~ According To The Rules ~

by

Jeannine Van Eperen

One

August 1956

Rain poured down steadily, relentlessly beating against the long, narrow windows, intensifying the heat of the day, not cooling it. Few spectators were in the room. To ward off the heat of the day, they occasionally fanned themselves with their hands. Had this tragedy occurred in any other season, the courtroom would be packed to overflowing, but almost everyone who could afford to do so was out of Paris enjoying their vacations. The group who sat before Judge Clermont now--participants, witnesses, even the spectators--were eager to have the whole business resolved so they could resume their normal lives, forget the past, and take up again at the point before the fatal act took place.

Judge Clermont fidgeted. His shirt felt wet against his back as he sat on a platform looking out over the courtroom. He had to end this soon. No Frenchman in his right mind was willing to spend his August in Paris in court. The whirring fans did little to cool the room and hindered the hearing of important testimony. He sighed. His eyes took in those who sat before him, upright, outstanding, good-looking citizens of France, members of the country’s most prestigious dance group, the dancing elite of the world.

His first thought when he heard the early reports on his car radio was one of repulsion. He’d read the police reports. He was ready to believe the worst perversions of all of them, but then he saw their pictures in the newspapers. Handsome, all of them, but he was particularly struck by the obvious beauty of the young woman, the look of innocence in her large eyes. Ah, but he mustn’t let beauty sway him, he was a judge. Impartial.

He glanced to the rear of the courtroom. His wife sat there, impatient to be out of the city, but interested in the proceedings, as well. She was a member of the “Friends of the Ballet”. She had met them all at a luncheon. She had arranged for a special performance by the premier danseur and the prima ballerina for her favorite charity. He wished now he had been able to attend it, but he was not much concerned with ballet. He had thought all the men fairies, flitting across the stage, too graceful to be real men. He looked out at the men now. They appeared manly enough, sitting with backs erect, their eyes gazing forward, somber enough to suit the occasion. And the women were thin but shapely, their heads held high, eyes lowered demurely, chaste and beautiful.

The rain stopped abruptly but the water dripped from the eaves and bounced on the windowsills.

Judge Clermont strained his ears to hear the testimony. He looked at the couple, the young woman’s parents, and saw the look of anguish on their faces. Why drag this out any longer? What more could he learn that he did not already know? Cool sea breezes of Biarritz beckoned him. He watched his young wife fidget on the hard wood court bench. He smiled in his mind as he looked at her, stylishly dressed in a low-scooped summer dress. His thoughts swayed from the courtroom to the bedroom.

They were all waiting for him. Should he delve further? Turn the matter over to the Assize Court? Take up the time of a jury? No.

“Death by accident,” he said. He looked around his courtroom. The dancers’ somber expressions melted slightly. The young woman’s parents sighed. All participants were satisfied. But in the back of his mind, he wondered.

Two

July 1939

At sixteen, at a church social, Rene Remblard discovered Mabelle DeSoto. She was a pleasant, buxom girl with straw colored hair, a wealthy farmer’s daughter. She smiled at him and blushed. She was drawn to him as to a magnet, and she enthusiastically accepted his suggestion that he walk her home. They walked down the dusty village street, past his father’s furniture store, and out into the country toward the DeSoto farm.

Rene was wiry and athletic, able to run long distances, leap high hurdles, and walk on his hands. He demonstrated these abilities to Mabelle and she again blushed and smiled.

Her skirt caught on a wire fence he deftly jumped as she, not being so agile, crawled beneath the wire. Laughingly and gallantly, he helped her untangle her skirt. As he did so his hand touched her thigh. “I’m afraid I must go within your skirt to remove the wire,” he said. She blushed and nodded her acquiescence. His hand touched the smooth skin above her white cotton stocking. She giggled and squirmed. A cow in the field nearby mooed. The bell around its neck clanged softly. The sweet scent of clover filled the air.

“I’ll let you, if you want to,” Mabelle said.

Three months later Rene found himself standing before a priest, forced into a marriage by both fathers.

Rene had been pampered and petted by his mother for all of his sixteen years. He led a carefree existence, attended school, and made good grades with a minimum of preparation. He was naturally intelligent with an inquisitive mind, a handsome boy, the youngest of seven sons. His mother had conceived and given birth to six sons, one a year; then conceived and miscarried in the latter months of pregnancy the following six years until she carried Rene full term the thirteenth year of her marriage.

His birth was difficult, and after it, Madame Remblard conceived no more. She was thankful and credited Rene with the fact she no longer missed her monthly period. Since Rene was her baby, her final baby, she let him nurse on her pendulous breasts until he was four. She praised and fondled him. She denied him nothing in as much as it was possible within her meager power. He was the joy of her life. If his father resented him, his older brothers did not. They never watched him. His mother did that gladly. By the time his brothers noticed he was no longer a baby, they had other interests, and mostly left Rene alone.

At the age of six, Rene was relegated by his father out of his parents’ bedroom. Then, instead of watching the shadows of his father riding his mother each night, he listened to his brothers discuss the joys of sex.

At age sixteen Rene knew what was expected of him, but until Mabelle offered herself to him, he had yet to ply his wares. He had attacked his opportunity with eager abandon, proud and happy to join the ranks of his brothers.

~ * ~

When Rene was forced into a marriage he did not wish, he felt abandoned by his doting mother. She did nothing to stop his imprisonment. She was happy that he would live on a farm, classified, if not in fact, a farmer. His father told him on the eve of his wedding, “Marriage is not so bad, Rene. You can now legally enter the woman as often as you wish. It is your duty to enter and hers to respond. You must take the marriage vows and adhere to them.”

Rene was incarcerated in a small cottage on the DeSoto farm with his bride, gifted with money from both sets of parents, and spent the next six months plunging into his wife each morning and night until her water broke. She died of blood poisoning in childbirth. He grabbed what money was left and took off, not bothering to find out if the child was a boy or a girl or if it lived. He had fulfilled his marriage vows; he had done his duty by his wife until death.

~ * ~

In a month’s time, Rene had worked his way to St. Claude. Nonchalantly, he walked along the side of the gravel road. Few people were around the area. Farmers were busily planting their fields. Most men were fighting Germans. Rene thought if they wanted to be blown up to pieces it was their business. Two of his brothers were already dead, and it did not particularly appeal to him. He had only one thought, get as far away from his village as possible, so he kept traveling, mostly by foot. Vehicles were few, but he accepted any ride he was offered, mainly on farm wagons.

It was a hot April day. The air smelled of freshly furrowed soil, trees showed off their new bright green leaves, and birds twittered incessantly. Rene felt wonderful, free and alive. He removed his shirt and tied it about his waist. Fired with energy, he walked on his hands then leaped a fence. As he landed easily on the opposite side of the fence, he noticed a car parked along the side of the road. Its occupant called to him.

“You, young man,” a feminine voice hailed.

Rene turned, surprised to see a woman standing at the side of the automobile watching him. His now alert eyes took in the man working beneath the hood and the woman’s face, expensive clothes, and her well-proportioned slim figure.

She, in turn, smiled approvingly at his athletic prowess and sinewy body. “Come over here,” she said in a voice of authority. He did as he was bade, expecting to be asked to help with repairs. “You move well,” she said. “I’ve been watching you.” Her hands touched his biceps approvingly.

Rene’s eyes held her eyes boldly, then dropped from her eyes to her bosom. He would have liked to see a fuller one, but no matter, so far she had offered nothing, not even a ride in her fine automobile. He started to put on his shirt.

“You needn’t do that,” she said, then called to her manservant, “How much longer, Henri?”

The man brought his head out from under the hood. With a bored facial expression, he looked at Rene. “You’ve got time,” he said. His eyes took in Rene’s bulging crotch and he thought the boy would probably satisfy his employer. He, himself, was no longer controlled by sexual appetite. He had been castrated in an accident in his youth, shortly after he had experimented with both sexes. He thought he had preferred boys, but it had been so long ago, he was not sure he could trust his memory. Now, he thought nothing of either sex, feeling neither envy nor remorse. At present, he felt nothing except hope, hope that the boy’s performance would satisfy Elise. She had been in a particularly bitchy mood since her last lover ran off with a younger woman a week ago. If rolling around in the dirt with this young stallion improved her disposition, he was all for it. He returned to work beneath the hood.

“There is a blanket on the back seat,” Elise said and started to walk to the other side of the car.

Rene reached inside the open window. He looked with approval at the car’s interior with its brocaded seats and red leather upholstery. It was a custom Renault, very expensive. He had seen a photograph of one once. He wondered if he performed well enough, if she might give him a ride in the car. With this thought in mind, he followed the woman.

“Spread it here,” she said. Rene hesitated. They were only fifty feet from the car, within sight of the mechanic and the road. “I’ll help you,” she said with impatience in her voice.

“There is a stream just on the other side of the hill,” he said. “Just a short walk.” She shook her head. “Wouldn’t you like me to bathe first?” He was aware of his unwashed body and wished to please this elegant appearing lady. He had never before thought of pleasing a woman. He had merely entered Mabelle each morning and evening without a thought as to her pleasure.

Elise smiled slowly. “It would be a delight to watch you bathe. Maybe later.”

She had given him a ray of hope. She might yet invite him into her car. He resolved to do his best by her. So the man watched, so what?

“Help me with this zipper,” she commanded.

Eagerly, he obeyed her orders. His eyes opened wide with astonishment to find a woman of her age possessed with so firm and beautiful a body. He wished only for her to have larger breasts. He removed his trousers and joined her on the blanket. He wasn’t sure just how he should go about copulating with her. He had only made love with Mabelle. Did this woman wish him only to enter her? Should he kiss her ruby red mouth? Her small pointed breasts? She solved the problem for him. She pulled his lips to hers. Her stomach was flat, and she moved her body in ways bringing him pleasures he had never known. She was not like Mabelle who lay immobile like a bloated whale proclaiming discomfort and sometimes even shrieking as if she were in pain as he spewed his seed into her; she had not complained that first time, the time she had trapped him into marriage. Mabelle’s breasts were fuller, and, he admitted, he had grown to like the sweet fluid that he drained from them as she clenched her teeth in silence or cried as the mood suited her whims. He pushed the ugly memory of Mabelle from his mind. He breathed in the sweet aroma of the woman’s body. His hands felt its silken smoothness. He thought no more of how to act. He acted naturally but with a desire to bring Elise pleasure as well as himself.