City of love (Five minutes freewrite)

There were dozens like him, strewn along the river bank with their colorful little tables, calling out at the strolling tourists, ever happy to part with a little money in return for a piece of the soul of Paris. Few could compare with him, Henri, and his wonderful display of hand-drawn fat cherubs with tiny bows in their plump little hands. What better than a naughty Cupid to remind you of the city of love?
He did a brisk business selling the illusion of love to middle-aged couples buying his art in the vain hope that a trip of a lifetime would rekindle a long-spent fire. But that was not his purpose there, for Henri himself had fallen victim to Cupid’s arrow, if you fancy a poetic description. His object of interest was, however, more prosaic and a bit coarse, if you ask me. To Henri, however, Louise was the most exquisite and delicate woman in the world.

He’d chosen his spot with care, by the foot of the bridge, which meant the object of his desire would walk by his table every time she went to her father’s grave, in the cemetery on the other side of the river. Louise had no business stopping to look at the cherubs, as she was not a tourist, but her younger sister, always by her side, would always ask for a pain aux chocolat, from the little booth on his right. Henri always blessed her name, Mireille or Matilde, whatever, as her sweet tooth bought him a few moments close to the woman he loved. While the younger sister was a plain looking girl with mournful eyes, Louise was a feisty young woman, always eager to share a loud kiss and a hearty laugh when one of her friends chanced to pass by. Henri liked to dream of the moment when she’d be as happy to see him and those sweet lips of hers would land on his cheeks. Yet Louise did not seem to notice the young artist, nor his Cupids and, what hurt the most, not even his excellent series of portraits of a young girl, in which she saw no resemblance to herself. Those portrait were hung with wooden pegs on a rope all around his small table. It was hard to explain to his customers that no, those were not for sale. Once, an American was close to having a fit when the arrogant artist refused to sell him one of the drawings, which the tourist insisted was the spit image of his eldest daughter back home. Still, the stupid Frenchman would not sell, not even for 100 bucks.

One autumn, Louise failed to show up for many weeks, driving him to despair. He feared she’d been taken ill or worse got married to someone else. His Cupids started looking morose and his sales dropped. Yet, every morning he’d take his place on his little folding chair waiting for her.
Wrought with worry, Henri went to the street where she lived circling the house which seemed uninhabited. The windows were always closed and the thick curtains drawn. As it always happens, his presence alerted an old hag living across the street, who told him the whole story of how Mireille had been consumed by a mysterious fever brought about by her secret love for ‘one of them good-for-nothing artists that sell their doodles by the Seine’. She eyed him suspiciously, but Henri professed his innocence, swearing he and Louise were friends from a charity group and he was just curious why she had disappeared.
When Louise finally showed up, she was in deep mourning and the flower bouquet she was carrying was twice as big, as now she also had her sister’s grave to tend to. She walked on the other side of the road, casting dirty looks to those horrid street-peddlers who had broken sweet Mireille’s innocent heart.
It took him while, but in the end Henri took down the portraits of the girl who would not look at him and by next summer got married to another woman, pretty enough to attract customers and smart enough to get more money than the drawings were worth, for his Cupids now had an evil grin, not to mention they were all cross-eyed. His small revenge on the stupid child-god that had failed him.

Story written for @mariannewest's freewrite challenge, today's prompt was: cross-eyed! Check out her blog and join our freewrite community.

Thanks for reading!

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