Watson and Honorine

“Rho! Catherine, close the shutter! How am I supposed to sparkle?! I’m a Waterman, I need to be in the spotlight.

But… but! What’s happening to me? I’m dissolving, fading away, being carried off… but where to?

I find myself in an old ramshackle house. But this sort of journey is Rose’s job! Me, I search, rummage through documents, and always add my two cents. Well then, let’s see what this trip has in store for me.

The walls are blackened by dampness. A worn-out stove barely warms the room. I am placed on a bedside table. It must once have been lovely, but in another life! Just like all the other furniture, for that matter.

“Hello Walter!”

Uh! Who’s talking to me? And how do you know me?

“I’m one of Catherine’s great-aunts.”

Why didn’t they call Rose?

“I’m dying. I’d rather have the company of a cheerful soul like you.”

You don’t look very old! Though it’s true illness doesn’t bother with details. How about introducing yourself?

“I’m Honorine Pointez, younger sister of Catherine Bourgeois, née Pointez. I was born on August 28th, 1871, in Calais.”

Pleased to meet you, Honorine! Do you want to sit up? If I had arms and legs, I’d gladly help you. But… but! It’s working! Through the power of my thoughts, I’ve helped you sit up in bed and I’ve even puffed up your pillows and put coal back in the stove!

“Ha, ha, ha! Don’t you think Rose may have given you a little of her magic so that you could act?”

Don’t spoil my fun, Honorine! You were very young when you lost your father Charles, a gardener by trade. And I suppose you stayed beside your mother until her death. You were nineteen.

“My goodness, Walter, you do know a lot!”

I’m the king of snoopers and I have an elephant’s memory. From my display stand, I have a bird’s-eye view of the documents Catherine studies.

“My sister?”

No, your great-great niece! Her mother gave her her grandmother’s name.

“Who is her mother?”

Marguerite, daughter of Marguerite, Catherine’s youngest child — your sister’s daughter. She was born on August 28th too, just like you, but in 1902.

“Yes! Little Margot! She’s seven years old. She looks so much like her mother at the same age!”

Exactly, you’re absolutely right — the resemblance is striking! Five years after your mother’s death, your sister-in-law Emma died at thirty-six, leaving your brother Charles alone with three daughters aged ten, eight and six.

“My big brother suffered so much. He could never forget her. Time did its work, but he never remarried.”

Then you went to live with your brother and raised your nieces.

“I was unmarried, so I had no ties of my own. Besides, what else could I have done? They were my family!”

How did you end up in this hovel?

“Yes, but it’s my hovel!”

Don’t try to outsmart me! You might actually succeed!

“Hélène, the eldest, got married in May of this year, 1909, and her sisters Emma and Elise are both over twenty now. They can take care of the house and of their father. I had nothing left to do there. I’ve lived here for two years. My brother and brothers-in-law have already done some repairs, but time and money are both in short supply. I’m a lace worker; I’m paid by the piece, but not fast enough to earn a proper living. This wretched tuberculosis gradually took hold of me, stealing my strength. One after another, my family brings me food and coal to keep me warm. This morning Emma dusted the room and told me all the neighborhood gossip. I’m going to fade away far too young, but that’s life!”

You would have liked a handsome young man to whisper sweet words to you. Close your eyes, Honorine, and listen.

“Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle! Please do not ignore me! Allow me to tell you that your doe eyes, your slender figure, and the elegance of your ankles make my heart tremble! If I do not restrain myself…!!!”

“Ohhh! Watson!”

Don’t deny it! Your rosy cheeks give you away. You enjoyed it!

“Ha, ha, ha!”

A terrible coughing fit shakes poor Honorine. Walter returns to his pencil cup. His heart feels heavy. He thinks of Rose, his dear friend, who faces this kind of situation far too often.

Honorine passed away on December 13th, 1909, at the age of thirty-eight.