So remember the missing Des Voeux? Of course you do. I’m sure you were all a’twitter about my Des Voeux-induced fretfulness of last night. I’ll bet when you heard my conundrum, you all clutched the sides of your bald heads, covering your ears in horror against the existential angst of it all, whilst simultaneously standing on a bridge against a burnt red sky, much like that guy in “The Scream.” I’ll just bet.
I can picture it now. And it makes me happy. Especially picturing you all bald. Forgive me.
Back to Des Voeux. Yeah. Well, immediately after my angsty attack, I picked up the book again. Three pages later, Des Voeux magically reappeared to utter one measly line as if he’d read my post and willed himself to reappear just to thumb his frostbitten nose at me. If he even still has a nose. Or a thumb.
So okay. Des Voeux and Le Vesconte are not the same person as I fussed about earlier. Okay. So I’m simple-minded; is this really a surprise? So the author didn’t get all senile and lose track of his characters. Okey-doke. So I’m condescending too. Quel dommage. I’m a veritable paella of personal flaws.
You heard me.
But in my defense — defensive, too; the pot overflows — Des Voeux was centerstage 200 pages ago. Well, that’s a stretch; more like upstage right. He was involved in the story. He did his part. He was there when something truly awful happened and I thought maybe he’d have something to say about it. Like, “Bon jour, dudes, comment allez-vous? I’m glad you’re fine, but I totally have PTSD about that monster on the ice, ya dig?” But no. Bupkis. Maybe he was off swabbing for 200 pages, I don’t know. All I know is that he disappeared and didn’t even say goodbye and immediately after that, this shifty Le Vesconte fellow appeared on the scene. Out of nowhere. So deep in the folds of my drunken one a.m. brain, my previous hypothesis made perfect sense: that they were one and the same person and the author had gotten the names mixed up — because of the Frenchiness and V-ness — and his editor had missed it completely. Do you see? Do you? Do vous?
All right, Des Voeux, wander back into the story if you want. Fine with me. Thumb your noseless nose at me with your thumbless thumb just like all those kids on the grade school playground. Swab it up with Le Vesconte just to muddle me even further. That’s fine. Whatevs. Just remember that thing is still out there on the ice, probably watching you right now with its “bottomless black hole eyes.” Watching you as you swab and swab and try to feel your toes again. Bonne chance, Des Voeux.