Dream No... Margaritte et Baboul
© 2011 by Mica D'Orléans
The room was pretty crowded with people from the Mid-East, Africa, France, Italy and elsewhere scattered about. They were all gathered to celebrate the official engagement of 13 year old Margaritte with her twenty year old fiancé, Baboul. He was somewhat on the plump side, but extremely handsome, with a deep olive complexion and an amiable personality. Being this was their first meeting, he was quite nervous, sneaking sidelong glances at Margaritte, as though he believed yet feared his good fortune. Though only 13, his bride to be had the rare exquisite features found in some Persian beauties. She had a perfect oval face with the most pronounced widow's peak, lush heavy long black hair, and a slim delicate swan-like neck that was gracefully poised on slim, slightly sloped shoulders.
Margaritte sat there, unsmiling, observing the handsome Corsican man promised her from birth. She probably could learn to love him, but the idea of being promised to someone without her consent infuriated her. No matter how appealing that person may be, to think that while she had spent her whole life being bred to please this man, he was most likely left to carry on as he pleased, with just the vague notion that somewhere in this world there was a bride being groomed specifically for him, and that no matter what he did, or how he looked, she would be waiting for him.
Baboul began to feel tense under Margaritte's severe eyes. He wondered what could someone so young be thinking of. How must she feel to be betrothed to a stranger at 13 years of age? In a way he did not want to go through with this wedding; because of all people in this world, she was the one person he would never want to alienate. He remembered when at thirteen his parents promised him a beautiful bride: Someone whom, they said, already loved him, and who, in ten years from then, he would get to meet. After the announcement, no other words of her were spoken. He did not even know her name. She was always on his mind, but as time went on he began to believe she was just a figment of his fantasy. Now she looked so cold and unreachable... as if she were afraid of a life with him.
No one else in the room seemed to have noticed the climate around them. They were all too busy marveling over the lavishness of this party. Each guest received an envelope with a $720 check. The person in charge of this whole affair was Dimitris Napoli, the man responsible for getting the two kids together. Anyway, as Idel said, the food was exotic and plentiful.
Not wanting to be at that dreadful party, I spent my time inside our small, totally overcrowded apartment. It was hot, sunny and muggy; not even the overhead fan helped. Carlos, whom I guess was my Syrian husband, just sat there with the sun shinning brightly on his overblown body through our narrow window. The only thing clean about him was his white t-shirt. One look at that person made me roll my eyes and grab my pocketbook to go out for a walk. "Don't be too long my lovely, our company is expected at little Margarite's engagement party." He cracked his insidious laughter as I slammed the door behind me.
How can a man give up his only daughter for mere money just like that? The man was disgusting. I couldn't possibly have married him. And, since this was just a dream, I was never really sure what he was to me, that is, other than a big bloated log that appeared in each scene of my small overcrowded apartment... [i think i dreamed this in 1996?]
