The Sad Man

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Madame vonHedwig found the sad man in the back corner of the airmen’s bar. The gas lamps were low throughout, but all the lamps close to his table were out. He sat in the dark, rolling an empty wine bottle with one hand, steadily drinking its twin with the other.

She stood across from him, even cleared her throat, but he would not look up.

“Why so dejected, my friend?” she said.

“Go away.”

Madame pulled over a chair from another table.

“No and no, Mademoiselle! There is only one woman, and you are not she. Go away.”

“Ah,” Madame said, “La Belle Capitaine has broken your heart.”

The man took a shuddering breath, almost a sob, and drank deep.

“She would not stay, not even for me. I thought I was different, I thought she loved me more than the others!”

“My heart is broken too.”

“Find another to heal it, and leave me alone.”

“Look at me, Lieutenant!” She snatched away his wine glass, and he looked at her at last, surprised and dismayed.

“I need your Capitaine. My children have been kidnapped, and she alone can help me get them back. Surely there is enough of your heart left to feel pity.”

He gulped. “She was here two hours ago, toasting the future, and leaving me in the past.” He looked at Madame for the first time, then at his wine glass, held firmly out of reach. “She has a racing ship, in a hangar at the club. Good luck in catching her.”

He gave her the address of an exclusive air yacht club. As she pushed her way though the bar, the barkeep intercepted her with a demitasse of espresso and a bottle of champagne.

“From your admirer at the bar, Madame,” he said. “Shall I open it?”

“No, thank you.” She downed the espresso in two gulps, although it was burning hot, took the champagne, and left.  Outside, she gave it to the waiting teenager whose pedicab had brought her there.

“This bottle is worth a month of your earnings,” she said. “Sell it, and pay someone to teach you to read. Now, how quickly can you take me to the Grandiere Club Aeronautique?”

*

There was a party in full swing at the club, with a dance band playing, waiters circulating with wine and canapés, and elegant couples sweeping about the floor in the waltz.

A discretely dressed gentleman blocked her entrance.

“I beg your pardon, Madame, but this is a private function. May I see your invitation?”

She handed him her visiting card. “I am Hera vonHedwig, of the Schöneluft, Monsieur. There is not a flying club in the world at which I am not welcome.”

He examined her card, and bowed.

“It is indeed an honor, Madame vonHedwig, but, but, your attire!”

She took a deep, steadying breath, and put a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Monsieur, words alone cannot convey the regret I feel in entering this august company in daywear.” She patted his shoulder, and strode past him into the ballroom, where she found her husband dancing with La Belle Capitaine.

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This story began with On Grandmothers. The previous episode is On the Streets of Saigon and the next is At the Grandiere Club Aeronautique.