Gastien Pt 1 (11 page)

“Oh, that is grand!” Gastien said happily. “It looks like today will end up being good after all!”

As he was leaving, the owner also slipped a book into Gastien’s tote. “That book is a book used at
Académie Julian
for beginning oils. Some student left it here over a month ago and has not been back. I see no reason why you should not have it,” the shop owner said kindly.

“
Merci
beaucoup
! That is very kind!” Gastien was very pleased. “I will be back in the future for more supplies, just wait and see!”

“I know you will,
Monsieur
,” the man stated quietly. “I saw a vision of you in your studio.”

“You did? Really? Did I look like I do now?” Gastien asked anxiously. “How long is it going to take?”

“I am not a fortune teller, boy. I wish I was. I simply saw the vision this time. You had hair below your shoulders, and your face was the face of a man.”

“Well. I am glad to know you saw me painting in a studio, but it will take some time to grow hair that long,” mused Gastien. “Still, maybe I had the studio quite awhile before, right?”

The shop owner smiled. “You never know. I have to tell you, you look great in long hair! That will set people back for sure, seeing you with that hair. Ha! Something tells me you will be a true nonconformist. Good luck to you!”

Gastien made his way slowly back to
Notre Dame
. It was still too early to go in, he might get caught. He sat down on a bench on the street in a little grassy area nearby, getting out the book. He read until the light faded, then decided to go in. He could always pretend to be praying if people were around.

He walked into the old church, sitting in a back pew. There was still a service going on. It was in Latin, which he did not understand, so he could get lost in his own thoughts. He thought about what the shop keeper had said about seeing him painting in his own studio. That had to be a sign! But, the long hair? Men did not wear their hair long anymore! He knew it would be awhile before he could get a haircut. Well, maybe he would just let it grow. That would make people know who he was and that could never hurt. Plus, if he ended up with nice hair it might attract women. They might like someone who dared to be different. Soon Gastien was asleep in the back row, dreaming about how he might look in long hair.

He jerked awake an hour or so later. People were finally leaving as the organ played loudly. He got down on his knees like he was praying, so that no one could get a good look at him. He did not want to be recognizable to anyone who came around here frequently. After everyone had left, he walked outside. He headed across the street and waited another hour to make sure it was reasonable to assume he would be alone. He saw the priest leave and go to his quarters.

Gastien walked back in and hurried to the toilet. He cautiously made his way back to his Catherine. He opened the bench. Everything was there as he had left it. Relief surged through him.

He would have to change to his other set of clothes tomorrow. He wanted to try to get a job again, while he still had a set of clean clothes and not too much of a beard. He was already looking shabby.

The clothes he had on still had a bad smell. Perhaps he could put them in the new tote and leave his supplies here tomorrow. He could then carry the dirty clothes with him. They could be washed in the river after looking for work in the morning. He would need to wash them by early afternoon, so that they could dry for a few hours.

He would bring charcoals and paper along in the tote, too, and pass the time drawing. He would have plenty of time to pass drawing and waiting for clothes to dry. It would keep his mind off of the fact that he had nothing to eat.

Gastien took out the last pitiful piece of cheese and rock hard bread from the basket. This might be his last food for awhile. He was so hungry already! He had only a small amount of fruit this morning, plus the croissant the restaurateur had given him. He had the appetite of a typical eighteen-year-old male. Well, at least I have this much, he thought. This is better than what I will have in the morning. With that he proceeded to eat the cheese in as small of bites as possible and gnaw on the bread, making the meager fare last for about thirty minutes. He was just as hungry when he had finished. Tilting the canteen to his mouth, he proceeded to drink as much as he could, in hope of filling the hunger. His stomach was not fooled by the water.

He got out his blanket, kept his coat wrapped around him, and laid down between two long benches. It was dark back here. He should go unnoticed. The floor was hard and the space between the benches was small, but he could not sleep more in the open. The chance of someone walking by and seeing him was too great. He lay there for awhile thinking he would not be able to sleep. Before he knew it, light was playing across the floor. It was a little past dawn.

Gastien grabbed his toothbrush, towel, soap, canteen, and a change of clothes. Heading to the bathroom area, he cleaned up again at the sink. He even chanced washing other areas since he had his clothes off, anyway. Gastien hurried as fast as he could. He did not want to get caught naked in a church. Who knew how long they would throw him in jail for? He was going to shave, and then he decided not to. Although the facial hair looked shabby, it also made him look a bit older. Maybe he would not look so vulnerable, and people would give him more respect. If not respect, maybe they would be a little afraid of him.

Once he was done, he went back and transferred his stinky clothes into the tote, along with his charcoals and some paper. He doubted he needed his coat. At the last minute, he slipped his coat in the tote, too. One never knew, the weather could change quickly this time of year. It was a nice, full length winter coat. He was glad to have it in case he would be outside this winter.

Gastien left the church and started on his way. Surely there would be a job for him today. He should have asked at the art store! Maybe he would try that. But, no, he remembered the sign in the window, “Not hiring now.” He supposed a lot of art students applied there all of the time.

To change his luck, Gastien decided to take a new route, see a little more of Paris. He did not veer off far, just a block over, into the residential area. The streets were narrow, with many houses and apartments in them. Some were five or six floors high! It would certainly build stamina to climb up to the sixth floor every day, he thought. Gastien felt hopeful. He was as clean as he could get, and ready to present a happy face to possible employers.

All of a sudden, he heard someone open a window up above. As he looked up, a chamber pot was emptied without the person even looking down. Gastien was covered with the night soil of a family of four. He had jumped to the side as he saw it coming down, so thankfully his tote was not hit. But his clean clothes were covered in piss and runny feces, as was his hair. His face was wet from it. “
NON
!
NON! FOUTRE, FOUTRE
,
FOUTRE
!!” howled Gastien.

Someone opened a window and yelled at him to shut up. Gastien was gagging. He fought throwing up what little food he had eaten the night before. God dammit anyway, can anything go right for me, he wondered. Now what would he do? There was only one thing he could do, and that was clean himself up. He could not go looking for a job with shit clinging to his clothing! He kept gagging.

He ran in the direction of the river and went along its banks, looking for an area safe to hide by and wash off. That was not easy to find in the city. Finally, he found a spot behind some abandoned factory equipment. This sheltered him from public view, as it was around a bend. People on the other side would not see him. “
FOUTRE! FOUTRE
!”

He stripped down and waded in without checking to see if the current was strong. At this point, Gastien would not have cared if the current took him away. He felt about as low as the feces that clung to his clothes on the bank of the river. He dunked his head under. When he came up for air, he climbed up and grabbed his bar of soap. Thank God he had brought it along for yesterdays stinky clothes! He knew you usually did not wash clothes with a bar of soap. It was all he had, so he had packed it. He used it on himself. He scrubbed everywhere. As long as he was buck naked in the middle of Paris he might as well clean everything, he thought bitterly. That way, when the police hauled him away, at least they could not say he stunk!

Next he grabbed both sets of clothes and washed those. What would he wear while they dried? Then he remembered his coat. He would have to sit in his coat while his clothing dried. He finished washing the clothes and climbed out. Looking around, he saw some low hanging branches. He draped his wet clothes on those. There was a good breeze so they should dry at some point today. He had dried off quickly from the wind.

Suddenly he burst out laughing. Oh, if his father could see him now! There he stood, his
bite
blowing in the breeze, naked for all of Paris to see! Father would be convinced that he was destined for the life of a deviant for sure. For good measure, Gastien grabbed his dick and held it out. “Here, father, kiss this! You old
trou du cul!”
he yelled.

Gastien sighed. Putting on his coat, he sat down with his back against a rock, where he could keep an eye on his clothes. He could not believe the obstacles so far! This day was going to be completely wasted, without looking for work. He would be going all day without eating. Tomorrow did not look any more promising, as far as food went.

As Gastien waited for his clothes to dry, he drew. It felt good to use the charcoals. It felt even better to not to have to worry about someone seeing him drawing and beating him for it. For once, he had all the time in the world. The charcoal flew across the paper. He drew images of the Paris across the river,
Notre
Dame
, the fat pig of a cook that offered to bugger him, the reddish blonde haired artist and his friends at the table in the restaurant.

Before he knew it, several hours had passed by. He looked at his drawings. They were good. Damn good! He had no doubt of his ability there. He hoped that for oil painting It would be just a question of learning the properties of oil paint, what you could and could not force it to do.

Gastien wiped his hands on the grass. When he checked his clothes he found that they were dry. He quickly dressed. It really felt good to be clean again! Gastien guessed it must be about two o’clock, judging from the sun in the sky. He decided to make his way back to the 6
th
and try again to find a job.

Once there, he met with the same success as the day before. Everyone had hired who they needed already. Gastien was left without employment.

He noticed some artists in the park again, so he walked over. To his delight, he saw the reddish blonde haired painter. The painter smiled when he saw Gastien, waving him over.

“
Salut
! You must be new to the area. My name is Michel, but friends call me Mic,” the young artist shared happily. “Just so you know, anyone who points at a painting of mine and smiles while nodding his head is instantly my
ami!
” He laughed loudly, and Gastien found himself joining in.

Gastien replied, “I know what you mean. I am so hungry to have input about my art. I was not just being nice the other night. I am no expert, but for what it is worth, your painting was really good! I am Gastien, by the way.”

“
Merci
! I appreciate that, Gastien. I think I am pretty damn good myself, but it is always good to hear it from others,” he said honestly. Mic glanced at Gastien’s tote. “You mentioned you would like input, so I take it you are also an artist?”

“An artist-to-be I guess. I have only had the chance to draw with charcoals, plus a little bit of watercolour. I lived at home on a fruit and vegetable farm. My father did not tolerate his eldest “dabbling around like a girl”, as he put it, with art. Whenever he caught me, he would beat the hell out of me. I had to be extremely sneaky in order to get away and draw.” Although Gastien laughed, Mic noticed the boy’s eyes looked sad. “Usually he had me too busy picking cauliflower or shoveling cow shit to paint. Finally, I had to get out of there.”

“So you just left? Are you planning on school?” Mic was impressed with his new friend’s courage.

“I had hoped to go to
Académie Julian
. I stayed on the farm two years longer than I should have, until I was almost eighteen. I worked my ass off, thinking my father would notice and then help me. Unfortunately, I was wrong. We “had words” and he disowned me. I could not go back now if I wanted to.”

“Surely it is not as bad as that,” chuckled Mic. “I hope you make it here, but if not, fathers always have a way of forgiving their sons.”

Gastien just looked at him. “Someday when I know you better I will tell you how wrong that statement is. Let’s just drop it for now.” Gastien looked away. A lump had formed in his throat. He did not want his new friend feeling sorry for him.

Michel noticed how Gastien had tensed up. He realized that the young man was not exaggerating. Something in those eyes told Michel that Gastien had suffered frequently at the hands of his father. Something else told him that Gastien had finally stood up for himself.

“Understood, no problem. Let’s talk about art, it is more important anyway,” he offered. He put out his hand. “
Amis
?”

Gastien took his hand and shook it. “
Amis
.”

“Great! Say, listen, do you have any drawings in that tote of yours?”

“
Oui
! I do, actually. I just did them today while I was waiting for my clothes to dry in the tree.”

Michel did a double take. “You had your clothes up in a tree?”

Gastien laughed. “
Oui
!” Noticing Mic’s puzzled look, he continued, “Long, long story. You will hear all of it eventually, I am sure. Let me just say for now that, a few hours ago, I was buck naked on the riverbanks of Paris with my
bite
blowing in the wind!” He grinned, wiggling his finger in front of his trousers.