A Crossworder's Gift by Nero Blanc Read Free Book Online Page B

we’re looking at a generational custom … a holdover from the age when men held all the power, and women were considered chattel?”
    â€œChattel?” Pamela Gravers forced a wan smile. “There’s an old-fashioned term.”
    Rosco also tried for a lighter tone. “My wife is fond of archaic phrases. It’s in her blood.”
    â€œWhether or not that’s the case, Belle, it doesn’t alter the fact that old Maxime Verbeux disowned his daughters.”
    â€œNo, it doesn’t.”
    â€œBut as I said: The past is the past. And perhaps Helene and I and our mothers are better off. Maybe I wouldn’t be an artist if I had a cushy nest egg.” Pamela attempted a plucky smile. “I wonder if the word ‘chattel’ bears any connection to the French châtelaine , the mistress of a medieval castle, a château , a lady whose power was certainly negligible …”
    â€œI believe ‘chattel’ shares lexical roots with ‘cattle,’” was Belle’s response.
    â€œToo bad. I was envisioning word associations between châtelaine and châtiment —‘chastisement,’ in English. I was beginning to think it might serve as inspiration for another installation piece.”
    Belle and Rosco raised their eyebrows.
    â€œToo racy, I guess,” Pamela admitted. “I’ll save it for Paris.” Then her momentary mood of levity disappeared. “Don’t let Helene know I told you any of this. As you can see, she’s sensitive when it comes to the subject of Maxime Verbeux.”
    â€œMaybe she needs to set up shop in another building,” Belle offered.
    â€œThat’s what her mom keeps saying, and you can imagine how successful that suggestion is. Helene’s stubborn, and she’d definitely not about to adhere to parental advice . She won’t even change the house’s name although it’s a constant reminder of mean Maxime.”
    â€œWordsworth House brought us here,” Belle said. “I liked the allusion even before we saw the brochure. Poems and words. Two of my favorite things.”
    â€œLes poemes et les paroles,” Pamela translated, then she put her head to one side in thought. “I wonder what connection there is between the French for ‘word’ and a prison parolee?”
    â€œActually, I know the answer to that,” Rosco said; both women looked at him in surprise. “A ‘parol’ was the watchword or password supplied to a guard or sentry during the days before electronic surveillance systems, etc. It has both law enforcement and military connotations … But I never knew our English ‘word’ translates to parole. ”
    â€œA prisoner of words,” Belle mused.
    A FTER Pamela Graver’s description of her artwork, nothing would have kept Belle from experiencing it firsthand. She and Rosco made their way to the Place des Arts , asking directions along the way, none of which turned out to be necessary as the night sky above the festival site was nearly as bright as day. Plumes of crystallized vapor shot high into air that bounced with search lights, laser beams, and sparks and pulses of illumination as brilliant and varicolored as fireworks. Eerie and beautiful stilt-walking figures draped in ultralight robes bobbed and weaved, their long garments and masks turning violet or pale heliotrope or an incandescent silver while bonfires sent feathers of flame billowing into the cold, thin air; and fire-eaters, jugglers, and acrobats, also clad in space-age suits and mylar hats, either swallowed red-hot swords or balanced hoops and balls that changed shade in midair: purple to crimson, aquamarine to bronze, gold to saffron. Accompanying each visual spectacle was music orchestrated to reflect and enhance the individual performance.
    â€œWow …” Belle stared, her concealing scarf forgotten, her hat pushed high on her brow. “This