One of the courses I took was a World Lit class with one of my favorite professors, Donneva Crowell. Her final assignment for us was a creative project. She asked us to put a different spin on a piece we've read through out the semester. I choose Gustave Flaubert's A Simple Heart (<--- that's a link to the full text by the way. I recommend a read through when you have the time).
To shed some light on my creative aspect of the story, there are two things you need to know:
1. The servant girl, Felicite, is incredibly lonely. She comes into the possession of a parrot named Loulou, upon whom she places all of her affection. This turns out to be beneficial for both her and Loulou before the end. It's truly a love story like no other.
2. There is a point in the story in which Loulou takes a little flight. Flaubert never reveals what happened to Loulou during his adventure. This is where my story fills in the gap.
So, I decided to write about Loulou's adventure. That's what you're about to read. I'm including my preface for a clearer picture of where I was aiming and in what voice I'm writing. NOTE: If you can manage to read it in a Spanish accent, well, it makes it all that much more entertaining. Enjoy! (or not, whatever). ;)
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Preface
In Gustave
Flaubert’s A Simple Heart, we get a
ton of details about Loulou the parrot and some of his crazy antics. But, we
don’t know a thing about what happens to him the day he flies off. No one knows
why Loulou laughs so hysterically at Monsieur Borais and there even seems to be
some mystery surrounding how Loulou actually died. So, I decided to add a few parts
to the story. I wanted to satiate my curiosity as to what happened on his
adventure and add a few of my own suppositions as to the mysteries surrounding
Monsieur Borais and Loulou’s death. However, I didn’t want to try to imitate
Flaubert’s voice. I thought, instead, that Loulou could tell us the story
himself.
First, I needed
to get a feel for Loulou’s personality. I thought about it, about how his behavior
was when we first meet him. After rereading his section of the story, I knew
there was only one way to go with him. Loulou, in my mind, has to be a
narcissistic little thing with a Latino accent and a passion for shiny things.
I don’t think he’s adjusted well to going from a lavish, energetic house to a
depressed one. I also think he misses his native forests, but I think that
desire is fleeting. He’s so much more into being pampered and at the center of
attention.
I also don’t
think he appreciates the amount of care that Felicite gives him at first, but
as per the story, he obviously matures after he returns from his little
adventure away. Why? What happened to him that makes him return Felicite’s
devotion in such a way as he does? And what makes him stay? Also, I had to
wonder what happened to him after he died. Did he stay with her or did he move
on? Well, you’ll need to read to see what my decision was there. But, it fits.
I did my best to stay close to the details of the story, even mixing in some of
the clues we get during Felicite’s search for him on the day he goes missing.
It’s possible that Flaubert would be amused with my addition. Or not. Who
cares? I had fun with it. I hope you like it, too.
Loulou: A Love Story
Or
Give Me the Bird
My
name is Loulou. You may have heard of me. I’m kind of a big deal.
I
once roosted with a Baron and his family. Oh, how they adored me. They even
gave me my own negro. He was a neglectful servant though, always flitting off
whenever little bells would tinkle. Tell me, what are bells compared to my
melodious voice (SQUAWK)? No matter how
often I beat him with my wings and nipped his fingers when he cleaned my cage,
he never got the hint. Good help is so hard to find.
Yes,
life was good with the Baron. Well, except for the being caged part. Oh, and
the travelling. Ugh! Seasick. My poor nerves. My poor feathers! I never molted
so much as after a sea voyage. I swear I had more and more green feathers after
every trip. But, I suppose I should be grateful. The last trip we took changed
my life forever. The last trip we took brought me, eventually, to my Felicite.
Word
came to the Baron that it was time to travel yet again. This time, I was not to
go with them. This did not break my heart. I didn’t need any more green
feathers. But, when my negro dropped me off at my new roost, I thought it was a
joke. Me? In a crumbling place such as this? Oh, no no no! Impossible. Gone
were my lovely girls who petted and cooed. Gone were the baron’s colorful and
ever-changing flocks of people. Here, all seemed dull, brown. The faces were
the same every day. I hate to admit a flaw, but I didn’t take well to this
change of scenery. I was not so kind to my new family in the beginning. With
the Baron, I was surrounded by colorful, vibrant, shiny things. But, here, no.
No! This new mistress, Madame Aubain, (squawk!)? Boring! Ayi, all she did was
mope around molting watery feathers from her eyes. No matter how I tried to
entertain her, she ignored me. She paid no mind to my adorable antics. I began
to suspect that she disliked me. And then, she proved me right by giving me to
her maid. Her maid! The impudence! Ah, but it is a curse to be always right.
Don’t
get me wrong. This turned out to be not such a bad arrangement for me in the
end. Of course, I had no way of knowing it at the time. My handsome head was
still full of what I had lost and the resentment of being in this new place. I
was a beast to them, too. Although, I quickly learned there were advantages to
my new prison: freedom. Freedom from my cage began with Felicite, the stout,
frumpy, all-around brown maid. I could not believe it the first time she let me
roam around her drab kitchen. Neither did she shoo me away when I sat on the
wide window sill. It felt so good to stretch out my cramped wings. Little by
little, I grew to see the benefit of this affection which Felicite had for me.
I could get away with just about anything. For instance, every Sunday a group
would come by to play cards with Madame Aubain. This excited me, for I love an
audience. I began to perform for them, beating my wings and singing away. Ah,
but they did not like my performances. This showed what little taste they had and,
not to mention, it offended me. I took my revenge though. I sang louder. If
they would not listen to me, then I made sure they couldn’t listen to each
other either. HaHa! I am so devious (Squawk!). But, back to my beloved window,
that beautiful, shiny window that became my refuge, my portal to fantasy and
escape. I would spend hours sitting there on that sill, watching passersby
during the day, admiring my handsome reflection at night, and dreaming of the
days I used to fly free.
Then,
one day, a flash of bright red streaked past my window. I had not seen such
color in so long! I looked and looked for the color, but did not find it. The
next day, I saw it again. Whoosh! Past my window it flew. For a week, this
color teased me, drove me to madness. The curiosity was almost more than I
could bear. It was about this time that Felicite began taking me out of doors
and chaining me (a thin chain, she was not cruel) in the yard for exercise. By
this time, Felicite had proven worthy of my affection to a degree. She was so
doting, almost as doting as all five of my previous females and my negro
combined. I could not help but begin to love her. But, I digress. This new
development distracted me from searching for the source of the streak of color.
More time in the yard meant more room to stretch my wings. I could almost fly. There
was also the hilarious Monsieur Borais to amuse me. How hideous he was. And,
from the strange stories my negro used to tell me from his homeland, I knew
Monsieur Borais was not a man, but a parrot cursed to live as a man. He was wingless
and clumsy and had an ugly voice (he still had his big beak and beady eyes
though). Every time I saw him I laughed and laughed, which, of course,
embarrassed him. I think he knew that I knew what he really was. The poor idiot,
doomed to live like that. Eh, well, I suppose that’s what he gets for taking
liberties with a witch doctor’s pet gorilla. But, again, I digress.
After
a couple of days, I was less distracted with almost flying and I saw the streak of red again. This time, I
discovered the source of the color and my curiosity was satisfied. Not just
satisfied, but transformed into passion. It was there, across the dirt road,
that I beheld the shapely pheasant with the loveliest breast I had ever laid my
eyes on. She was magnificent, with her red and gold plumage, her slender neck
and those long, sleek tail feathers (SQUAWK!). I called out to her, “I must be
hunting treasure, because I’m digging your chest.” (I don’t know what that
means. I’d just heard some of the sailors say it to ladies on one of our horrible
voyages. It worked for them). Ah, but she did not even look my way. For two
weeks, I called out to her. For two weeks, she ignored me. This only fueled my desire.
I love a challenge. I began to plot an escape, but it turns out my plotting was
unnecessary. The very next day, Felicite put me out in the yard without my
chain. She turned around and - flap flap
flap - I was gone, searching for my roja
bonita!
I
will admit that I heard Felicite calling me. But, the pleasure of flight, true
flight, coursed through me. I felt a freedom I had forgotten. Loulou was back (SQUAWK!).
With the wind in my face and the sun glinting off my glorious feathers, I had
no doubt that the majesty of my dazzling blue and green would lead to victory
in love. Resistance was futile. Over the rooftops and into the trees, I dipped
and rolled on the current, though I also kept a keen eye out for my prize. It
took me longer than expected to find my red beauty. When I saw her crouching in
the tall grass of a field at the foot of a hill, I nearly fell from the sky for
trembling. This was it! She was about to come face to face with the love of her
life. I landed gracefully near her. I had not been this close to her before,
she was much taller than I expected. But, I would not be deterred. I strutted
the last few steps to her side. I fluffed out my feathers (all the better for
her to adore me).
“Am
I dead, Angel? Because, this must Heaven,” I cooed. She turned her willowy neck
and her glassy eye fell upon me. She was drinking in the splendor of Loulou. Her
slightly curved beak parted. She was about to profess her love and adoration,
about to acquiesce to my persistent wooing. I was prepared to be gracious, to
accept her surrender, to welcome her into the circle of my loving wings. I
waited for her to tumble into a quivering heap at my talons.
“Monsiuer, go away. You will get us both
killed.”
I
was confused. Her voice was not as I’d imagined. Instead of smooth and lilting,
it was more like whiskey mixed with smoke mixed with…bronchitis. But, no
matter. A song, I decided. Yes, and so I began to serenade her.
“Shut
up, idiot!” Her eyes were darting toward the sky.
“Idiot,
yes. An idiot in love with you. Por favor, mi amour, tell me your name so I may
sing it among the clouds.”
My
red beauty rolled her eye. “Bruno.”
Bruno?
Her name was Bruno? That is not a very ladylike name and I told her so. She
said she was fine with that, considering she was a he (squawk?). I could not
help feeling heartbroken, but it was a momentary set back. I was too in love to
turn back now. But, before I could say another word, a flash of auburn came
streaking from the sky, and a shriek split the still air. A hawk was barreling
straight toward us (squawk)!
“Fly,
Bruno, my love” I yelled, as I launched into the air to block the hawk’s attack.
No one was putting their talons on her- er, him- but me.
The
battle was short, and I was both valiant and victorious. I had managed to
detain the hawk just long enough for Bruno to escape with his life and my
heart. With his target departed. the hawk flew away and so did I. As the
adrenaline of the battle wore off, I began to feel a stabbing pain under my
left wing. I decided to rest atop Mere Simon’s shop and see what the matter
was. I preened, searching for the wound I knew I would find. Sure enough, a
small puncture wound. I hoped for the best, since it was not deep. But, one
never knows what else that hawk had poked his talons into before he’d stabbed
them into me. Only time would tell.
As
I rested, I considered the events of the day, and pondered over my broken
heart. Was freedom worth the pain and predation? (Squawk!) No way, Jose. I
headed home. As I flew toward the courtyard of the drab manor house, I saw
Madame Aubain and Felicite sitting in the yard. Felicite was a shambles, her
slippers shredded, her face streaked with travelling dust and tears. She was
crying over me. No one had ever cried over me before. The heart I had thought
broken swelled in my chest as I landed on her
shoulder. This was my home. This was my Felicite. This was my love.
I
stayed by her side from that day on. She told me all her secrets. How she
missed her Victor. How she missed her Virginie. Sometimes she made stories up,
like that one about her fighting a bull. Haha-(squawk!). But, mostly she told
me how much she loved me. Through it all, the pain under my wing worsened. I felt
my vigor draining away bit by bit. One morning, I was feeling more poorly than
ever. She thought it was because of the cold of winter. She set my cage next to
the fire to keep me warm. The heat reminded me once again of the tropics and
home. It was a nice thought to have in my head at my passing. Somehow, I stayed
with her after. It must have been through the sheer desire of Felicite not
allowing me to leave her as Victor and Virginie had. I watched as she took my
corpse to the taxidermist. It seemed that to her I was still alive. She kept
talking to me, petting me, cooing to me as she’d always done. I watched over
her through all the years, guarding the soul of my friend ineffectively, but
with love.
The
day she died, she placed my tattered carcass on a festival shrine. I was so
embarrassed (squawk), but I knew what it meant to her. She was so proud. When
the time came for her to leave her own tattered carcass behind, mine was the
first face she saw. I will always remember that smile.
