I walked into the Café Musain fully intent upon conferring a few new ideas of mine concerning the revolution upon Combeferre, so I was most disappointed to find that he was not there. Nobody was there, in fact; a rare occurrence, considering that usually there are so many boys lazing about drinking and exchanging bawdy stories that I can hardly think straight, let alone accomplish anything meaningful with my right hand man. Upon further deliberation of the situation, however, I decided that this could be a very valuable time for me, should the absent Combeferre actually choose to pay the café a visit today, as the quiet would allow us to complete conversations that would normally go unfinished. I chose a small round table near the back of the café, and, lounging in a chair, picked up a book while I waited for him to arrive.
About twenty minutes later, I was interrupted by the sound of a door opening and closing quite heavily. Hoping that the sound was heralding the arrival of my dear colleague Combeferre, I quickly glanced at the main entrance to the café. But he was not there. Confused, I looked about; if the sound had not come from the front door, where had it come front? My question was soon answered in the form of rather belaboured breathing coming from behind me. I turned around, and saw Jean Prouvaire struggling with a very tall pile of books and papers.
“Jehan!” I exclaimed, immediately rising to help him with his burden. “I was unaware that you were here.”
Looking quite relieved, Jean answered, “Oh, thank you Enjolras! Yes, I’ve been here for quite some time…writing.”
“Have you seen Combeferre?” I asked him eagerly, setting down some of the books on the table.
“No, I can’t say that I have,” Jean answered.
I suppose that I must have looked very disappointed at his answer, because Jehan looked absolutely crestfallen, and averted his eyes from my gaze. I did not want Jean to think that I spurned his company, so I said to him, “That’s quite alright, Jehan. But you said that you were writing in the back room. What are you working on?”
Jean Prouvaire smirked, and set the rest of his load on the table. “I’m preserving a most amusing story for posterity,” he replied. “And I should finish it as soon as possible, before the exact details become cloudy in my memory…” He trailed off, and started rifling among the various papers.
I did not know what story he was referring to, so I asked him.
Jean Prouvaire smirked again. “I’m sure you must have heard about Marius’ dog?”
My blank expression assured him that I had not.
Jean laughed, and said, “The whole business began after Courfeyrac became convinced that the task of finding a woman for Marius was impossible. And I agree, by the way; it is impossible. But then Courfeyrac became equally convinced that Marius should get a dog, to replace a woman, perhaps. Surely you must now remember hearing of Marius’ dog?”
“I really do not.”
“Well, then,” said Jehan, sitting down, and motioning for me to do the same, “I will simply have to read you what I have so far of my tale.”
I nodded, and waited for him to begin.
“Who exactly is ‘we?’” I interrupted, a little rudely, I must admit.
“Well, me,” Jean Prouvaire answered. “Marius Pontmercy, Combeferre, Grantaire, and we were waiting for Courfeyrac. As usual, Courfeyrac was late, and, as usual, we were all growing a tad weary of waiting for him. However, Marius was becoming most agitated at Courfeyrac’s absence. He is an diffident boy by nature, but I’ve noticed that when it comes to Courfeyrac, he makes a field mouse look like Napoleon by comparison.”
I gave a slight laugh. “A perfect description, Jehan,” I told my friend.
“Why, thank you, Enjolras. Anyhow, Marius began to wring his hands together, worrying and fretting over what Courfeyrac may be up to. Perhaps he was afraid that he had found it necessary to find another woman for Marius, I don’t know. But after about an hour, Marius was starting to unsettle me.
‘Marius,’ I finally said to him. ‘Please calm down. Courfeyrac is always late, which I believe you are aware of. Don’t assume that it has anything to do with you.’
‘I’m too sober to deal with you, Pontmercy,’ Grantaire gruffly informed him. ‘And I’ll knock you out before I let you drive me to drink again.’
Flustered and contrite, Marius began to stutter out an apology, only to be interrupted by the opening of the door.
‘Marius Pontmercy!’ a voice roared.
Poor Marius must have jumped almost two feet in the air at the sound of his name. He swung about and found Courfeyrac standing in the doorway. Marius’ face blanched, however, at what accompanied Courfeyrac.
It was an absolutely gigantic shaggy grey English sheepdog.
Grantaire, Combeferre and I, enthused by the noble creature, rose excitedly and darted over to get acquainted with Courfeyrac’s new friend. The three of us charmed the dog with our attention. He thumped his thick tail on the ground and smiled up at each of us with his great muzzle.
‘Courfeyrac, what a beautiful animal!’ exclaimed Combeferre, scratching the mighty beast between the ears. ‘What have you decided to call him?’
‘Ah,’ said Courfeyrac, taking the dog’s leash and leading him further inside. ‘I have decided nothing, nor will I decide anything. The decision is for Marius to make.’
Although I scarcely believe it possible, Marius went even paler. ‘What?’ he said.
‘This fine animal is for you, Marius,’ Courfeyrac told him. He gave the leash to Marius, who took it gingerly. Marius stared at the dog, trying desperately to remember how to blink or breathe. Finally, he asked, ‘Wherever did you get this?’
‘He’s a him, not a this,’ Courfeyrac corrected. ‘And I got him from Fiera’s father’s boss’ wife.’
Marius slowly stood up. He was horrified to see that the sheepdog stood almost to the last button on his waistcoat. All was silent for a moment.
‘Well, Marius,’ said Combeferre. ‘Whatever shall you call him?’
Silence again descended on my companions and I as Marius racked his brain, desperately trying to think of a suitable dog name.
‘I suppose I will just call him Tache ,’ he said slowly.
We all grimaced, and Grantaire was brave enough to tell Marius exactly what he thought of the name.
‘Well, I’ve never had a dog before,’ Marius replied, somewhat defensively-well, defensively for Marius. ‘And I’m not quite sure that I want one. Courfeyrac, what ever gave you the idea that I would want a dog?’
Before Courfeyrac could answer him, Tache did, in the form of a low growl.
Marius’ eyes went wide, and he took a step back from his new pet.
‘Marius, look what you’ve gone and done; you’ve upset him!’ Courfeyrac cried.
‘But he can’t understand me!’
‘Yes he can,’ Grantaire countered. ‘Do you want to fight over it?’”
“Grantaire certainly has been bad-tempered lately, has he not?” I said to Jehan.
“Perhaps a little, yes. But I’m sure that it has something to do with his newly acquired sobriety,” Jean Prouvaire asserted.
I snorted. “I certainly would prefer a little temper over his drunken ramblings, or obscene overtures to me. Never mind the stench! Anyhow, back to your story?”
“Oh, Yes! ‘Well, I’ve never had a dog before,’ Marius replied-”
“You’ve read that already, Jehan,” I told him.
“Oh, yes, quite sorry, Enjolras. ‘No!’ Marius said. “That’s alright, really.’
There was an uneasy silence.
‘Ah, Marius,’ Combeferre stepped in. ‘Why don’t you take Tache for a walk?’
‘A walk?’
“And that’s all I have so far,” Jean Prouvaire finished.
I must admit, I was let down at the sudden termination of his account. In spite of myself, I had been drawn Jehan’s short narrative of Courfeyrac’s further attempts to cause the death of poor Marius by way of shock to the heart. And now I was curious as to what happened next. So I asked.
“Actually, Enjolras,” Jean Prouvaire replied. “I’m not really all that sure myself. Tache bounded out the door in a dead run, and Marius was struggling to keep up. I haven’t seen either of them since, to be truthful. I was planning on getting the rest of the story from Courfeyrac.”
Frustrated, I said, “Do you happen to know where he is?”
I was answered, but not by Jean Prouvaire. At that very moment, the door burst open. Grantaire, looking absolutely furious, tramped his way into the building, with a rather harried looking Courfeyrac at his heels.
“NO!” Courfeyrac shouted, taking hold of Grantaire‘s right arm. “I won’t let you do this!”
“It’s none of your concern!” Grantaire roared back. “I just need a drink, and IF YOU WILL LET GO OF ME!” He wheeled around and violently drove his assailant into a table. Courfeyrac fell backwards, breaking the table and two chairs in the process, but he rose again instantly to resume his efforts to keep Grantaire away from the wine. At this juncture, he noticed Jean Prouvaire and I gaping at the battle with incredulous countenances from the other side of the room.
“ENJOLRAS!” he bawled. “WILL YOU DO SOMETHING?!”
I charged over to Grantaire, who had immediately immobilized upon hearing my name. I advanced upon him until I was but six inches from his face, and then I shouted, “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”
Grantaire did not answer. He hung his head in shame, and I will state now that I did not feel the least bit of sympathy for him. I was so absolutely disgusted with his behaviour that I could not even bear to look upon him. Roughly, I shoved him out of my way so I could see if Courfeyrac was not too terribly injured.
“Courfeyrac, tell me, are you alright?” I asked him, by his side with Jehan.
“I will be fine,” he replied, casting at venomous look at Grantaire. “I was just trying to keep him from doing something he’d regret.” Then Courfeyrac’s face brightened. “I could certainly use a glass of wine, though; you know…to dull the pain.”
“Oh, yes,” said Courfeyrac, chuckling and sipping his wine. “I certainly do.”
Jean Prouvaire let out a cry of exultation, and, after rifling about his papers, pulled out a blank sheet and a pencil. “Alright, Courfeyrac,” he said, with his pencil poised. “You can begin now.”
Courfeyrac laughed again. “Oh, can I? Well, since you asked so nicely. So Marius ran out of the place, and I didn’t see him for the rest of the day. That night when I went home, the door was already unlocked. I assumed Marius was there, so I just barged in. Tache greeted me with a long howl. He’s got a set of lungs, that one. Anyhow, I heard Marius calling me from our bedroom, rather pitifully really, you know how he is, and I went to see him. Can you believe I found him cowering on top of the wardrobe? I exclaimed, ‘Marius! What is going on?’ And Marius stuttered something out, but I can’t understand a word of what he says when he gets like that.
‘Marius,’ I said, rather sternly. Sometimes you have to be firm with him, or else he’ll be sitting there stammering to himself all day long. ‘Why are you sitting on top of the wardrobe?’
‘It’s that dog!’ Marius cried. ‘Look!’ And the boy thrust his arm down for me to look at. It wasn’t a pretty sight, let me say. He was covered in bloody teeth marks and purple bruises.
‘Tache did that?’ I asked him.
Marius nodded. This frustrated me quite a bit. You’d think that a full grown man would be more than a match for a puppy, but, then again, this is Marius we’re talking about here.”
Grantaire snorted. “It’s a bit more than a puppy, I’d say.”
“Silence,” I said to him absently. I still was in no mood to hear out anything that miscreant had to say.
“Are you two quite finished?” Jean Prouvaire asked, uncharacteristically irritable. “I’d like to hear what happened next.”
Courfeyrac took our silence as an indication that it was time to resume his tale. “I sighed, and helped Marius off of the wardrobe. Tache barked at Marius a few times, but that was it. Marius, however, was constantly wincing, as if he expected Tache to do anything to him while I was there. I washed all the blood of his arms, and then delicately suggested that it may be time for us to retire. Marius went along with it, and the two of us were asleep as soon as our heads hit our pillows. Then, suddenly, I was awoken in the middle of the night by a loud bang, and then by a howl. I sat upright in bed, and instinctively turned to Marius. But Marius wasn’t there. Tache lay sprawled out in my friend’s usual sleeping space. I scowled. I wasn’t too happy about getting woken up in the middle of the night by a dog. I rose.
‘Marius!’ I called, walking around to the other side of the. I heard a groan, and presently saw Marius crumpled up on the floor. Cradling his head, he looked at me with a pained expression on his fair face.
I rushed to Marius’ side, and helped him up. As soon as Tache saw Marius rising up from the ground, he started to bark. And snarl. And howl. And make pretty much any other nasty noise you can think of.”
“Goodness,” Jehan murmured.
“Well, I led Marius away from the bed and the dog,” Courfeyrac continued. “And then I asked him what happened.”
‘Tache must have wanted to sleep in the bed…’ said Marius thoughtfully. Poor boy was starting to develop a lovely bump on the back of his head. ‘I don’t think he’s very fond of me.’
I agreed with that.
‘Well, you’ll just have to sleep on the table tonight,’ I suggested to him. ‘Unless you want to sleep on my side of the bed with the dog.’
Marius violently shook his head. ‘It’s quite alright, really!”
So Marius slept at the table and I slept next to Tache.
This morning, I awoke to the sound of Tache’s claws scrapping against the door. I hurried into the kitchen to see what was going on. Marius was still huddled up on the table. If he had gotten an hour of sleep that night, he could have fooled me.
‘Courfey…’ Marius slurred drowsily. ‘Dog wants to walk.’
‘He’s your dog,’ I replied without thinking.
‘I CAN’T TAKE HIM OUT ALONE!’
I groaned. I had to attend to some business early on, so I wasn’t free to mind Marius and the dog. Finally, I came to the conclusion that I could just leave them both with Combeferre. So Marius and I got dressed, and I took him and Tache over to see our friend. And I haven’t seen either of them all day.” Courfeyrac shrugged in conclusion.
“That must be the reason why I haven’t seen Combeferre at all today, either,” I said, the sudden realization dawning on me. “I wonder where he is right now.”
“Probably still with Marius, I suppose,” said Jean Prouvaire.
“I am curious as to what they’ve been doing all day,” Courfeyrac admitted.
“Do you think we should go look for them?” Jehan suggested.
I rose from the table, and replied, “We should. It is our duty, as companions, to watch out for one another.” I motioned for the others to join me. “Let’s go.”
“What’s all this about ‘duty?‘” Grantaire grunted. “Just accept it, Enjolras. You’re useless without Combeferre at your side. I must admit, I’m a little jealous.”
Suddenly savagely angry at him again, I wheeled around and slammed my fist down violently on the table in front of him. “Grantaire.” I spat out his name in my fury. “If you so much as dare to utter my name for the rest of the day, I will NOT be responsible for what I do to you, do you understand me?” Then, without waiting for that scoundrel to reply, I spun around again and made for the door. “Courfeyrac, Prouvaire, will the two of you be joining me?” I threw over my shoulder. I must admit, that perhaps I was being overly dramatic, but, in spite of my anger, I could at least realize that my tremendous disappointment in Grantaire was clouding my vision more than a little. After he had returned from Fauchelevant’s house last month, I began to nurture the hope that he might actually prove to be a useful member of society. But after today’s little incident, my opinion of Grantaire had plummeted back down to lower than the sewers, and I thought to hide my feelings in the form of anger.
Jean Prouvaire and Courfeyrac hurried after me, with only passing glances at the now-despondent Grantaire. Seeing him in such a wretched state almost caused me to feel pity for him. Almost. We reached the door, but, before I even had my hand to the doorknob, it opened under its own accord. Startled, my friends and I jumped back a few steps. But then I saw who had opened the door.
“Combeferre!” I exclaimed, rushing back towards him warmly. “Where have you been all day?”
Ignoring my amiable query, Combeferre brusquely pushed past me to enter the café. “I need a drink,” he grumbled, impatiently making his way over to the bar. My companions and I exchanged startled looks. It is not in the nature of Combeferre to be abrupt and ill-tempered, so the three of us were rather surprised by his little foray into irritability.
“Combeferre?” I said, questioningly. Again, I was disregarded. The reunion of Combeferre and myself was not what I had envisioned it to be.
Jean Prouvaire took the initiative, and chose a stool next to Combeferre at the bar. Courfeyrac and I followed his lead, and settled in on the opposite side of him. The proprietress was nowhere to be seen, so Combeferre remained dry for the time being; which was fortunate for me, because there is really nothing I find quite so offensive as another man lost in drink.
“Combeferre?” I repeated. Catching his attention was proving to be quite the chore.
“Enjolras.” Finally! An answer!
“Where have you been?” I asked him.
Combeferre ignored me, and instead directed a barbed accusation at Courfeyrac, “This is your doing.”
“My doing!” Courfeyrac exclaimed. “But what did I-oh yes, Marius…how did that go?”
“How do you live with that boy?!” Combeferre exploded. “He is maddening!”
Courfeyrac shrugged. “I have to ignore him occasionally. It keeps the headaches away.”
“Ah…”
“Excuse me,” I interjected. “Could you possibly relate to those who were not fortunate enough to spend the morning with Marius what actually happened?”
Combeferre nodded. At this point, Grantaire, who presumably had been listening to our exchange from across the room, came over to Jean Prouvaire and handed him a pencil and a fresh sheet of parchment. Jehan, being much more forgiving than I am, gave him a smile and a kind word of appreciation. Grantaire then hovered behind him, not bothering to find himself a chair. Perhaps the furniture would not be in such short supply if he had not broken a table and two chairs by heaving Courfeyrac into them.
“So Courfeyrac brought Marius and Tache to your place this morning,” Jehan prompted, his pencil poised above the paper.
“Unfortunately, he did,” Combeferre sighed. “And without even giving me a proper reason why, I might add. He more or less cast them at me and ran off.”
“And I can’t thank you enough!” Courfeyrac exclaimed, smiling rakishly.
Combeferre sighed again. “You’re welcome. Anyhow, the first thing that Tache did when he saw me was to jump on top of me, and knock me down. I hit my head on the sidewalk, and everything was off to a grand start.” To exhibit his abrasion, he turned his head, and parted his thick brown hair at the nape, revealing swollen lump. “Marius apologised profusely, but I waved him off. Then came the difficult part of getting Marius to hold the leash for himself. He fought me on that. It took me the better part of ten minutes to tie the leash unto his wrist. Of course, the fact that the dog wouldn’t stop growling at him didn’t make it any easier. Finally, Marius stopped trembling enough to actually walk, and we were off. Tache was not happy. He kept pulling on his leash, and growling.
I said to Marius, ‘I thought he wanted to walk.’
Replied Marius, ‘I thought so, too.’
After almost twenty minutes of pulling a most obstinate Tache down the Rue Mondétour, the dog finally just sat down in the middle of the street and stopped. And when I say in the middle of the street, I mean the middle of the street. I’ve never seen so many angry carriage drivers in my life.”
“Oh dear…” murmured Jean Prouvaire.
“Everyone on the street started to yell at us to move the dog, but we couldn’t! You wouldn’t believe how strong that dog is! And in response to the shouting, Tache started to howl. He sounded like a wild animal.”
“How did Marius react to that?” I asked.
“How do you think Marius reacted to that?” Combeferre retorted. “I really thought he was going to pass out. He grew pale, and he started to shake. Usual Marius, stuff, really. And then you wouldn’t believe who came over to us.”
“Who?’ Courfeyrac asked.
“Fiera.”
“Fiera! What a great girl! I haven’t seen her in days! How is she?”
“Well, as of right now, she’s my saviour. She ran over to us, calling, ‘Tache! Tache!’ And the dog ran right to her! I could hardly believe my eyes. She led that beast over to the sidewalk. Grabbing Marius, almost as an afterthought, I’m sorry to say, I followed her in a hurry.
‘Fiera! How did you do that?’ I asked her once we were clear of the road.
She shrugged, answering ‘I did’
Anyhow, I saw this as my chance to get rid of Marius, so I politely said, ‘Fiera, dear, Tache seems to like you so much. Do you think that you could take him for a while, and show Marius your secret?’
‘Sorry, Courfeyrac’s friend, but I have an engagement and I’m already late for it,’ she said. At that, I cursed extravagantly under my breath. ‘Maybe later! Good luck with the dog!’ Courfeyrac, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about that engagement, would you?”
Looking uncomfortable, and blushing heavily, Courfeyrac muttered back, “No.”
“Are you quite sure, my dear fellow?” Combeferre pressed.
“I said, NO.”
Combeferre chuckled softly to himself, most certainly proud of the modest retribution he was able to inflict upon Courfeyrac, and then he resumed his narrative. “I was more than a little upset that I still had to look after Marius, so perhaps it is just a little of my fault that he ran away.”
“He ran away?” Grantaire repeated. His voice grated against my ears.
“Well, actually, the dog chased him away. After Fiera left, I took just a moment too long in turning back around. I heard barking, and the next thing I knew, Tache was pursuing Marius down the Rue Mondétour, howling and snapping at his heels.”
“Excellent!” Courfeyrac exclaimed. “You’ve killed Marius. Now who will split rent with me?”
“Split rent? When did Marius split rent? When does he make money?” Grantaire demanded, while at the same time, Combeferre retorted, “It’s not my fault! That boy should be able to take care of himself!”
“Well, he can’t!”
Realizing that this would quickly regress into physical violence if I did not interfere, I stood, and raised my voice over the three of them. “STOP!” My voice affected them like thunder, and they immediately ended their squabbling.
