George looked around her room. It had seemed so cozy before. She had always loved her attic room. Now it looked like a dump. The carpet was threadbare. The windowsill was covered in bird droppings. The only really expensive and beautiful thing in the room was a pair of boots Sadie had left behind underneath the desk as though a ghost, naked except for a pair of boots, was sitting there writing.
George picked up a pair of stockings. She took off her own clothes and put on the stockings. Then she went over and pulled on Sadie’s shoes. She laced them up, then tottered over to the mirror. The high heels of the boots made her walk hesitantly, as though she were standing on thin ice that she might crash through at any minute. She looked in the full-length mirror to see if she looked feminine at all but found she rather looked as though she had been drawn by an artist with no skill and she was all awkward angles. She kicked off the boots.
What do you do when you are heartbroken? You feel terrified of your own emotions. George felt her emotions building above her like a storm cloud. The room was so filled with emotions it was as though it were filled with humidity. She had to get out of the room. She couldn’t bear to lie on the bed where she and Sadie had made love. She had spent her whole life as a bachelor and hadn’t minded it. But now the thought of having to spend the rest of her life alone was terrifying. It made her life seem so long and forlorn. She had been lucky enough to find someone she loved. But this person had chosen someone who didn’t resemble her at all—and was, in fact, quite the opposite. She wanted to be with someone buxom and blond. Someone who smelled like roses and did everything prettily. If Sadie had left her for a man, things might have been easier. But she had left her for another woman.
George put her suit back on and left the brothel.
* * *
George walked to a part of the river where men gathered to sunbathe. It was probably the last day of the year they were able to do it before it turned cold. She wanted to lie down on the sand next to all the naked men. Their penises all sleeping to one side or the other.
She had been surrounded by women her whole life. At the brothel the women had always said she dressed like a boy and looked like a boy. They were the ones who had pointed that out to her. She was only dressing the way she felt comfortable and at ease.
But when they talked about romancing men, they never spoke about her. They left her out of these conversations entirely. If they were only attracted to men, they were not attracted to her. There had been a woman who had fooled around with George for a year. But the minute a man had come along, she had abandoned George abruptly. And how could she not, when being aligned with a real man brought a woman so much social standing in the world?
George wondered whether teetering between the genders made her impossible for people to take seriously. Perhaps it was because she did not really identify as a man or a woman that others could not see her as a proper person who had feelings and dignity and as much need for love as anyone else did.
But what could she do? The way she carried herself and dressed was the only way she could feel truly in her own skin. Were she to grow her hair and wear a dress and take on the mannerisms of a woman, she would feel as though she were awkward and unhappy, and as though she were pretending to be someone she was not.
George thought perhaps she should call herself a man. She avoided men in general, especially unfamiliar ones. They were the ones who would yell in her face she was ugly and needed to put a dress on. But she would go join them. She would take off her clothes and even though they would see she had female genitalia, they would understand that, on the inside, she was the same as them.
And if she were naked, she could not be accused of trying to be anyone but herself.
She took off her clothes. She lifted up a rock to put on top of them. The small bugs under the stone squiggled this way and that. They were like the leftover nuts and bolts and screws from the creation of the world.
She lay down naked near the men. It wasn’t long before she found herself being dragged off by police for public indecency. The police officers put her in the back of their carriage. There was a beautiful man in the carriage as well. The man had rouge on his cheeks. He had a dress whose bodice was hanging too low on his body. His nipples were out. Anyone could see he had the nipples of a beautiful girl. She wondered whether they could switch body parts. If things could be that simple.
The next morning she was released with the young man she had been brought in with. George had spent the night in the women’s ward. And she was exhausted from a night of long contemplation about her identity. The beautiful man had spent the night in the men’s ward. His face was battered. His eyes were swollen shut like mussel shells that were impossible to open. His dress had been torn in several spots. He was no longer proud of it. He covered up the soiled dress with his cloak and hurried awkwardly down the street.
How tragic to be a man, George thought.
CHAPTER 39
Fifteen Minutes of Infamy
In the following days, George was filled with a rage she had never felt before. It sprouted thorny branches out of her heart. She had no idea rage was in the heart. She imagined it would be somewhere in the brain. She had felt many emotions in her stomach before. That was where sadness always seemed to be.
She had done everything she could to make Sadie’s life better. She had dragged her off the street from where she was about to be murdered. She had given her a home. She had given her a community. Marie had more power in society than any other woman she knew. She owned the largest factory in the city, one that employed so many young and vulnerable girls. Marie had the ability to do right by them. But, instead, she exploited them all. George was shocked that Sadie did not factor all these mistreated girls into her evaluation of Marie’s character.
Sadie had a grotesque and aristocratic taste.
George was reminded again that she didn’t belong to anyone. Madame was the one constant in her life. She knew it was a source of joy to Madame that she was still alive. That it was proof in itself of a certain genius in George as a child. Madame had had other children left with her. They never lasted long. One darted out into the street. One managed to drown himself in a spaghetti pot of water. One never came home and remained a mystery to everyone. According to Madame, it was always a small mercy when they died.