Story of the Month: The Evening Gown

The beams of light trained on the singer, following her movements without lighting up her lusterless voice, kindled a spark at my side.

A moment before, I had been certain there was no one at the table next to mine; and now this girl had appeared and sat down beside me, as though the beams of light had drawn her out of nothingness.

She was fair, with glowing hair, and how pale her face looked beneath the sheen of that hair — the face of a child of no more than eighteen. She had wide eyes of a dark blue, and a mouth with full lips on which was traced a smile tinged with sadness — a sadness, you would fancy, that nothing could ever dispel...

What had this fresh young girl come to do in such a tavern? And whom, I wondered, was she waiting for? What stirred the astonishment of the company was that her shoulders were bare; as for the evening gown she wore, it was of pure white and very simple, letting whoever looked at it discover the lines of her young, harmonious body.

I could not turn my gaze from this fairy creature, who was quietly sipping pomegranate juice. I looked at her with a fierce hunger — that hunger we feel before the things we can never possess... What would happen if she went away?.. What should I do if she vanished from sight? No — I could not bear the thought! I went up to her table and asked her to dance, and she rose without answering. She was so light that I felt I was moving alone on the dance floor; I pressed her slender body, and my cheek brushed the locks of her hair, and I said to myself in rapture: she is truly alive — she is in my arms!

Then I grew bolder and invited her to supper. She accepted quite simply, on condition that at the end of the evening I take her to the place she would point out to me; she also made me swear not to try to follow her... So I promised and swore, and it seemed to me that I was living one of the fanciful tales of the jinn!

I asked her to exchange the pomegranate juice for champagne, and she refused, laughing — but her laugh was stamped with a deep sadness I could not understand.

All evening long I tried hard to sound the depths of my companion's character, but she would answer my questions with this phrase: "And what would be the use of that?..."

I was not at ease; rather I felt that our meeting was an illusion, and that I should soon wake from my slumber — and yet I could see her two white shoulders, her beautiful hair, her beating heart... close beside me, indeed within reach of my hand. And as I drew nearer to the girl, the glass of pomegranate juice spilled over her white gown at a flustered movement of mine, and Ornella cried out:

— "Oh! My gown is stained — what will my grandmother say?"

I did not know how to make her forgive my clumsiness; I promised to buy her a gown in its place — no, ten gowns... She laughed and said:

— "It does not matter; we must not cloud the serenity of our evening. Come, let us dance now, for I love the piece the band is playing."

And the magic current of the dance swept us away once more.

Enchanting, merry hours went by like a dream... Or was it not a dream, that face I saw grow pale as we danced, then turn wan, then flush with the redness of shyness? My illusions would last a few brief moments, during which I felt a strange odor encircling me and setting my head spinning. The girl's eyes would question me: "What has happened to you?" And I would answer:

— "Nothing — only a strange odor brushed against me, like the gust of an icy wind. Let me think of something else..."

Then I would breathe in, filling my lungs, the sweet fragrance of my girl, and she asked me:

— "Is my fragrance not sweet?"

— "I breathe in from you the scent of youth, of happiness, of life."

And she repeated softly:

— "Youth, and happiness, and life!.."

And her eyes filled with tears.

Toward midnight Ornella said, "The time has come to go back." I begged her to stay another moment, but she said: No! The time has come; she is waiting for me on the road, just as she did the last time. I asked her, astonished, "And who is waiting for you on the road?" She answered:

— "You cannot know. Let us go, I beg you — let us go."

I consented reluctantly; we settled into my car, and Ornella began showing me the way. She drew closer to me little by little, as though seeking a refuge to shelter her from some impending danger. I tried to reassure her, and told her that no one could harm her so long as I was alive. Who, I wondered, was this powerful enemy before whom the girl trembled with fear?

I felt a certain uneasiness when I noticed that we had left the city. Then I heard a small, faint voice pleading:

— "You will protect me, won't you? You will keep me at your side?"

— "Fear nothing, my darling."

So I answered her, anxious, and I drew her to my breast and kissed her... and her lips were cold!

We reached a wide crossroads, beyond which the road took the shape of a dangerous bend, when Ornella gave a piercing scream. I looked at her face, over which a pallor had spread, then stopped the car, for she had fainted. I could not understand the cause of her fear: the road was deserted and the night calm and still. But after a little she opened her eyelids and murmured:

— "It is all over now. Take me home..."

I was in the utmost bewilderment as I drove on, and we came to the edge of a great forest. I followed the road that crosses it, and when we were in its very heart Ornella pressed my arm and said:

— "Here is the place where I shall get down."

I let my gaze wander over that dreadful place and found it still, wrapped in a strange silence; I could see nothing but the ghostly shapes of the trees. I said to the girl:

— "Make me understand, my little one — how can I leave you alone at midnight in this forest?"

She answered me in a voice that had recovered its calm:

— "Nothing frightens me now. Remember the promise you made. I live here, and you must leave me."

It was hard for me to obey her, yet I did not dare go against her. As she moved away I asked her:

— Shall I come to see you tomorrow?

She turned for a moment and gave a laugh that pained me, and said:

— "Tomorrow? Yes — tomorrow!!"

And her slender ghost of a figure vanished from my sight among the trees. I stayed a while without moving, hesitating; then I came to my senses at the madness and shortsightedness of what I had done, and I set off running, shouting:

— "Ornella! Ornella!"

Nothing answered me but the movement of the night birds' quiet wings, like the fans of the night. Once more I called that name, which passed uselessly from branch to branch... Then an ill-omened cry answered me: it was the cry of an owl waking from her sleep, who began to dart her dull stare at me!

The next day I hurried back to the forest. It was not hard for me to recognize the place where I had stopped the night before; I got down from my car and walked along the path. After a little a small hut showed itself among the trees — surely the dread girl lived in it.

I knocked at its great wooden door, and it was opened by an old woman dressed in mourning clothes, who looked at me in surprise; I supposed that this lonely old woman was seldom visited by anyone. Then I said to her:

— "I have come for Miss Ornella."

She shot me a hard look after a troubled shrug of her shoulders. I went on:

— "Please, let me see her for a moment! I brought her here yesterday evening."

But the old woman kept staring at me, alarmed and afraid; then she made up her mind to answer me, and said with a sad gentleness:

— "Come." And how immense was the shock when I followed her into the garden and saw a grave ringed with the flowers of the field. The grandmother knelt, and her silent tears ran down the channel they had worn for themselves in her cheeks. As for me, I began to spell out the words carved on the headstone: "Here lies Ornella. God took her on the twenty-fifth of May, 1947, at eighteen years of age. Pray for her."

Then the old woman sobbed:

— "She is my granddaughter. She died in a motorcar collision at the crossroads just before the forest, when she was on her way to attend an evening dance — the first of her life."

I felt a certain agitation, and I reflected on my situation: here we are in the year 1948, so the girl of last night must be someone other than this girl, who is also called Ornella. We walked back to the house, both of us sorrowful. The old woman said to me:

— "Come in and rest a little."

I did not refuse. I entered a small room fitted up for receiving guests, and I saw the portrait of a girl set in the place of honor upon a side table, like the Virgin, her radiant face wreathed about with fresh roses.

I stared at it in stupefaction, and my color suddenly drained away... My hostess said: "What is the matter?" I answered her:

— "It is she! The girl with whom I spent my evening last night!... I know her eyes, her smile, even the shape of her mouth..." But the old woman protested:

— "You are mad, young man! My poor granddaughter died a year ago... and yesterday was the first anniversary of her death! Did you not see her grave just now?"

— "It is she... it is Ornella..." And I kept gazing at the portrait with wandering eyes. But the grandmother shook her head sadly and said simply:

— "Come, let me show you a keepsake I have preserved of her: her gown, which she had made ready for the first evening party of her life."

I followed her into a room adjoining the one we were in. The first thing that caught my eye was that the room we entered had, beyond doubt, been abandoned for months. Everything in it remained as it had been, and a faint fragrance of perfume still hung in its air... The silk stockings lay flung over a chair here, and the little satin shoes were set out beneath the wardrobe there. We approached the bed with reverence: the evening gown lay spread upon it, as it had lain since that ill-fated night, as though awaiting the young body it would wrap within its folds for the first time...

And the weeping old woman could do nothing but make the sign of the cross and cry out:

— "Look! Look!! None of this was on the gown yesterday!.."

And with her trembling finger she pointed to the red stains that soiled the white gown!..