Page 77 of Gunslinger Girl
“That’s sweet.” Pity bought two candles and added them to the fountain, accepting a lit taper someone handed her. Finn, she thought, lighting the first. Momma. The second flame sputtered before catching. She stared into it. It was hardly visible in the midday sun, but she could smell the oily scent of the burning wax and feel the heat all around her. Lord, if you’re listening, keep them safe, wherever they are. She swallowed the lump in her throat. And you might as well keep Billy and Henry safe, too, she added, remembering a time before her brothers had taken so much after their father.
Beside her, Luster and Duchess were lighting candles of their own. She turned to see Garland handing the girl some money, but when she offered the box, he waved it away. Max was no longer beside him. She found him a little way off, kneeling carefully among the sea of flames. He had a single candle, which he placed on the ground. As he lit it, his face went stony, sorrow and anger etched in his narrow cheeks. Then the emotions were gone, and he looked himself again.
The lost love Luster suspects? she wondered. Really lost, then. I was competing with a dead girl. Guilt prickled, and she chided herself for the petty thought.
The walk back to Casimir was quieter. But it was impossible to stay morose when they found the Gallery decorated from floor to ceiling, a joyous chaos of tinsel, mistletoe, and ribbons. A pair of porters were stringing popcorn and red berries, and there were plates of gingerbread people everywhere. Pity found they came with rather exaggerated anatomy, but they smelled delicious. She took one and broke off a piece without looking too hard at what was getting broken. Tonight there would be a communal dinner for everyone in the Gallery, but on Christmas Day itself Casimir would be shut down. Already most of the patrons had departed the premises for wherever they had come from.
Back in her room, Pity wrapped her gifts in gauzy tissue paper and finished them off with bows. She stared at the pile proudly for a few seconds and then dressed for dinner. By the time she returned to the Gallery, the room was teeming with people, the air thick with body heat and spices and the delicious smells of food. She found the others, waiting patiently to start on the huge buffet that ran down the center of the room.
As the hour struck, the sound of a hundred bells rang out, and everyone got up to fill their plates. The commune had held dinners like this, too. If Pity closed her eyes, it was almost the same—same raucous laughter, same off-color jokes being told. Eyes open, it was a different story, with more color and more skin, but the feeling of community prevailed.
But she felt the voids, too. The puzzle of her new life lacked pieces that had never belonged to it but that could have fit. Her mother. Finn. It was easy, pleasant even, to slot in visions of them, to entwine the memory of Finn’s laughter with Duchess’s, or her mother’s tranquil smile with Max’s. But it was a fantasy.
Months ago that might have been sorrowful. Now it was bittersweet.
Everyone ate and drank until they were full, waited a bit, and ate and drank some more. By the time the plates were cleared away, the laughter was louder, the jokes even more bawdy. The Rousseaus did flips on the bar and walked the length of it on their hands. Olivia extinguished candles with her whip. Flossie flounced around passing out fluffy white bonbons, popping them into every waiting mouth.
In a nest of sofas and chairs, Pity lounged beside Luster, cradling a cup of mulled wine. Across a table scattered with glasses and cookie crumbs, Garland laughed as Kitty dangled a piece of mistletoe over Duchess’s head.
“You gotta give me a kiss. It’s tradition,” she teased, sloshing champagne from her glass.
“I don’t!” Duchess dodged both the splashes and the kisses.
“He’s no fun.” Garland snatched the sprig away from Kitty and jumped onto the couch next to Pity, grinning. “But I bet Pity is.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine.” She kissed him on each side of his mouth.
“That doesn’t count!” Luster protested.
“It does where I come from. Two sweet kisses for one smutty one. Yeah, we played this game on the commune, too! Geez, y’all know we do figure out how to make babies eventually, right?”
Duchess shrugged. “I thought you grew them like crops.”
Garland waved the mistletoe. “Who wants a turn? Now’s the time—don’t be shy!”
Max stood abruptly. He’d been quiet all night, laughing when it was called for but offering little to the conversation. At times, Pity had caught him staring into the depths of his drink, as if reading a message there only he could see. She wondered if he was still thinking about his candle.
“I’m going to get some more punch,” he said. “Anyone else?”
But before he could depart, a horn sounded. A hush fell on the room.
Across the hall, Selene appeared on a raised dais, resplendent in a cascading silver-and-white dress. Beau stood in his usual place behind her, Adora and Halcyon off to one side. Halcyon wore a suit as white as fresh snow but with a purple top hat. Pity stifled a grin. He looked like a skinny snowman.
Selene clapped her hands together a few times, but every eye in the room was already on her.
“I cannot imagine,” she began, voice warm, “that anyone in the world is looking out now and seeing a better family than I see here. Some of you have been here only months, others for years, but all of you bring your own brand of brightness to Casimir, to our home.”
Pity leaned back in her seat, smiling. She liked that word and the feeling it carried. She looked around at the people who, not long ago, she would not have imagined turning into a motley sort of family. Her father’s face floated to the surface of her mind, but she banished it. She wouldn’t think about him today, not when she was enjoying herself so much.
“I don’t want to take you away from your celebrations,” Selene continued. “But for all our beliefs—those shared and those not—for all our pasts and for all our futures, Casimir is a paradise of prosperity because of all of you. You are the soul of our home. Thank you all.”
The cheers that followed were as loud as any Pity had heard in the theatre. As Selene descended the dais, Scylla wandered over, a red-and-white-striped snake coiled around her neck.
“Festive accessory,” said Pity.
“Don’t you think?” Scylla ran a finger across the serpent’s scales. “He waits all year long to be this fashionable.” She gestured at the dais. “Pay attention, the boss has a present for us.”
Halcyon was calling for quiet again, waving his purple top hat emphatically.
