Marie Claire

Be especially careful when devouring your lover with lustful eyes.

Down in the valley, beside the Seine

Where it's cold and damp in the autumn rain,

A couple once opened a restaurant,

And called it the Café d'Aubijon.

 

The chef was Henri Apollinaire,

His wife, the beautiful Marie Claire,

And Henri worshipped his wife, complete

From her hair right down to her darling feet.

 

Marie had more of a roving eye

For the guests and the diners, passing by,

While Henri slaved over plates of veal,

Marie saw hearts she would like to steal.

 

She flirted, fluttered and teased with eyes

That promised much to the less than wise,

She often removed her wedding ring

And leant so close, she was whispering.

 

She'd show each guest to his tiny room

In the long drawn lull of the afternoon,

Then disappear for an hour or so

While Henri dealt with the guests below.

 

Then down amongst the crème brûlé,

The Guinea Fowl and the consommé,

The Chef sat brooding about his life,

Breaking his heart for his faithless wife.

 

So many guests had come and gone

From Caen, Toulouse, from Avignon,

From Brest, Limoux, from Vaux Sur Mer,

He wondered what he was doing there.

 

But every time that he saw his wife

His heart said: 'She's the love of my life! '

He never would think to challenge her there,

Her loss would shackle him in despair!

 

A change came suddenly over her

When a guest called André Carpentier

Took up her offer of room and board

And sneered at Henri's estouffade.

 

Too thin, too thick, the wine was sour,

He sniped, was muttering by the hour,

For nothing was well enough done, by half,

And Marie Claire had begun to laugh.

 

For every sneer, she laughed aloud,

To Henri's shame, a miserable cloud,

That stank as rotten as pourriture

Hung over his head and his future, too.

 

She taunted and teased with André there,

She wore perfume, let down her hair

She shortened each skirt in the cedar robe

While down in the kitchen, Henri moaned.

 

Then she went visiting André's room

Each day, for part of the afternoon,

The business dying, it slowly failed

The door was boarded, the shutters nailed.

 

He still served up their dinner and tea,

But cooking for not just two, but three,

Still André quibbled, but shamelessly

Sat with his hand on Marie's knee.

 

After a week of total despair,

She went for a walk, did Marie Claire,

André asked if she'd ever come back,

But Henri's eyes were ringed, and black.

 

He told André that he'd better go,

But Andre scowled, insisted: 'No! '

'I'm paid up here for a month and a day,

'Til Marie returns, I think I'll stay! '

 

Henri cooked for them both that week,

His touch was light, and the food unique,

Cuisse de mouton, parmentier

He served to the hungry Carpentier.

 

Wine so red with a strange bouquet,

Served with lashings of pink pâté,

Jambonneau and some crêpes suzette

And snacks, and biscuits and plain rillettes.

 

Henri said that he couldn't eat,

He told André: 'I admit defeat!

You've taken the love of Marie Claire,

You should be together, it's only fair! '

 

On Friday night as the meal began,

André lost the use of his hands,

Then a numbness rose in his feet,

He opened his mouth and he tried to speak.

 

'Love is a horror, ' said Henri, then,

'It lifts, then drags you back down again.

But you, my friend, have the problem solved

You can have your love and your cake - Resolved! '

 

'You've eaten and drunk your fill of her,

Marie, thin sliced and as cordon bleu

Each tender morsel you passed on through

Has made just one from the two of you.

 

But now the tables are turned, you see,

For she is starving, my poor Marie,

She's always happy to try fresh meat;

So glad that you offered! - all she can eat!

 

He left the room to his guest awhile

And then returned with a winning smile

Pushed on a chair with castors there,

While tied to the frame, was Marie Claire.

 

Au naturel, not a stitch in sight,

André looked up, and he blanched in fright,

Marie had the looks of a cripple who begs,

She'd lost both arms, and where were her legs?

 

Now still they sit, those lovers two,

Who stare as they eat each other's stew,

For André's legs are a thing of the past,

With other bits that he seems to have lost.

 

For Henri fed her the ris de homme,

While André chews on the sliced mouton,

He can't complain, for she's eaten his tongue

And she can't flirt, for her eyes have gone.

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Friday]

If I'm not mistaken this is the second piece I've read by you; the first one being about a satanic mill if I'm not mistaken. This one is a great deal stronger, somehow bringing my thoughts to a movie where the lover eventually ends up as a dish (association only). Very well told though but tricky to digest.

[Betty]

WOW David, what an ending!!! The horrifying aftermath of infidelity... It is a stimulating story that just leaves the reader breathless. Enjoyed it very much!!

[Marie]

This just ghastly, David. I don'telieve you've every wrtten anything more horrible, and I've tried to read everything you've posted.

I'm working on a story right now about a faithless wife whose husband plans to end her career...but I could never conjure up anything like this...

[Siddartha Beth Pierce]

What a fabulous story. Wonderful cadence, a true delicacy so to speak. Great work. Thank you for sharing your immense talent.
Light,
Siddartha

[Tomás Ó C..]

AAAAAGH you write such dark poetry with such flair... I actually read of a case like this in True Detective magazine in the States... another gripping read... :-)

[Satine]

My but you can turn a classical phrase and beg it totally engaging...fine write through and through. But if I may be as passe as to offer a little snack myself for you to chew on? Second to the last stanza - line three;

"For Andr�'s legs are a thing of the past,.."( it may seem trivial but I think the line would be better without the word "For" ) and ( I'd also lose the "For" again in the last stanza - first line; "For Henri fed her the ris de homme...") Just a thought OR not...lol...

Satine

[Gandré]

This was wonderful. Totally adored. your classical style.. and also the plot.. First I thought you speak about the French surrealist, but I recognized you didn't. however... this is what I love to read, brilliant wit. I thought this had an incredible literary achievement.

[Valentine]

David, brilliantly told but the thought is awful..YUK..but it reminded me sincerely in parts to the way my mom treated my dad for years..She went blind..but he didn't eat her..God bless..Valentine

[Ray Hamilton]

Its a { what goes around comes around poem LOL }
My father always told me, bad things you do in life will eventually
come back and bite you on the you know what
I have seen this happen to others and can't help smile, for
I think of my father every time it happens
He said they get what they deserve
I enjoyed this much
Ray

[K. Aurora]

Oh! This was beautifully romantic in a twisted way! I don't normally like the gruesome stuff, But you have woven it into a fun parody in this piece and it was delightfull!

Caniblism, though not highly regarded has found a perfect place in your story.!

Great job!
Kansas