Spectacle(33)

“Good choice, Monsieur Gloves,” said Simone, who had a knack for assigning nicknames. “Pick us out a pair of bon bons.”

Affecting a casual air, they strolled to the confectioner’s shop. Sweetness floated under the awning, teasing passersby with notes of chocolate and caramel. Nathalie peeked through the window. M. Gloves inspected the candies in earnest delight and tapped his fingertips together.

“Is that how he views bodies at the morgue, too?” Nathalie muttered.

Simone either didn’t hear her or acted like she didn’t. Why was she so reluctant to consider him?

M. Gloves bought two large chocolates and popped one in his mouth. Simone and Nathalie wandered to the butcher shop window, pretending to read the price list on the door, until he left the confectioner’s shop, still whistling. They watched him turn left and head down the sidewalk away from them.

“I suppose since we’re here,” said Simone, walking back toward the confectioner’s shop, “we might as well get something. He’s not in a hurry, and it’s only right to be a patron of the shop at this point. My treat.”

“Merci,” said Nathalie, distracted. She didn’t want to take her eyes off M. Gloves, lest he fade into the crowd. “I’ll stay out here.”

As Simone entered the shop, Nathalie watched the man settle onto a bench at a steam tram stop. Still whistling. He had the second chocolate in one hand, opened his jacket with the other, and—

Oh my.

There was a creature of some sort in his pocket, and he fed the chocolate to it. Nathalie moved closer to get a better view.

“Some partner you are.” Simone nudged her from behind. “I come out with a chocolate-covered strawberry for you, and you’re gone.”

Nathalie took the strawberry from her without turning. “A rat. See? He’s got a rat in his pocket, and he’s feeding it.”

Simone followed Nathalie’s gaze. “I didn’t know rats ate chocolate.”

“I didn’t know people kept them in pockets.”

A steam tram pulled up before they could say anything else. M. Gloves tucked his rat away and headed for the open door.

“Let’s go!” Nathalie hurried toward the steam tram, Simone at her heels mumbling something about tomfoolery. They hopped on and took a seat four rows behind M. Gloves on the upper level. He’d finally stopped whistling.

There they sat, stop after stop after stop for over an hour, with everyone getting on and off the tram except M. Gloves. They’d circled the route twice already.

“Maybe he knows we’re following him and isn’t getting off,” said Nathalie.

“Or maybe he’s just a strange man fond of gloves who has nothing to do but tour Paris via public transportation all day.” Simone shook her head. “I’m sorry, Nathalie. I know you were hoping to discover something, but this was futile. I have to go to rehearsal. If I get off at the next stop and walk home, I’ll just about make it.”

Nathalie glanced at M. Gloves and back at Simone. “I can follow him myself.”

“You’re still not convinced?”

Nathalie didn’t respond.

“I’m not getting off this tram unless you come with me,” said Simone. Her mouth was twisted with exasperation. “I mean it.”

Nathalie pressed her back into the seat. “I thought you considered him harmless.”

“He is. But I still don’t think it’s wise to traipse around Paris all day. You’re not thinking clearly, Nathalie. We’re getting off the tram.”

Nathalie knew that determined, big-sisterly look in Simone’s eyes. This wasn’t a bluff.

They were quiet as the tram took another corner and slowed to a stop.

“Well?” said Simone.

Nathalie pouted. She had no choice; she couldn’t make Simone late for work going on an adventure that hadn’t proven anything. Other than that the man kept a rat in his pocket and liked chocolate.

“The tram is going to move on if we don’t get off now.” Simone pleaded with her eyes.

Nathalie stood up with a slouch, taller than Simone and yet feeling much smaller. They stepped off the tram in silence.

“Please stop fixating on this man. It won’t do you any good.” Simone hugged Nathalie. “Also, the day after next is my day off. Céleste is sick again, and my mother asked me to look after her for a few hours so she can work at the market. Maybe after that we can go to the wax museum.”

“I’d like that,” said Nathalie, trying to sound engaged as she watched the tram. “I’ll bring lunch to you and Céleste.”

Simone crossed the street toward her neighborhood. Nathalie paused at the curb, watching people shuffle into the tram. A man startled her as he brushed by in a hurry to board.

She could just about see M. Gloves’s head through the tram window. The tram pulled away, and right before it turned the corner, he turned around.

He met her gaze, staring at her until the tram went out of sight.



* * *



Nathalie remained unsettled for the rest of the day. She mostly moved her food around the plate at dinner (and fed some to Stanley under the table), claiming she and Simone had had a big lunch when Maman asked about her lack of appetite.

She hated lying to Maman, making excuses, telling her half-truths. She was bothered by the lies told and lies she prepared to tell; since the visions started, she’d chosen practicality over truth. The feeling of dishonesty sickened her.