Chapter 250 - 250 Condolence Banquet
250 Condolence Banquet
Julien’s sobs reverberated through the room, bathed in the glow of the moon. Jenna stood hesitantly by the door, unwilling to take a single step forward.
Fear gripped her—fear that stepping inside would confirm this as reality and not some dreadful nightmare.
After a while, Jenna shut her eyes tightly and clenched her teeth as she entered the room that served as Julien’s bedroom, living space, kitchen, and dining area.
Hunching down beside her brother, she let him cry, not daring to touch him in his state of shock. Softly, she spoke, “We don’t have much debt left to settle. Even if we lose our current jobs, we can find new ones. There’s no rush…
“You have a solid foundation. There must be other masters out there who would gladly take you in…
“Mom wanted us to have a better life, not to wallow in self-blame…”
Jenna repeated these words again and again until Julien, his spirit shattered, exhausted himself. His body gradually weakened, and he slumped against the wall by the window, drifting off to sleep.
Finally, silence fell.
Watching her brother’s face slowly relax, his fear and anguish ebbing away, Jenna let out a silent sigh. Tears welled up in her eyes and streamed down her cheeks.
After shedding silent tears for some time, she rose to her feet and made her way to Julien’s bed. Tenderly, she gathered the blanket and draped it over her sleeping brother, leaning against the wall.
Having done all this, she trudged wearily back to the other room. It was her and her mother Elodie’s bedroom.
Jenna lay down, her vacant eyes fixed on the dimly lit ceiling, cast in moonlight.
Her mother’s words echoed incessantly in her mind, but she couldn’t convince herself.
Perhaps, aside from a fortunate few, darkness was the dominant theme in life. Light was but an occasional adornment.
Abruptly, Jenna seized her mother’s pillow and pressed it against her face, her body trembling with suppressed sobs.
Why, why is darkness always so overpowering, devoid of light?
When will the sun rise again?
At some point, Jenna succumbed to a deep slumber.
She was startled awake by the commotion outside.
Sitting up, she rubbed her swollen eyes and hastened out of the room.
The sight that greeted her eyes was Julien, toasting slices of bread.
He no longer bore the devastation of the previous night; instead, he was focused on his task.
Jenna’s lips quivered for a moment before she finally spoke her customary greeting.
“Why are you up so early?”
Julien responded with a touch of stiffness, “I didn’t have dinner yesterday, and my hunger woke me up.
“Just wait a little longer. The toast will be ready soon.”
Observing her brother’s state, Jenna couldn’t ease her worry.
If Julien were still in the midst of a mental breakdown, weeping as he did the night before, she might feel uncomfortable, gloomy, and desperate, but she wouldn’t be afraid.
She would compel her brother to meet Franca and have her find a genuine psychiatrist for his treatment.
Yet now, she couldn’t be certain if Julien had genuinely recovered or if he was merely presenting a facade of normalcy.
If there were unresolved issues lurking beneath, they could prove catastrophic when they resurfaced!
Jenna feared her brother might leap from a building and end his own life just after they finished breakfast.
Carefully observing Julien for a while, she sensed that his hysterical breakdown had indeed dissipated, but his mind hadn’t fully returned to its usual state.
When Julien prepared breakfast, he moved with agility and skill. No issues there. However, during their conversations, he appeared wooden, rigid, and slow to react.
This convinced Jenna that her brother had repressed not only his breakdown and abnormalities but also his thoughts and soul.
Sigh… I still have to find a real Psychiatrist… Jenna’s vision blurred once more.
Before long, Julien finished toasting the bread and went to a nearby vendor to purchase a relatively fresh can of milk.
As Jenna nibbled on her breakfast, she pretended indifference and glanced at her brother.
“I couldn’t sleep last night, and I felt despondent. I want to see a psychiatrist. You don’t seem any better. Would you like to come with me?”
After a brief pause, Julien replied, “I need to job hunt.”
A wave of sorrow washed over Jenna once more.
Her brother didn’t question her pursuit of a psychiatrist.
People in this neighborhood were reluctant to visit even a regular doctor, let alone a psychiatrist, for mental concerns.
Most of them were unaware of the profession of “psychiatrist” and didn’t believe they had any psychological issues.
Considering that seeing a genuine Psychiatrist might require an appointment, Jenna didn’t press the matter. After some contemplation, she spoke encouragingly, “I think you should choose your employer and master carefully this time. It’s normal not to find a job within a few days. It might take a week, or two, or even a month.
“When the time comes, both of us will have an income. Maybe we can settle the remaining debt within a year. I certainly can’t do it alone. The income of an underground singer isn’t stable. I never know when my popularity might wane.”
On the one hand, Jenna aimed to alleviate the pressure on her brother in advance, so he wouldn’t break down again due to the inability to find a job quickly. On the other hand, she emphasized his importance, assuring him that she couldn’t do it alone. By relying on his responsibility, she sought to fortify his will to survive and prevent any sudden thoughts of suicide.
Jenna, who had never considered such details the previous day, couldn’t help but ponder similar matters today.
Having repeatedly steadied Julien’s condition, she watched her brother depart for the gathering spot at Quartier du Jardin Botanique, where factories sought employees and gave opportunities.
After taking a brief rest, Jenna left 17 Rue Pasteur, still feeling somewhat weary, and made her way towards Rue Saint-Hilaire, which was within close proximity.
Her plan was to stroll leisurely towards Rue des Blouses Blanches. It would coincide with Franca waking up, enabling her to persuade Franca to arrange an appointment with a genuine Psychiatrist.
Lost in her thoughts as she passed the intersection, Jenna’s gaze swept across the vacant space, catching sight of a newspaper article displayed on a nearby newsstand: “Member of Parliament Hugues Artois Stresses Impartial Handling of Goodville Chemical Factory Explosion.”
Intrigued, Jenna was drawn to the words, instinctively stepping closer and picking up the newspaper to swiftly peruse the news.
“…Newly elected member of parliament, Hugues Artois, believes it is unjust to vilify factory owners solely based on accidents. Nor should factory owners, who generate numerous jobs and contribute taxes to the country, face bankruptcy after enduring a mishap. Such circumstances would result in a surge of bankruptcies, heightened unemployment rates, and a fresh wave of protests and turmoil.
“Hugues Artois has expressed his commitment to not forget the injured and deceased in the explosion. He intends to establish a new public welfare fund to assist factory owners in covering a portion of accident compensation, enabling the factories to continue operating. Those responsible for the accident will bear the weight of their sins through increased job creation and tax contributions.
“He further stated his intent to propose a bill at the National Convention, fostering a more favorable environment for entrepreneurs. This would involve streamlined dismissal of unqualified workers and employees, as well as fairer compensation for accidents…”
At that moment, Jenna’s shoulders quivered unexpectedly.
She laughed, her body trembling for an extended period.
After a while, she set the newspaper down and resumed her onward journey.
Unbeknownst to her, Jenna arrived at Rue Saint-Hilaire and the partially destroyed Goodville Chemical Factory.
As she gazed at the battered metal tank, thoughts of her mother, Elodie, flooded her mind once again.
She would always gravitate towards that iconic structure upon entering the factory.
A few minutes later, through her blurred vision, Jenna spotted an unfamiliar yet vaguely familiar face.
It was a woman donned in a worn-out dress who said to Jenna, “Hurry, let’s make our way to Avenue du Marché. The member of parliament is hosting a condolence banquet and extending invitations. We might be able to obtain something!”
“A condolence banquet?” Jenna asked, bewildered.
The woman nodded enthusiastically.
“Yes, indeed! Your mother was injured in the explosion too, don’t you remember? We met in the ward.
“That member of parliament arrived at the hospital just half an hour ago. There will be a condolence banquet later!”
“Hugues Artois?” Jenna blurted out instinctively.
“Exactly, exactly. That’s the name,” the woman affirmed, grasping the dazed Jenna’s arm and hastening towards the member of parliament’s office on Avenue du Marché.
Half an hour later, they reached the khaki-colored four-story building.
Many individuals dressed like paupers were queued up for inspection, awaiting entry into the hall.
Jenna, wearing a simple grayish-blue dress, let her hair fall naturally over her shoulders without any makeup.
She joined the back of the line and gradually made her way forward.
Nearly fifteen minutes later, it was finally her turn.
A woman in a dark-blue uniform began the inspection, starting with Jenna’s head and proceeding to her boots.
After confirming the absence of any dangerous items, the woman directed her to register and verify her identity before entering the banquet hall.
…
Auberge du Coq Doré, Room 207.
Lumian cast a surprised glance at Franca, who had appeared at the door, and exclaimed, “You’re early again today.”
Franca, still donning a blouse, light-colored breeches, and red boots, was now clad in a different ensemble.
She scoffed and retorted, “I’m merely concerned that you and Jenna might outwardly agree, only to carry out an assassination on the Member of Parliament’s secretary, Rhône.”
“Am I seen as such a reckless individual in your eyes?” Lumian inquired.
“Yes,” Franca responded without hesitation.
She even contemplated adding the word “most,” but when she recollected a Folk of Rage she had encountered in a seaside town, she felt that Lumian couldn’t be categorized as one.
Breathing a sigh of relief, she continued, “Since you haven’t acted impulsively, Jenna should be safe. I’ll go and visit her, assessing if she requires any assistance at home.”
Just as Franca concluded her statement, hurried footsteps resounded from downstairs, drawing nearer.
Lumian and Franca, positioned by the doorway, turned their heads to behold Jenna, garbed in a simple grayish-blue dress, her hair tousled, rushing over in distress. She sobbed and uttered, “My brother, my brother has gone insane! He’s become a lunatic…”