The Scatman

“It’s absolutely disgusting, Father. I don’t know why you put up with it.” Jeanne-Élise muttered, scowling at the scenery outside the lightly frosted window. It was one of those mornings where there was a grayness that seemed to linger in the sky, followed by cold air that seeped into the glass panes. And yet, a chilling breath, even colder than that of outside, escaped from her lips as she gazed out onto the estate.

Her father sat behind her, absorbed in his own little world, focusing his magnifying glass on a set of jeweled marvels. He sighed, and explained monotonously, “I don’t see what the problem is, Jeanne, dearest. He comes and goes every week. Just let him be.”

“It’s not him that bothers me, though god forbid he should wear something a little more tasteful…” she responded, as she pulled the curtains spiritedly about herself, hiding in the velvet burgundy. She sighed as she continued, pressing her hands against the cold, wet glass, “It’s the fact that we have to leave that pile of shit outside for him.”

“Now Jeanne, that’s no way for a lady to talk,” the aged man said as he beckoned to his daughter, “But who are you to complain, dearest? You asked for horses and I got them for you. Who knew they relieved themselves so often! If you don’t like it, perhaps you should be out there doing the shoveling yourself?” He smiled meekly at his daughter, as if to show her he was saying it all in good humor.

Jeanne-Élise whipped her head about, her straight black hair flowing elegantly, yet sharply through the air. She slowly unraveled herself from the velvet confines, spinning, light of foot, across the room, before slamming her hands on her father’s desk. The old man flinched, and the little spectacles on his face bounced off his nose, as she swiped her hand across the table, scattering the jewels and gems onto the floor. “I’m not interested in jokes, Father. In all seriousness, I want that servant to come and clean the stables every day, not once a week on his fancy. I want you to tell him that.”

He stared back at his daughter eyes wide and fearful. Her eyes were a deep blue, almost black in color; they gave off a feeling of ice and cold. Stuttering, the man tried to regain his composure and confront his daughter’s tempestuous rage. “Daughter, d-d-dearest! You can’t possibly expect me to tell him that! He’s doing this for free! Heaven knows what he wants with it, but if he’ll get rid of that dung heap every week, without pay, I by no means will interfere!”

“Are you really that cheap, Father!? You might not care about the sanitation and the aesthetics of this estate, but I do! And I will not allow some servant to decide when to rid of this mess! I’ll tell him that myself, you good for nothing father!” Jeanne-Élise shouted, as she stormed out of the room, kicking diamonds aside and grinding gems as she stepped across them.

As she left the room, the door swinging in her wake, her father slowly peeked his head over the desk, watching her stride down the hall. “Do you still love me, dearest? I…I love you!” he called out, as she stormed down the stairs and batted angrily at the chandelier overhead.

Jeanne-Élise pulled on her fur coat as she headed out the grandiose front doors. She then walked down the stone cobbled steps and along the trail through what once had been a marvelous and expansive garden. Now approaching winter, the delicate bushes and hedges had grown sparse; even the trimmed evergreen trees seemed gray, only more so emphasizing the very lies of their nature. The brilliant displays of flowers had all withered and died, the colors all crumpled into some mess of putrid brown, leaving nothing but the dreary stalks and their thorns. The cold had had its toll on the garden, but it could not cool Jeanne-Élise’s temper.

Reaching the outskirts of the estate, Jeanne-Élise came closer and closer to the stables. A foul stench bit at her nostrils and the corners of her eyes, and she gagged before catching herself. She approached the dung heap; close enough to address the shoveling servant, but far away enough to not purge what she had had for breakfast that morning. “Excuse me, sir? Sir?”

The man stopped shoveling, and looked around with surprise. Not once had he ever been addressed while he was working, and most certainly never by such an elegant and beautiful woman. The man looked around once more, making sure that it was indeed he who she was talking to.

“Yes, you,” Jeanne-Élise said, pointing her finger at him for a second, before cupping her hand back over her nose.

The man looked down at himself for a moment and thought quietly to himself. He noted that he was indeed three feet in horse manure. He also noted that the three feet of manure was not just on his legs, but was also distributed at various parts of his body and face. Yes, indeed, the man must’ve been mistaken to think that this lovely lady was talking to him. He slowly turned away from her and continued his work, occasionally glancing over at her, wondering if she was ever going to leave.

Jeanne-Élise waited, her facial expression playing upon amused and slightly annoyed. She had never noticed before, but the man was actually quite old, and would have appeared to be too frail to undergo such manual labor. He was sickly thin, and about as gray-skinned as his surroundings. His face was very grave, and his cheekbones seemed to slice out from the sides. In fact, it seemed as if every bone in his body was jutting out from his paper-thin skin, as if he were a skeleton.

“Alright then, if you’re going to ignore me, I’ll just get straight to the point, and you can decide whether to take it or leave it,” the bitter woman finally remarked. “I’m sure my father appreciates your patronage, but I want you to clear this dung heap every day, not just once a week. If you don’t like it, I could care less. I’ve got all the money in the world to hire someone, so don’t think I need your charity.”

The man, lifting his head slowly to face her, gave her a weak smile and said, “I’m sorry, ma’am. These old bones of mine can’t handle working every day. If you would please let this little old man continue his work once a week, just to prove I’ve some worth in this world, it’d be much appreciated.” He leaned slightly on his shovel, as if it were a cane, supporting the weak frame of his body.

For a moment, a sense of pity washed over Jeanne-Élise. Though her anger was by no means pacified, she let her rage subside. She then asked the man, “Why are you doing this?”

And the man, with a genuine smile on his face, replied, “Because I need this more than you. It’s such a waste to let go of such a beautiful thing as this.” He held out his hand over the dung heap, with eyes sparkling, as if he were standing on top of a pile of pure gold.

Jeanne-Élise was not sure whether she felt pity or more so disgust for the old man. She laughed and shook her head, before shooing him away with a hand, “You should go, old man. The cold is getting to your head. That, or the fumes have made you mad.”

The man chuckled, as he continued shoveling the horse manure onto a rundown cart. “Believe what you will, but there is more than meets the eye when it comes to beauty. Even the most disgusting of things can be beautiful in their own way. And the most beautiful things,” he said, as he innocently flung a shovelful of manure in Jeanne-Élise’s direction, “can truly be hideous on the inside.” He smiled at her, as he made his last attempt at the heap and patted his shovel firmly onto the cart.

Shocked, Jeanne-Élise stood motionless as the old man slowly pulled his cart down a beaten path away from the estate and into a forest. However, she quickly recovered her wits (for the smell was still so overpowering, she could no longer stand the fact that her mouth had been hanging agape). She had never been so insulted in her life, and she had the rage to match it. Without thinking, she pulled her dress above her ankles, and followed after the old man.

Whistling, the man ignored the shouts of profanity nipping at his back. Jeanne-Élise eventually caught up to him, yelling, “How dare you say that about me! Stay away from my estate from now on, or I’ll have the police―!”

“Excuse me,” the old man interrupted, “But I am now off your estate. It is now my place to ask you to leave me alone. Thank you, and good day.” And he continued on his way, whistling as he pulled along the heavy cart.

Once again at a loss for words, Jeanne-Élise stopped following the man down the path. Twice, twice! And in one day, for that matter! Never had she been cut off or insulted so before this! And though she had been stopped cold, each time, she came back hotter with rage. Stalking after him, she shouted, “Listen here, you shithead! Do you realize who you’re talking too!? I’m the richest girl in this entire county! You think I’m not beautiful!? I’ve got awards back home that say I’m―!”

“I never said anything along those lines,” the old man commented calmly. “I was merely stating that in life, things are not what they always appear to be. For instance…” The man stopped his cart for a second, checked his surroundings, and continued onwards. “Follow me. I want to show you something.”

Jeanne-Élise hesitated, frustrated at the fact that once again, she had been interrupted. She felt like screaming at the old man, but again, the pity of it all drove her to comply, just for this moment. She looked behind her as the trees of the forest seemed to close in on her. For a split second, she thought of turning back. But looking at the silhouette of the old man, hauling the cart of manure along, she wondered to herself what the man was trying to explain. Was she afraid of the forest and the old man, or was it because she was afraid of what she’d find out?

Almost completely forgetting why she had followed the man in the first place, Jeanne-Élise kicked off her heels and ran after the old man. Though he had already been lost in the darkness, the smell of the cart was never too far off…

Eventually, Jeanne-Élise reached a clearing in the forest. Oddly enough, the clearing was absolutely devoid of any living thing; not a single plant, nor weed, nor stump grew in the abandon of soil. Not even a single blade of grass. Also, the clearing was well lit, and the trees overhead seemed to avoid blocking out what little could be seen of the sun. Circling around the clearing was the old man, who poured a little bit of manure every now and then along his spiral path towards the center.

“This is it? This is what you wanted to show me?” Jeanne-Élise asked, leaning against a tree, hands crossed in amusement. “A stupid dirt circle?”

Smiling, the old man shook his head as he continued slowly around the dirt circle. Eventually, he stopped in the very middle and poured out the last from his cart. He looked over at Jeanne-Élise, and said, in a voice unlike his own, “This is what I wanted to show you.”

Instantly, as the last of his words died out around him, the earth began to shake violently. Jeanne-Élise found herself on her knees, holding tightly onto a tree for support as she watched the magnificent scene unfold. From the earth sprouted hundreds and hundreds of flowers, and no two were alike. Different shades of colors, sizes, and shapes bloomed immediately before her eyes. Roses and violets exploded in a vibrant array of colors; rhododendrons and lilies danced across the landscape; and daisies and forget-me-nots tickled the air with their delicate petals. Lush grass swept over like a wave of water, caressing the soil as if it were the sands of a beach. Verdant coils and locks of vines sprung from below the earth, before gliding along the surface, each with blossoms adorned along the entire length of the stalk. And in the center of it all, a giant white rose erupted. It seemed to engulf the old man as its petals folded delicately inward as it ascended around him.

Jeanne-Élise looked on in silent amazement. Everything stopped. She stopped breathing. Even her heart seemed to have ceased with its internal beating. Not even the cold wind was blowing; the blades of grass did not dare to move.

Slowly, but surely, the giant white rose began to bloom as the petals peeled away from the center. Standing in the midst of it all was a magnificent white castle, with old-timey trellises banked against its walls, supporting hundreds of vines as they gracefully climbed the silver-lined towers and turrets. The extravagant double doors swung softly open, and a breath of fresh air escaped from the entrance. Standing in the doorway was a handsome, young man wearing a set of white regal clothes, lined with gold trimming. Leaning against the arch, the man smiled smugly as he crossed his arms, imitating the gesture Jeanne-Élise had given just moments prior. The young man moved his hand over the landscape before repeating, “Even the most disgusting things can be beautiful in their own way.”

He then walked down towards Jeanne-Élise, the flowers parting before his steps. He held out his hand to her. She took it and he helped her up. Not letting go of her hand, he said, “What do you think?”

Jeanne-Élise didn’t say anything for a while. Finally, she was able to utter, “How did you…?”

“Ah ah, I didn’t do anything. It wasn’t me who made the grasses grow or the flowers flourish. It was not I who birthed those blossoming buds, nor I who unraveled those varied vines. What did it then? I’m sure you have the answer…” The man smiled at Jeanne-Élise, looking into her deep blue eyes with his own, soft and silver.

She stuttered. “Who…who are you!?”

He laughed and let go of her hand. He walked over to a patch of daffodils, picked one and held it out to her. With an innocent smile on his face, he replied:

“I’m that shithead from this morning.”

“But that’s impossible!” Jeanne-Élise said, mindlessly taking the daffodil into her hands. “You’re…you’re young! And now you’re…not too bad looking…”

The man gave another genial laugh, “Not too bad, huh? But alas, I am one and the same. Like I’ve said, and I beg your pardon if I bore you for being verbatim, but things aren’t always what they appear!” He flashed another smile before taking her hand again, leading her across the flowery field and to the double doors. “Come, I’ll explain everything!”

But just as they got to the doorway, he stopped. Dropping her hand, he turned to face her, and took a step backwards through the entrance. However, he would not lead her any further. “That is, of course, if you’ll listen to what I have to say. It’s startling, I know. Insane, really! You’re free to go, if you like. But take a step inside, and you must promise me you’ll take everything I say into consideration. You don’t have to believe a word I say, just know that the possibility is out there. What do you say?”

Jeanne-Élise took a moment to regain herself. Everything was happening so fast. The world she worked so hard to take control over had vanished within a matter of minutes, and she was now left in an unknown place. It must’ve been forever that she stood there, staring blankly at the young man. And yet, he waited for her answer, with no further words of warning or persuasion. Slowly, she lifted the daffodil and one by one, picked the petals off. Upon the last few petals, she whispered, “I trust him… I trust him not…”

And finally, plucked from the stem, the last petal fluttered gently to the ground. She took a step inside and the doors shut behind her.

“It’s my pleasure to have you as my guest. Your name?” the young man asked.

“My name is Jeanne-Élise. What do I call you?” she asked in return, as she played with the picked daffodil in her hands.

“It’s an honor to make your acquaintance. As for myself, I’ve been called a lot of things. I don’t really have a name; that, or I don’t recall. It’s been many years since I’ve talked to anyone. You can just call me Monsieur, if you like.” He looked over at her confused expression, and smiled innocently once more. Not saying more than that, he led her down the long corridor.

Though she was interested in finding out how he and the castle came to be, Jeanne-Élise found herself losing her attention to the furnishings and the decorations of the interior. It was even more flamboyant than her mansion, in which nearly every quality of it seemed to one-up hers in every standard. Everything was lined with gold or silver lace, etchings and moldings of intrinsic detail danced along the edges of the wall. Elaborate paintings and portraits lined the surfaces with a perfect balance of decoration and minimalism. The colors of the castle were fairly minimalist as well, yet at the same time, displayed a sense of contrast that blended despite all reason. Dark, blood red carpet draped below, with pristine white walls lined with silver. Barefoot, Jeanne-Élise’s steps were cushioned by the softest material she had ever felt. If anything, she thought, this was how walking on clouds would’ve been like. It was beyond anything she had ever owned; in fact, it was beyond anything she had ever seen.

“You’ve seemed to have lost your fire from this morning. Still in shock?” Monsieur noted, as he gestured towards her.

Jeanne-Élise continued gazing down the hallway, picking up certain details and colors of the interior. Without paying much attention to him, she replied, “No, it’s still there. Slightly repressed for the moment, but it’s there, alright. You best behave yourself, you hear me?” She turned her head, giving him a dangerously playful smile.

His laughter, though soft and warm, filled the hall. Echoing against the walls of the room, it eventually dissipated as they came to the end of the corridor and through another doorway. Leading beyond the arch, the ceiling of the next room seemed to expand, high, high above the ground. The room was like a dome, the ceiling painted with images beyond description. “It’s like the Sistine Chapel,” Jeanne-Élise said to herself, as she gazed upon the ceiling, “It’s beautiful.” The room expanded on and on in a circle, and was obviously the main component of the castle.

“It’s a ballroom, actually.” He motioned towards a grand piano, sitting to the side. With a mere wave of the hand, the piano began to play itself; the keys dancing downwards, the pedals pressed in rhythm. “Care to dance?”

“Don’t think you can seduce me, Monsieur. I’ve had my fair share of fake smiles and good dancers, and I can see right through you.” Jeanne-Élise snipped, turning away from him. But as she took a few steps away, she turned around with a coy smile on her face.

“That is not my intention. To be honest, angry, bitter women are not my type,” he responded, taking her hand and kissing it.

“Ah, but a man of your irksome qualities shouldn’t be too picky,” she said, as they got into position.

They began to ballroom dance to an upbeat, but elegant song, each keeping in perfect step with one another. The room was lit with an effervescent glow, and the music played wonderfully off the walls, eventually fading up to the ceiling.

“So tell me, Monsieur,” Jeanne-Élise began, “How is it that this can all be real? I’ve waited and thought about it all this time, but I can’t seem to wake up. But it can’t be more than a dream, can it? Tell me about the castle. Tell me about you.”

Monsieur looked away in thought, but continued to lead the dance. “It’s difficult to believe, so I don’t expect you to. But years ago, longer than I can remember, I was born into a wealthy family much like your own. Rich and completely spoiled, I ran my parents’ lives ragged, and treated my servants extremely poorly. Back then, I felt as if I could get away with anything because I felt like I had everything. But most of all, my greatest sin was my ego; my love for myself, for my beauty, was my downfall.” He hesitated, and there was a slight break in his rhythm. Jeanne-Élise looked into his face, which fell along the lines of sadness and reminiscence. His beautiful smile turned into a wistful one. The fire inside her slowly dwindled, as if she had wanted it to be of comfort, not scorching to the touch.

Catching himself, Monsieur continued, “I treated no one with respect but myself. And this selfishness and the pain I had caused others would not go unpunished. The gods looked down on me and gave me this curse: Your estate and all your belongings will turn to dust, and the skin on your bones will age and thin, until you are a piteous thing. To regain what you’ve lost, you shall work the toils of a servant, clearing the lands of the most abominable things. And you shall be reminded for all eternity; every quarter moon, your estate will return to the earth until you have found the true meaning of respect and beauty.”

Jeanne-Élise broke away, took her hands from his, and put them gently on his face. She turned his face to face hers, and they looked into one another’s eyes for a moment. She leaned forwards, her lips lightly on his cheeks.

She whispered into his ear, “Sounds like you took that straight out of Beauty and the Beast. That would be called plagiarism, my friend.”

She leaned back and smiled playfully at him, yet her eyes told him she understood.

He laughed weakly, “Ah, but who is the Beauty, and who is the Beast?”

Jeanne-Élise normally would’ve taken such a comment as an insult, and would’ve normally flown at him in rage. She recalled a similar incident with her father this morning. However, now, she felt something different inside her. No, it wasn’t the cold air that had once gripped at her iced-over heart. And no, it wasn’t the hot embers that came scalding off from her head down to her tongue. Was she afraid of what she had become? Was she afraid she would end up with the same fate as Monsieur? She couldn’t quite place her finger on the reason…

Jeanne-Élise, disregarding the joke, asked, “But in Beauty and the Beast, there was a way to save the Beast. You said so yourself, that the curse would continue until you had found the true meaning of respect and beauty. What does that mean?”

His face became sorrowful once more, as he whispered, “I don’t know. I’ve spent years trying to find out what it means. I thought I had it too. I tried to see everything as beautiful, no matter what I saw on the outside, but every week, my estate and my body would return to the dust.” He looked away and gestured towards the grand piano. It stopped.

He turned away, and motioned for her to leave, as if he had had his fill of talking. “I’m sorry. Could you please excuse me?”

Jeanne-Élise didn’t move. She looked at him with surprise, sadness, and anger. But it wasn’t the same kind of anger she used to feel; it was more so of disappointment than rage. She felt as if something had changed inside of her. That monster, that hideousness inside of her had gone away. And in its place, there was something else…

“You know the way out,” Monsieur mentioned, as he motioned towards the corridor they had come from.

“Why…why would you say that!?” Jeanne-Élise shouted. The very words echoed noisily through the room, splitting the air. Monsieur looked over his shoulder, his eyes piqued with interest, but weighed down with sorrow. “Nothing you say or do makes any sense! You excitedly invite me in to show me what beauty really is, but you just end up proving to yourself that not even you know! What is it that you wanted to show me!? Was everything you said just lies!?”

Monsieur flinched at her words. He turned towards her, a little more, but said nothing.

“Don’t tell me that all of this was a waste!” Jeanne-Élise yelled, as she stormed up to the broken man. She grabbed him on his shoulder and spun him around to face her straight on. “Nothing here makes sense anymore! Why’d you bring me here, if you’re just going to leave me more confused than I first started out!? I should’ve never left home! I should’ve never followed you! I was so stupid to believe in your tricks: An old man shoveling manure becomes a young, handsome man! A dirt field of sheer abandon becomes a garden rivaling that of Adam and Eve’s! And a girl! A girl…a girl becomes…”

Jeanne-Élise began to break into tears, her hands placed upon his shoulders, her eyes looking into his, expecting, wanting him to say something, anything. It was then and there that she realized what had changed inside her. It wasn’t an epiphany, it wasn’t fear of fate or punishment. At last, she realized what she had become. But she would not say it, because she wanted him to say it.

Because she wanted to know if he felt that way too.

Monsieur stared blankly into her deep blue eyes. A moment passed. His shoulders had long since gone numb from Jeanne-Élise’s grip.

“Monsieur. Monsieur! Tell me, what has this girl become!? What have I become!?”

His eyes slowly lit up. All of it suddenly came to him. A rush of sparks and explosions blossomed in his brain, and a smile came upon his face. A genuine, true smile. He gently wiped away her tears with his hands. “You’ve become a beautiful person, Jeanne-Élise… Beauty beyond just physical appearance.”

“…Beauty beyond mere acceptance and pity for others,” Jeanne-Élise added, placing her hand over his as he touched her cheek.

“True beauty is the desire in one’s heart to do good for others,” Monsieur whispered, as he ran his fingers through her jet black hair. Suddenly, the castle grounds began to shake, the stain-glass windows shattering all around them. Paintings fell outside in the hall, the walls cracking along the gold and silver lining.

“To care for someone so much that you’d go to ridiculous measures, tell them all kinds of things, even when you yourself don’t know the answer, just to try to show them something worthwhile, to tell them they’re going to be okay…” The vines outside began to shrivel, losing grip, snaking back down the castle walls. Following after, the giant white rose began to wither away, sending out a wave of decay amongst the field of flowers.

“It’s compassion for others; genuine compassion, not just acceptance… It’s wanting to help someone find themselves, to save someone from themselves, to take care of someone. True beauty is love for another.” All the lights in the castle went out, and the ceiling started to crumble away. Pieces of debris showered down upon the ballroom floor, some even crushing the magnificent grand piano. Monsieur held Jeanne-Élise tightly, swept her off her feet, and carried her outside to safety, just as the castle came to a destructive end, capsizing upon itself.

Laying her down in the wilted grass and flowers, Monsieur looked back at what was left of his castle and his field.

“Why…why did this happen?” Jeanne-Élise asked. “I don’t understand. Were…were we wrong?”

“No, we were right. I’m free! Free from those confines of physical beauty! Every week, as the end drew nearer, the only thing on my mind was how I could get myself and my castle back. Every week, the beauty I desired was still my selfish wishes. And that’s why both my castle and my body turned to dust. But look! I’m still young! I’m me!” Monsieur picked Jeanne-Élise up, took hold of her hands, and danced with her, giddy with joy. They laughed, as the two of them both fell to the ground. Lying on his back, his face to the gray sky, Monsieur took in a long breath. “Thank you, Jeanne-Élise. You saved me.”

“No, it’s me you saved. I should be thanking you. Your story made me realize how wrong I’ve been. You made me want to be a better person. And I realized I wanted to save you as well.” Jeanne-Élise replied. “There are people I need to apologize to, including you of course. And my father. I hope he really meant it when he said he still loves me. I need to make things right with everyone.”

Lying next to him, she looked around at the mess. Eventually, she sat up and commented, “It’s absolutely disgusting, Monsieur. I don’t know why you put up with it.”

He laughed, gave an exaggerated sigh, and looked up at her. She smiled back at him, leaned forward, her cherry-red lips almost on his… “But I think that’s what I like about you.”