the double ended mailbox

short story 

by juan josé l.

grade 11

 

 

          During a cold winter in 1780, there was an expired heart still beating slow and painfully in Gledfield Estate, United Kingdom. This heart belonged to the most disconsolate man in the whole world. William H. François lived in the most expensive manor in Scotland. The entrance was simply majestic; the entire path was made of old cobbles. In the middle of this road there was a little roundabout with a bench and an oak. Under this old and charming tree there was an infatuating mailbox, made out of walnut wood with the last name of the family carved on it. It was a delightful piece of art; prove of the high quality of the English. William always enjoyed of receiving his correspondence by this work of art.

 

          In 1750, William H. François traveled to Paris. He loved eating, and there’s no better place than France to have a delightful diner observing the beautiful moonlight. One night, there was not even one cloud in the whole sky of the city of love to dilapidate this soiree. François was sitting in a little bistro located just by the side of the Seine when he saw this beautiful young and elegant woman. Her name was Victoire Bettencourt. After talking four hours as they smoked by the river, they fell in love of each other. After his month in Paris was over, both of them promised to keep in touch with each other. Many letters were sent, from Paris to Gledfield Estate. After writing the letters responding William, she kissed it on the back and added a few drops of her perfume. The old beautiful mailbox had never smelled so feminine. In some of the letters they talked about their never ending love story and how impossible it was to tear apart such a strong and loving relationship. In other letters they talked about living together, fortunately both of them agreed on living in Gledfield Estate, in François’s manor. Sharing their waltzes in the main dancing room. This enormous saloon was all made out of the finest and oldest African woods ever found. The saloon had the most colossal windows in the world, during the summer; you could clearly see all the stars from it. William loved three things basically: His love in France, his saloon and the beautiful mailbox.

 

          In 1752, after of two years writing to each other, François decided to ask for her hand. He wanted to marry the only woman in the world that could ever make him happy. In this same year, on autumn, William finally wrote the letter with the proposal. Three months passed and there was no response. Living in the cold winter of Scotland, François was completely depressed. He spent weeks in the saloon just looking at the stars, during the day he would simply walk in the gardens, being astonished by the mailbox.

 

          In 1758 he received a letter from Napoleon Bettencourt -brother of Victoire- saying that she died of Scarlet Fever. François was completely downhearted. He had deep thoughts about all the time that he spent thinking about them and how in vane it was. How could a woman make a man suffer that much, how could she make him wait for so long, just to tear his hopes apart. William threw away years trying to understand why did Victoire do something so heartless. In the spring of 1790, a horse was released from the cavalry and shattered the mailbox into pieces, as well with François’s heart. When he disposed himself to go and pick up the pieces of the little treasure he found among the broken wood pieces, an old, yellowish letter. It was a letter from Paris. His heart was beating as fast as it was possible. It was the letter responding William’s proposal. This letter was hidden in that walnut wood made mailbox. For the first time in his entire life he hated the mailbox.

 

“ Dear William H. François,

 

          I, Victoire Marie Bettencourt, Would be more than appeased to be your love, your lips, your body, your blood and your wife. It did not take more than one minute after the letter got the palace to answer it. I cannot believe we are finally going to be affianced. I have been waiting for this moment since the first moment I saw you. What a man, you have inspired me to be the woman I am. How can I be more grateful to you? Is it possible? I love thee dear! Thy palace will be the best shelter to this romance started in Paris.Since you left Paris, I have been constantly depressed. My happiness is to be near you. I constantly live hidden in my memory your caresses, your tears, and your affectionate kisses. When, I become free from all solicitude, shall I be able to pass all my time just with you, having only to love you, and to think only of ways to saying how much I love you.

 

          The first connection we had was with the eyes, after the eyes our heart, and of course our fine taste in wines. I am the most pleased woman on earth. I hope to see you soon my dear. I have been thinking about when to do our wedding. It must be during the pleasing summer in Scotland, in the saloon. There we will be able to dance till our feet are not longer ours; they will be part of the dance floor.

 

          To conclude, I want you to know that my heart will always belong to you no matter what. There is no one but you that could ever make me feel as special as you do. I Victoire Marie Bettencourt accept to be your faithful and caring wife, forever and beyond. Je t’aime et je vais attendre éternellement!

 

Sincerely yours,

Victoire Marie Bettencourt”

 

          After reading this letter William H. François went to the main saloon where thousands of thoughts were flowing in the air. François took all the coal of the manor into the middle of the place and started burning the saloon; he remained sitting with her letter in the left hand, and with his right hand in his heart. His soul and letter got burned in the most luxurious dance floor of Europe. Letters are as powerful as words, in many cases even more powerful. They are filled with energy and feelings. Which will never burn with fire. The only thing that can destroy them is the human being.