don’t know what yellow is. Or purple.” Without realizing it, I raised my voice.

He stared at me silently as if reflecting on my imperfections.

My heart broke at that idea.

“Why do you hide it?” He asked suddenly.

“What?” My eyes widened, my mouth open with surprise. I couldn’t answer his question because I didn’t understand it.

“Why do you hide it? This imperfection isn’t your fault,” he said patiently. “Your expression is that of a guilty felon caught in flagrant, in the act of committing a crime. You were born that way, why do you consider yourself responsible?”

I stared at him incredulously. I processed his words for a whole minute, allowing the silence to stretch until it became a gulf of incomprehension.

“Mr Mc Laine... it doesn’t seem to me that you live happily with your infirmity, and yet it also isn’t your fault,” I said in anger.

He didn’t lose his calm, and kept looking at me with a total lack of emotion, like a robot.

“Who says that the accident wasn’t my fault, Miss Bruno? How do you know that I’m not the only person responsible for my infirmity?”

I said nothing, because there was nothing to say. I had answered his question cowardly, emphasising his private affairs, of which I knew little or nothing at all.

We gazed at each other in silence, as if there we had nothing else to add. I had been gripped by throbbing claws of fear, and I expected that I would be kicked out of the house from one moment to the next. He was playing with me like a cat with a mouse. When he finally got tired, he would have devoured me in one bite. I remembered Monique's letter, a cry of help, an SOS I couldn’t fulfil. I was sure that I would soon be sent away from that house.

“Miss Bruno... did I leave you speechless? Have you lost your tongue?” His tone was so impersonal that I wanted to cry. I fought off those tears of weakness, I wouldn’t implore for his mercy. I had done nothing wrong, I had only been myself. Okay, so I couldn’t see colours. Okay, I was different. But this didn’t justify his ruthlessness.

“Look... let’s make this short, please... You want to send me away, don’t you? Because of my insolence? Because I lied about the letter? Because of my omission?” I cut myself short. “I know you're having fun, but I won’t allow you do it at my expense.”

“You have a very serious defect, Miss Bruno,” he answered dryly.

“I’ve always been aware of that, Mr Mc Laine,” I said wearily. I just wanted to get out of that room, so that I would no longer have to stand that surreal conversation. I already had so many unpleasant memories, and I didn’t feel the need for any more. I just wanted to live in peace. Perhaps the only solution left for me was to become a hermit. The only place in which no one would hurt me was somewhere far away from the rest of world. I was sick and tired of being the leading role of a theatrical drama on which the curtain never falls.

“Your defect is your impulsiveness, Miss Bruno,” he added, as if I hadn’t even spoken. “In your head you've already determined that I'm confronting you to give you a hard time. I'm not a saint, but I assure you that taking it out on you would be like shooting at an easy target.”

A warm sensation filled my chest, a slight feeling of hope started to dissolve the lump of distrust that had been my armour up to that moment.

“I'm sorry... I... I thought...”

He cut me off as I tried to apologize. “I already know what you thought, Melisande Bruno. That my life is so boring and empty that I take pleasure in teasing you. I’m sorry to disappoint you, my dear. I prefer more entertaining and less melodramatic pastimes,” he said unfathomably.

“I'm sorry...” I repeated, lowering my eyes. “It was stupid of me to think that you...” I didn’t finish the sentence; I was making a fool of myself. It was better for me to hold my tongue, I had already messed things up enough, and the danger of being sent away was still in the air, as unhealthy and acrid as cigarette smoke.

Why don’t you tell me, once and for all, why you are so resigned and demoralized, Melisande Bruno?” He asked in an imperious tone. He was losing his patience; she could hear it in his voice.

“I’ve never been able to distinguish colours”. I stared into space; as if it were easier for me to tell speak of my life without the distraction of his gloomy stare and his striking beauty.

“My parents hadn’t planned my birth. They were poor, more than you could understand, and already had a daughter. Monique is ten years older than me, and she was their pride and joy. Anyone would be proud of having her as a daughter. She was, and still is, very beautiful, and furthermore she has a friendly, cheerful and bright personality. I, on the other hand, am gloomy, inclined to depression, and morose.” I sighed at the sound of that word. I had used it, because it perfectly explained the contradiction between Monique and me.

I continued the story, without being interrupted by Mr Mc Laine. I didn’t dare look at him, as if to convince myself that I was alone. “Monique faced school life like a mission. She had to be the best, and if she couldn’t succeed with her will, commitment, and study, she would use her charisma. She charmed the teachers, made them feel special, and conquered them with her education and charm.”

“A bootlicker” he said, opening his mouth for the first time.

I didn’t look at him, fearing that I wouldn’t be able to finish my story. “No, it's more complex. She was... diplomatic and kind. In one word, adorable. It’s impossible to hate her. Everyone loved her just because she existed.” I breathed, unable to continue. I looked around the room without actually seeing it, and I picked up the story where I left it. Maybe I could do it.

“I was in the way, it was immediately obvious. From the youngest age I hoped I was wrong, and then my suspicion became a certainty. I wasn’t wanted or loved like Monique was, and my handicap made my school years a tortuous journey, a continuous zigzagging so that I wouldn’t be discovered.”

In my voice there was a shiver of sympathy for that little girl without a place in the world. I dared to look up at Mr Mc Laine. He sat still in his wheelchair with a rigid, inflexible and implacable expression. I couldn’t stop, he wouldn’t allow it.

“My mother died when I was eleven years old, a fulminant pancreas tumour. My father took refuge in alcohol to escape the pain. Monique left home to become a model, fleeing literally from that hell, and I envied her. With all my strength. One of our aunts came to look after the house, and thanks to heaven, Dad didn’t lose his job. My aunt also died of my mother's same illness, and Dad and I were left alone. I was eighteen years old and he decided to that I should get my driver's license.”