Sybaritic oneshot: “Manger est un luxe”
“Olene!”
The scandinavian teenager is awoken by a yell from an angry French man. It sounded like he was calling her name, but she wasn’t quite sure. She slowly raised her head up and blinked her dry eyes several times.
“OLENE!” He calls out again. Her stomach jumps and she sighs. Unfortunately, she was correct. She practically wrestles out of the paper thin sheets, plants her worn feet on the floor so hard that it shakes her entire body, and dashes out of the room as if she were a soldier who had just been awoken by her drill sergeant. Gabin didn’t take kindly to Olene walking. The last time she did, Gabin poured hot tea on her and knee kicked her in the tummy.
“Olene! Come at once! I’m not going to repeat myself!” She can hear him stomping down the hall. “I’m coming! I’m coming!” Olene responded breathlessly as she reaches him.
“Then say something, you little insect!” He grabs her shoulder and lightly shoves her a few steps back.
The girl doesn’t have any time to compose herself, she takes another deep breath and looks down, sweeping her crimpy hair out of her muggy face. Gabin bends down to her level, looking daggers with his shark eyes.
“I told you to sweep the floors. Why is it still dirty?”
“Oh, uh. Y-you didn’t say when... I-I was so tired that I figured I’d clean it the next day.”
Gabin stands up straight, rolls his eyes and emits an angry scoff as if she just said the dumbest thing ever known to mankind. “Really? That’s your excuse? If somebody tells you to do something, you are to do it right there and then. If you have other things to do, you get started on that task immediately after you complete those chores. Didn’t you say you used to clean people’s houses to support your family? I thought you had experience.”
“Well, of course I cleaned the houses of people too. And whenever there was too much, they simply sent me home so that an older servant could finish it. Because child workers like me have bedtimes-“
“Well, you LIVE here now Olene.” Gabin interrupts. “You don’t have a bedtime, schedule, or shift. I couldn’t care less if you have to stay up until 5am to finish all your chores. And you aren’t a child, you’re a young woman. You can work, travel into town alone, and your body is developed. You’re not 6 years old.”
Olene looks up when he makes that last statement. Vexed, she continues to listen.
“If you’re going to continue to infantilize yourself and see yourself as a child, we’re going to be taking luxuries from you. First off, we won’t be serving you anymore food.”
Olene’s eyes widen and her stomach drops. They were going to starve her now? She doesn’t say anything, for Gabin doesn’t kindly to being interrupted.
“Grown ups work so they can buy food for themselves. It’s time you’d learn some humility. If you finish all your chores today, I’ll pay you so you can buy yourself whatever at the market.” Gabin says as he walks away.
Olene composed herself once he said he’ll give her money so she can get food herself. Relieved that he wasn’t restricting all her access to food, but she could barely process everything that had just happened in the last 15 minutes. Scolded again for another chore mishap, declared as a young woman and not a child in the nobleman’s eyes, and now her food “privileges” had been taken.
Olene stands by the wall, looking into middle view with a violently confused expression. “A 14-year-old is a woman and food is a luxury.”. How could this be real? How is any of this real?
-Later-
The sun was about to set and Olene couldn’t be anymore satisfied. The light was out of her eyes and she had been given money to buy herself bread. She rushed over to the first stand she saw.
She halts and looks down when approaching the stand. Head hung low and eyes on the ground, Olene silently prays to herself that the woman will understand her rudimentary French and that she won’t embarrass herself again.
“Bonjour.” She timidly greets the vendor, pointing at the loaf of bread first before she can say, “May I have the bread?”
The woman blankly stares at her for a moment before tiredly responding “Is that all?”
“Oui.” Olene looks up quickly and then back down again.
“15 sous.”
That was exactly how much she had in her pockets. The realization hits her that Gabin was right, Food is a luxury.
-
Olene sets her basket on the dining table and collapses on a nearby couch upon arrival at the chateau, exhausted from the endless chores and the walk from here to the market to here. She left a small note that the basket was hers so that Gabin, Philippe, and the others would know. Madeleine was out partying again, doing what she can to escape what she calls the “drama” at home. Though they never told her, Olene knew she and Gabin didn’t like each other and they intended to keep it that way. “I wonder if all noble marriages are this way.” Olene asks herself as she drifts off into sleep.
It’s 8am and Olene jolts up from her nap with a gasp. “My bread! I still need to eat!” She exclaims. The girl runs over to the dining room where Gabin and Philippe are finishing lavish meal big enough to serve more than two people. She ignores their gluttony and grabs her basket from the table. She pulls the cloth over only to find that her loaf… was gone. She frowns and her brows furrow and the glimmer in her eyes fade, heart sinking as she turns to Gabin.
“Hey. Where’s my bread?”
“That was yours?” Gabin perks, wiping sauce and crumbs of his face. Olene pauses. Her eyes scrunch up and she can feel a surge of rage and frustration twinge in her.
“Did you-?”
She watches as Philippe makes eye contact, grabbing the half of a loaf, and bites off half the thing.
Olene silently gasps with horror, “That’s mine!”.
“This bread is so stale.” Philippe remarks as he continues eating the last of it.
“You already had dinner! Aren’t you two full?!” Olene trembled angrily, taking notice to their distended stomachs spilling out of their breeches.
Gabin leans back with a satiated grin and lets out a burp as Olene continues to rant frantically.
“You said if I worked hard enough, you’d give me money for food! This isn’t fair. You two had enough food to feed more than yourselves and you still ate my food.” Olene cried. “I’m hungry. You already had enough food. Why would you do this to me?”
Philippe pats his full belly and wipes his mouth with a cloth. “We didn’t know it was yours.” He softly stated, dazed expression unchanged.
“I put my name on it!” Olene snaps, her anger growing at their unsympathetic and greedy behavior. “Even if you didn’t read the note, I’m sure you would’ve been able to tell it was mine.”
“Well, no. We assumed it was Olivier’s or Farran’s.”
The audacity is astounding to her. The fact that their excuse was that they didn’t know it was hers and was in fact, ANOTHER one of the servants? As if that made them look any better?
Olene sighs through her nose. “Gabin, I learned my lesson. If you want something, you work to get it. Why did you take it from me?!”
“Well, I guess you’ve learned another lesson. Don’t leave food lying around for anybody to take it.” Gabin and Philippe laughed hazily.
The girl took a step back, breathing steam from her nose as she clenched her tiny fists so hard that she pierced her skin with her ragged nails. Her eyes water and turn red. She wants to scream so badly but all that can come out of her mouth is squeaks and muffles. She runs off elsewhere sobbing profusely into her fists. Leaving behind Gabin and Philippe’s nonchalant laughter and conversations, which only heighten her anger.
-