Merzan, the Destiny of an Artist Page 11

  The two are now standing in the main area of the administration office. Merzan finally asks her, “Matahina, what is wrong?”

  Merzan is acting lost and Matahina is acting out of character, even standoffish.

  Matahina abruptly replies, “Nothing is wrong. I am going to be late for class.”

  Matahina runs away from Merzan, leaving him there to wallow in his thoughts.

  Merzan feels loss, but is uncertain why as he knows of nothing to confirm what is happening, but he’s feels certain something has changed.

  Matahina is in one her classrooms. She is hiding her face from others in the room during a lecture. She is clutching the letter from her mother. It becomes partially crumbled. A tear or two drip onto the neatly handwritten page. We see keywords in the letter while hearing her mother’s voice.

  Her mother wrote, “My darling Matahina. You have made your father and I very happy. You have represented your Island well with the honor and dignity expected by your family. We have missed you so deeply, but soon you will be back on Mo’ore’a with us as your return has been arranged for next month.”

  Matahina’s eyes fill with tears. While these tears are dripping down her cheek she reflects on a random series of events memorializing her sadness from her numerous memories in Paris with Merzan. Each thought is more enjoyable than the next but adds more sadness to the reality of their time together ending.

  She pictures herself on the beach in Mo’ore’a singing, “Matahina’s Lullaby” only this time she hears the song dramatically slowed as a sad, sparse, tragic theme.

  Her last thought is a recollection of her speaking to Merzan at the flower stand. She is reminiscing her private comment to him in Tahitian. She hears her own voice while she recalls that moment.

  “Ho’e mahana ’oe haere ma mi mai motu, Tauarii.”

  32 She is Gone

  The month goes by like it was only a few short hours. The feelings of loss are too strong. Without a good-bye, Matahina leaves Paris.

  Merzan would be the first to agree that an actual good-bye would have been far too painful. Even so, this does not minimize the loss he feels. He stands alone on an empty street close to the Arc de Triomphe. It’s very odd that there would not be an onslaught of tourists and others, but for some reason, Merzan is there and nobody else is nearby. Merzan is very alone. It is even more evident in his expression and in his eyes.

  Merzan tries to picture all the places and people that made up the life he was enjoying with Matahina in Paris. Everyone he pictures is happy and joyous. Then, in a breath their smiles and gaiety dissolve. He hears Matahina singing “Matahina’s Lullaby” but it only carries the visuals in his mind that lead to a tragic crescendo.

  Merzan feels like the only person left on a painfully desolate earth.

  The days crawl by leaving Merzan more and more alone with every hour.

  The phone is ringing at the farm house. Merzan is calling his home in the afternoon. His mother answers the phone in the front room of their cottage.

  She asks, “Bonsoir! Who is calling?”

  He answers, “Mother?”

  “Merzan! Comment es-tu mon fils?”

  TRANSLATION: How are you my son?

  He does not answer her question but goes on to say, “Mother I will graduate from the Lycée now.”

  Lily is excited to tell him, “Merzan you have a letter from the University of Paris, from the Sorbonne.”

  Unenthusiastically Merzan replies, “I know mother. Throw it into the garbage. I don’t care.”

  “Merzan? What do you know? You have not seen this letter, my son.”

  “I know about this letter mother. They want me to study at their campus.”

  She interrupts, “... and of course you will Merzan!”

  He interrupts, “... no Mother. I will not.”

  Lily knows this is unacceptable and insists, “Merzan!”

  Before she can say more he tells his mother, “There is no Princess at the Sorbonne. I am coming home.”

  Merzan, sacrificially, slowly, hangs up the phone without any additional conversation. He holds back tears as best he can.

  Lily hears him hang up and holds her phone away from her. She faces the receiver and looks at it acknowledging the disconnected call.

  Lily speaks slowly, under breath, “... there are no princesses on our farm my son.”

  She draws the phone to her chest and catches herself between feeling helpless, starting to cry, but smiling with love that she just spoke with her son.

  Behind her, Geneviève, who just walked in, heard her mother’s last line while talking to the phone receiver with its disconnected call.

  Geneviève is concerned, “Mother?”

  From the receiver that is still in Lily’s hands, off the hook, to a deep concerning look into Geneviève’s eyes, to a bitter sweet expression on Lily’s face, we can feel the winds of change affecting every thing at once.

  The emotional intensity is strong. Geneviève, in her innocence, is aglow with light, like a young princess. Matahina’s Lullaby seems to play on the wind. The previous, tragic performance of the lullaby we heard seems soften by the easier lifestyle found on the farm.

  33 Sadness on the Winds of Mo’ore’a

  Matahina’s Lullaby continues while the winds carry us in her melody to a very early morning on Mo’ore’a. There she is and there, too, is emptiness in Matahina’s face. Her tasks are the same, gathering fruit and flowers, but things are very different.

  The familiar ferry from Pape’ete, operated by Captain Bell is being tied off on the dock. Tourists are gathering for that typical day tours and photo opportunities on this gorgeous island.

  The Princess poses and imagines herself in front of Merzan’s camera in Paris.

  She snaps out of her daydream when Captain Bell speaks.

  Captain Bell clears his throat authoritatively and recites, “Ladies and gentlemen... “

  He pushes past the crowd and stands close to Matahina.

  “The Island of Mo’ore’a has blessed us all on this memorable morning to be in audience of her Royal Highness, the Princess Matahina.”

  Matahina is certainly less engaged and her loving companion who has become more of godfather than not easily senses her loneliness. Matahina asks, “Captain Bell, from where do our Island guests travel?”

  He tells the Princess, “These fine people are from France. From Paris your Highness.”

  Captain Bell bows to her and only she can see him wink to suggest he is exchanging some kind of inside information.

  “And the Islands have blessed us with many tourists this year Princess.” The captain contorts his expression to privately offer her credit for that.

  Matahina stands steady looking at the tourists, studying each of them in detail. She continues to smile and pose for photographs. She’s nonchalant, but these tourists know nothing about the Princess or what emotions are her heart.

  She takes a strong close up look at each person. Matahina’s study shows each of their odd, individual caricature-like features.

  Matahina walks into the thick of the group with her basket of flowers. One family has a small child – a little girl with long hair. Matahina walks up to her and gets down on a knee. Matahina sets the basket down. The group of tourists become hushed, cameras are stilled while watching the imminent interaction.

  Matahina takes a beautiful orchid from her basket and starts to place it in the little girl’s hair. She stops placing the flower and asks, “What is your name?”

  The little girl, a bit reserved and nervous answers, “I am Emma.”

  I will call you Tiare Moana. This means the flower of the ocean.”

  The little one tries to repeat the name, “Tiare Moana.”

  Matahina asks, “Do you live in Paris Emma?”

  Matahina’s sincere kindness disarms the little girl and she feels much more relaxed. She answers, “Oui mademoiselle... I mean yes your Highness.”

  The little girl curtsies
and bows her head to Matahina. Everyone acknowledges how cute the little one is interacting with the Princess Matahina and correcting her inadvertent use of French by repeating her response in English.

  Comforting her further Matahina says, “N’ayez aucune inquiétude, Tiare Moana. Je parle le Français de manière fluide. C’est ma deuxième langue.”

  TRANSLATION: Have no concern Emma. I speak French fluidly. It is my second language.

  Matahina then places and adjusts the flower perfectly in Emma’s hair. All eyes are on her awaiting her next word. Even Captain Bell becomes drawn into the rather ceremonial behavior presented by the Princess.

  Matahina continues, speaking very directly to the little girl. It seems very personal and conversation that would fall on none other’s ears. Matahina introduces herself, “I am Matahina. Once, it seems long ago, I was in Paris. I stood at a flower stand on the Avenue Victor Hugo...”

  There’s a stir in the group as some of the tourists are reacting and compare notes under their breath recognizing the familiar street.

  Matahina adds, “There was a young Prince who I called Tauarii and he placed a flower, much like this, in my hair.”

  Matahina tightens her lips to hold back her emotions.

  “One day perhaps you too will meet a young prince and he will put a flower in your hair and it will make you feel very beautiful.”

  Tears begin to form. Unable to stop the tears, Matahina hugs the little girl and before anyone can see her breaking down she runs off.

  Running, “Now I must go.”

  A little distant away by now, “Please enjoy Mo’ore’a. My Island welcomes you.”

  Captain Bell knows Matahina is sorely stricken.

  From afar, Matahina’s mother and father can see their daughter and are too aware of how she is so upset – something that, by this time, they have seen far too often since her return from Paris.

  Behind some bushes, out of sight, Toanui was eavesdropping. He heard her every word. You can see the jealously and anger in his eyes while he struggles with his own feelings about Matahina.

  34 The Artiste becomes the Farmer

  It’s a fine clear morning in Paris. A shockingly loud noise from a blast of one of the train’s compressed air brake system startles everyone.

  Philippe has escorted Merzan to the train – to say goodbye. Merzan is returning to his home on the farm now.

  “Well, my young artiste. After all this, now you can go bring your father...”

  Philippe is making fun of a familiar story that must have been shared and jokes, “...zee wine from zee cow!”

  They both laugh. Then Merzan gets very serious. Another emotional moment? No.

  Merzan reaches into his pocket and counts out some francs and puts the money into Philippe’s hand. Merzan picks up the camera, hanging around his neck, with both hands and gestures that he now owns it completely.

  “Philippe, you have been a very good friend. I imagine this camera will find a good home on the shelf in my room now.”

  Merzan smiles, but Philippe knows he feels a loss.

  “Merzan. The first time I saw you, you were trying to find enough francs to see the art exhibit.”

  “Oui monsieur and you were very generous with me.”

  “This was nothing, really.”

  Philippe puts the money in one pocket then reaches into another pocket and removes an envelope.

  “Merzan! This is for you.”

  Merzan acts perplexed. Takes the envelope and looks inside. It’s filled with a lot of paper money!

  Merzan says, “I do not understand. This is not mine.”

  Philippe corrects him, “Ah, but Oui. It is. You see when your work was shown at the gallery and you refused to come to the reception...”

  Merzan reminds Philippe, “I could not be in the same room with these photographs. They were awful.” And hesitantly adds with additional truth, “She was not in any of them.”

  Philippe understands, “Merzan. Perhaps they were awful.”

  Merzan reacts like, “I can say that, not you!!!”

  Philippe continues, “But as awful as they may have been. Even so...”

  Merzan reacts again!

  “...every photograph was sold. A lot of money was raised to help the gallery with a program to help young students and this is your portion, my young artiste.”

  Merzan smiles. The train whistle blows and last minute boarding calls are made.

  Philippe tells Merzan, “Now, off with you then.”

  Merzan starts to run toward the train’s platform.

  Philippe yells, “Merzan! One more thing. Here!”

  Merzan returns so Philippe can hand him a sealed 8x10 stiff envelope. Merzan runs back to board his train home to his family and his farm.

  “Now au revoir. Au revoir Merzan.”

  Philippe speaks even louder, “Remember the secret. Learn to see. Follow the light. You are a great artiste Merzan.”

  Merzan is now seated looking out the train window and waving to Philippe. You can sense how close they had become. Philippe pretends to make a coin disappear with sleight of hand and holds up his two empty palms. He then gestures with his outstretched arms as if he’s taking a curtain call bow to a full audience after a grand performance. Philippe lifts one of his arms and with his hand gestures to Merzan as if he is acknowledging the true star of a magnificent performance.

  Philippe whispers, “... and yours is one of destiny Merzan. Destiny!”

  Philippe shows a smile of completion ending what had become an important segment in his own life. Philippe’s work was now complete.

  The train pulls away and Philippe watches until it is completely out of sight.

  Philippe sheds a tear of pride, wipes his cheek, then regroups, adjusts his sweater’s lapels and organizes his hair. He shakes his head clear of the emotion. Philippe puts on his familiar red beret that he had folded away in a pocket and walks away from the empty train tracks.

  Merzan is now traveling on the northbound train watching the strobe-like light filtering through the window – just like he did when he first came to Paris. He leans all the way back in his seat and you can see he is just trying to digest all he has been through. Something reminds him... and he looks on the empty seat next to him at the stiff 8x10 envelope. Slowly, he looks up and down the back of the empty seat as if he expects to see “her” sitting next to him. Reflective, he looks back to the envelope.

  Merzan smiles at this final gesture which Philippe has afforded him and he picks up the envelope.

  He breaks the seal to open it up. Before he can look inside at the contents, the brochure of French Polynesia (from the camera shop) falls from the package and onto Merzan’s lap.

  Merzan almost laughs out loud and picks it up, setting the large envelope back on the empty seat. He begins to thumb through the brochure as if he was seeing this for the very first time. He studies the cover then unfolds the first panel.

  Merzan sees the photo that Matahina pointed to when she showed Philippe where her home was located.

  Written in ink, across the photo, in Matahina’s handwriting, are a few words in Tahitian: “Ho’e mahana ’oe haere”

  As Merzan reads these words, he hears them being spoken by Matahina. But somehow the words sound incomplete.

  Merzan twists his face curiously because he has no idea what these words would translate to mean.

  The light strobing in through the train windows continue and Merzan becomes hypnotized in thought.

  He accidentally re-notices the stiff envelope on the seat once again. He picks it up to continue his investigative adventure of its contents.

  A hand written note is partially showing which Merzan removes from the package. It’s from Philippe. Merzan hears Philippe’s voice as he reads it.

  “Merzan, One day at my shop I removed your camera from the window display. I stepped outside the shop door where I happened to see you and Matahina just down the street. Perhaps you taught me how to see.
Well, when I looked down the street, I saw something much more than two young students from Lycée Michelet. When I first met you, Merzan, I could see your potential. When I saw you with the Princess I could see your destiny. Signed, Philippe Sopoko.”

  Merzan opens the 8x10 envelope to remove its final contents. He takes out this spectacular photograph of him and Matahina. The image is capturing a moment that says everything that can be said about a young man and woman falling in love.

  Merzan starts to cry outwardly. He attempts to keep others on the train from seeing his emotional outbreak.

  35 Tropical Night, Lonely Night

  On Mo’ore’a, it is nighttime. Matahina is alone on the beach looking up to the stars. She is wondering why the God’s have taught her how to love so deeply only to strike her with such loneliness. She is sad and her eyes are filled with tears.

  36 Homecoming

  Merzan’s train arrives home in the afternoon and his family is there to greet him. Geneviève is so happy to have her brother home. Merzan looks at Geneviève and discovers she is becoming a stunningly beautiful young lady. Her long flowing hair obviously makes Merzan think about Matahina.

  Lily greets her son, “Merzan! My son.”

  “Mother!”

  Vincent says to Merzan, “Well, I see your hands are still very soft Merzan.”

  Merzan answers proudly, “Oui Papa. But these hands can make even you look good!”

  Merzan holds up his camera and Papa reacts with approval. Vincent hugs Merzan with one arm around his shoulders. Geneviève makes a kissy face that melts into the most adoring smile.

  Geneviève can’t hold out any longer, “Merzan. Where is she? Is she here? Did you bring her here?”

  Merzan snaps, “Geneviève!” Then more calmly tells her, “She is gone.”

  Merzan wants to change the subject, “Now look at you. How could such an ugly child turn out so well?”

  Geneviève won’t settle for Merzan’s responses and knows there is more to the story. She raises an eyebrow showing that she is much wiser than he expects. Geneviève STOPS Merzan in his tracks. She firmly plants both her hands on his shoulders DEMANDING his attention while his parents gather his belongings.