The Song of a Rose

The Song of a Rose


The roses had a song that went straight to my heart. Each day I simultaneously anticipated and dreaded this moment, the tending of the gardens. Long green vines meandered along the back fence in the yard-- the roses in full bloom, radiating in the light. I chose to care for the roses, knowing full well the passionate longing these lustrous scarlet blossoms evoked within me. The other sisters weeded the grass, picked the vegetables, trimmed the bushes, or what have you. It was the roses I wanted, for they had a song I could not resist.
The sisters did not question my insistence on tending to the roses when I first arrived here at the Basilique, but I noticed the concern in their peaceful eyes as the weeks passed on. I would smile as I sprayed the long vines with water, and hum along as I trimmed off the thorns. But then I would feel a wave of disillusion sweep over me, and I would grow tired. Thinking of her drained the lively spirit right out of me. I wanted her with me, I wanted for us to escape the stranglehold of that seedy business. I thought about this day and night. How could I have convinced her to come away with me? Now that I’ve escaped, there are a hundred reasons I should have mentioned to get her to come with me. The suddenness with which it all happened was dizzying; and her dream, her singing, was too important to her. I couldn’t possibly go back. I would never go back to that place. Virginie made it worth it for me. I don’t know how I survived in that place before she arrived. Such unexpected smiles she brought out in me, and the warmth of the feeling her smile elicited within me…it made my heart spin in circles.
The bell was ringing again. Time to move back inside for prayer. Prayer… all I ever did was think about her during prayer. Think about the life we could have had together, in secret. Reality wilted those thoughts away. Our love shall not be any more than a memory now; all I have left is the song of the roses.
My days here at the Basilique pass by slowly. Trying to move on, to forget is tremendously difficult. Every day the roses sing to me, and everyday I’m reminded of my lost love. Even as I pass the purest of water upon entering the church, I am reminded of her glimmering eyes as the light reflects off the basin of water. It pains me to think of her! And oh! What sins I am committing for letting myself love her! Mother Superior and my fellow sisters know of my past as a dancer. They have welcomed me into their haven, forgiven me of my sins, and blessed me for turning to God for salvation. But I am fooling no one! Every day I try to dissolve those feelings, to no avail, for every day the roses sing my heart back to life.

Sleep did not come by me easily. I lay in bed, like every other night, facing the crusted ceiling. Our rooms were simple. All the furniture was dull and well used, very plain and boring. I was accustomed to high-class décor, hand-carved mahogany pieces, vanity mirrors, always with lots of colour and lights. The atmosphere was different at Folies-Bergere as well, filled with energy and people every time you whirled around. Here it was very calm, peaceful. I cannot escape my thoughts here, however, for they are all I can hear. The night is the worst, for it is I alone with my thoughts and no other distraction.
The candlelight flickered across the ceiling; I lay there motionless, watching the light dance around the tiny room. For a brief moment I was taken back to the side stage of Folies-Bergere; my beautiful Rose was singing. Virginie had become the big act, the one everyone came to see. How I loved watching her sing, absolutely flawless. Men fell for her so easily, hanging on every word that passed her lips, and completely mesmerized by the sway of her hips. They always brought roses by the dozens to toss up onto the stage when she finished her number. Virginie only ever picked up one. I watched as she exited to the other side of the stage. She stood there looking intently at the rose, brushing its petals with her fingertips. The cha-cha girls were next on the stage, congratulating her on another great show as they went on high kicking, with their frilly dresses bouncing all around. Virginie looked up, said her thanks and good luck to them too! Then her eyes met mine. She smiled brightly, and her eyes were shining. Her skin was glistening in the spotlights from the perspiration. We both turned to begin walking back stage to either of our dressing rooms, our eyes locked on each other. Virginie stumbled before she turned the corner. A tall shadowy figure loomed over her; I lost sight of her in the darkness.
A gust blew in through the window, extinguishing the dance of the light upon my ceiling. The sudden darkness startled me from reverie and I felt my heart wither in my chest. I rolled onto my side with my knees held close to my body by my arms, tears streaming down my face. I felt a loss of hope for even in my dreams I could not have her. I looked out into the star-littered sky, a million tiny specks glittering in the clear black night.

It had been a very restless night, one of the worst since I came here. Folies-Bergere was already three months in the past, and yet it felt like I was there just yesterday. I walked around in a daze all day. I couldn’t eat, even the dull food they served here made me nauseous today. We went out to the gardens in the afternoon as usual. I had my tools ready to tend to the roses, but something felt wrong. I paused. Silence. There was no song. One of the other sisters must have seen me falter because the next thing I heard was a faint voice.
“Soeur Helene, is everything all right? What is weighing so heavy on your heart my dear?”
I heard myself answer almost mechanically, “Oh nothing, Soeur Marie-Claude, I’m feeling a little light-headed is all. Nothing to bat an eyelash at.”
But then my knees buckled under my weight. Soeur Marie-Claude and another gracious sister caught me before I fell and carried me toward the convent. I vaguely heard some other sister calling out to Mother Superior, alerting her of my fainting spell. They placed me in my bed with a cool cloth on my forehead and a glass of water on my nightstand. I fell quickly into much needed slumber.
The sisters woke me to dine with them, insisting I eat to replenish my energy. I felt a tad ill at ease still, but went hither to the dining room. The sisters said a little prayer for my health, after which we all ate in silence. I ate slowly and very little for my weariness was getting the best of me. After supper we proceeded to the evening mass. The Monsignor began the mass by mentioning the lovely garden we nuns have been tending to; saying every year it becomes more and more beautiful. He was so impressed with the beauty of the roses that he picked one to rest on the church altar. My attention peaked upon hearing him speak of the rose, “The roses were shining in the sunlight, save for this one rose hidden among the shadows of the vines growing all around it. I felt it was worth saving this little rose, maybe it will sing back to life in the church.”
My eyes were fixed upon the single rose, unmoveable. The Monsignor’s words from then on were drowned out. I don’t even recall what my thoughts were; the world became a vast and dark emptiness, save for that little rose. The slamming of large doors put the present back into focus. Everyone turned to see whom the Monsignor was gesturing to, “Come in Young Lady. Do join us.”
I couldn’t resist my curiosity and turned to see who had come for only the last half of mass. I nearly died and went to Heaven right on the spot.
A whisper had escaped my lips. “Virginie…” I stood up despite my body trembling uncontrollably. I watched her scan the congregation nervously until her eyes met mine. She sighed deeply in relief. That famous smile of hers brightened the whole room. I thought of this moment over in my mind for so long; it was finally here and I was stunned, my limbs paralysed. She had a limp in her step but moved casually toward me, her eyes diving deeper into mine. She reached her soft hands up to my face and pressed her cheek against mine, whispering in my ear, “I left for good. Francois can’t do anything about it.” I felt my body quiver with the brush of her lips against my cheek. “I want to be with you, Helena, because love is enough for me.”


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