Our Fruiting Bodies by Nisi Shawl

Author:Nisi Shawl [Shawl, Nisi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Afro-American Fiction, feminist fiction, Feminist fantasy, Black Gothic--short fiction, Dark Fantasy
ISBN: 9781619762251
Publisher: Aqueduct Press
Published: 2022-10-30T07:00:00+00:00

A Beautiful Stream

Her daughter’s hatred would be seen as Gabrielle’s fault. What of it? Such an outcome was not to be lamented or evaded, but accepted. Better for little Gazouette to believe her mama indifferent than for her to be used as leverage. Or worse, to be trapped in identical coils.

Gabrielle-Sidonie Goncourt looked down at her sleeping daughter, taking in the rucked sheets, the petal-colored cheeks, with deliberate coldness, then walked from the room into the lampless passageway. She had never wanted to bear a child, anyway, she reminded herself. One would think that at forty the chance of doing so had passed.

She shut the bedroom’s door and leaned against its dark panels, their wood creaking slightly.

Strength. She willed herself forward. There were appearances to keep up. No one must know of her escape. Tonight.

Gabrielle’s skirts rustled as she walked along the corridor, sweeping the tops of her shoes, rubbing against the silk sleeves covering her arms as they moved forward and back, forward and back. Turning a corner, she heard with sudden clarity the sounds of the diners below: her lover, faithful Missy, and the ballet backers she’d brought with her — the loud, rather coarse ice magnate M’sieur Hanse; the abstemious M’sieur Falco Tessiter and his equally sober son Robert. And of course Gabrielle’s husband. Who did not ask of her more than she could give.

The ballet was to be dedicated to Gazouette: a show, literally, of her mother’s affection. Probably she would want more. Too bad.

Gabrielle knew how to walk downstairs; her mother, Sido, had shown her how not to lower her head, how to keep the line of her neck taut and appealing. Hand on the bannister, eyes on the chandelier, she glided along in a smooth descent. Wasted; not one of her guests had peered through the doorway of the dining room to see her coming.

The maids had cleared the plates with their unsightly burdens, brushed crumbs and fallen titbits from the damask cloth. In a proper household the ladies would have now withdrawn, but Missy remained in the chair where she’d been seated during the meal, and Gabrielle found a glass waiting for her as expected at her own place, filled with a tawny vintage.

Goncourt and the Tessiters rose quickly; Hanse lagged somewhat behind them, one hand on the back of his chair. “Madame,” her husband began, “we have been wondering if, perhaps, there might be some discussion of business?”

Gabrielle nodded. Goncourt eased the padded chair beneath her as she resumed her spot. “We are on good enough terms now, are we not?”

She turned to Tessiter Pére on her left. “It is in my mind that you would like best to give us support in the matter of costumery, maquillage, scenery — the materials bought once. As soon as the war ends, of course. While you —” She faced the other way, towards Hanse. “— would be the one to supply ongoing expenses such as rents, advertisements, and dancers’ and musicians’ salaries.”

“Yes, but how are the proceeds to be disbursed?” asked this worthy.

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