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Second Wife-Chapter 8 : The Gentleman of Leisure

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Previously - Chapter 7 : Never Forgotten Laoghaire had wanted Jamie as long as she could remember.

“’You told me then that should I be arrested and executed, you would have Masses said for my soul for the space of a year…But if I should lose an ear or a hand while doing your service—'

‘I would support you for the rest of your life.’ Jamie was unsure whether to laugh or cry, and contented himself with patting the hand that now lay quiet on the quilt. ‘Aye, I remember. You may trust me to keep the bargain.’

‘Oh, I have always trusted you, milord,’ Fergus assured him… ‘So I am fortunate…for in one stroke, I am become a gentleman of leisure, non?’” (Outlander, 69).

“Milord!” The voice had changed and deepened in the many years since Jamie had first recruited the little pickpocket in Paris, but he’d recognize the lilting French accent anywhere. Jamie turned to see the distinctive mass of brown curls and bright blue eyes of his young ward, as Fergus dismounted from his horse and came toward him.

Fergus had a large pack on the back of his horse, and as he approached Jamie with a question on his face, Jamie already had a distinct idea of what the request would be.

“Milord, I would not wish to trouble you, and you have already done so much for me. You are barely established here at Balriggan, and just newly married…” Fergus seemed to be spending as much time on the preliminaries and justifications as he was planning to on the request.

“Out wi’ it, Fergus. Ye shouldna feel worrit about askin’ me for anything.” Though Jamie’s tone was gruff, he seemed genuinely pleased to see Fergus again.

Fergus sighed. “Do you imagine you could find work for me here at Balriggan? You had only just returned from England when you married Mistress MacKimmie. I know you might be fine without my assistance, but I miss seeing you, and they already have so many men and boys at Lallybroch, and I thought, with the time for planting arrived…”

The young man was quickly enveloped in a bear hug, the red curls and brown blending for a minute. “Aye, Fergus, I can use your help. I’m fair glad you’ve come. Here, let’s take your things inside and get ye settled.”

Jamie had assumed that Fergus would be quickly welcomed as a part of the family at Balriggan. He was sadly mistaken. From the instant Laoghaire saw Fergus enter their house carrying a valise, the chill in the air was palpable. She took to banging the pots on the stove more loudly than necessary, and when they sat to the table for supper, though Jamie and Fergus had made themselves useful and both cleaned up before the meal as well, she wrinkled her nose at them as if they disgusted her.

Joan had no such qualms. She found Fergus’s accent enchanting and his hook intriguing.

“Yer like a real pirate!” announced Joanie, excitedly gripping the hook to look at it closely. “Ye only need an eye patch and a parrot, and a tri-corn hat, and maybe a beard, with glowing firebrands in it…”

“Joanie,” Jamie said, smiling, but trying to shush her with a small shake of his head. “Fergus hasna ever been to the West Indies.”

“But if I had,” Fergus announced with a grin, “I am most certain I would make an excellent pirate!”

Though Fergus’s response delighted Joanie to no end, Jamie saw that Laoghaire was stewing, the set of her jaw a dead giveaway that they would be having a mostly one-sided discussion later in their bedchamber.

During the meal, Marsali was quiet, shyly spending more time gazing down at her food than taking part in the conversation. Jamie had noticed some marked changes in his step-daughter since she had begun her courses a month or so prior. The thirteen-year-old girl who used to willingly tromp in mud barefoot without caring about the state of her skirts, climb trees and run madly around the farm, play sword-fighting with Joanie with some long sticks, was now spending an inordinate amount of time in front of the mirror in the morning, brushing her hair. She took more care about her garments, and she seemed to pay attention to the interactions between Laoghaire and Jamie, which made him very nervous. She should not be learning how to be a wife from her mother.

Marsali’s form was changing, too, whether because she was being less active, or just because she was now a woman. She was a bonny young lass, who would make some laddie a good wife. In three or four years, though, at the very earliest, once she was 16 or 17.

What disturbed Jamie slightly at the dinner table was that he also noticed a strange alertness in Fergus. Though Marsali’s eyes would not often fall on the young Frenchman, his were on her quite often, and it almost seemed as if he watched especially for her reaction when he told them all stories about his part in the Rising or helping Jamie in his spying escapades in France.

Once Fergus was about to mention Claire, and Jamie desperately caught his eye and shook his head; fortunately the young man noticed and turned the story in another direction. Unless Jamie was prepared for the discussion tonight to enter the realm of death threats, Claire’s name must not be spoken.

Laoghaire did once direct a question to Fergus. “So, ye’ve been to Edinburgh, then?”

“Oui,” said Fergus. “I’m not really cut out to be a farmer, so I’ve looked into different trades there. There are shopkeepers and excise men, printers and blacksmiths; importers, tavern owners, lawyers. I haven’t decided what I want to do, but I do intend to make myself a living. I’m vingt-neuf, ah, twenty-nine years old? If I wish to marry, I must make a fortune first!”

Marsali colored briefly, looking up in surprise when Fergus mentioned his age. He wasn’t like the young Scotsmen she was constantly surrounded by, big and braw, tall and muscular. He was fine- featured and slender, and he did not look as old as he said.

“If you find a job in Edinburgh, will you also find your wife there?” Laoghaire asked pleasantly.

“There are many young ladies in Edinburgh,” Fergus responded. “But I believe there are none so bonny as your daughters.” He grinned sidelong at Marsali, who blushed and focused on the last piece of tattie she had on her plate.

Jamie looked alarmed, and Laoghaire, furious. Fergus glanced back and forth from one to the other and quickly decided he should make his excuses and turn in for the night. Considering how the evening had gone, Jamie thought it best to set Fergus up in the loft over the stables instead of in the main house. Laoghaire had seemed so angry already; he did not want to risk an explosion.

As he helped make up the bed for Fergus, Jamie sighed deeply and began to speak.

“I dinna ken if I really saw what I think I did at dinner. But I must say to you, Marsali is thirteen, Fergus. Now, I’d trust ye with my life, but I willna trust you wi’ my daughter. I canna make it more clear than this.” He looked straight at the young Frenchman, meeting his eyes directly. “Keep your hands off her.”

Fergus impishly lifted both forearms in the air, showing one hand and one hook.

Jamie shook his head in good-humored disgust. “If ye dinna listen to me, lad, you may end up wi’ one less hand, ye wee Frangach. Keep yer hand off her, and yer hook. And yer lips. And yer wheedling eyes. And yer sweet talk.”

Fergus shrugged his shoulders and smiled. “I will do as you say, milord. Marsali is lovely, but I do not see her in that way.”

“Good. Just remember, Fergus. Yer a man, and she’s a bairn. And her ma will kill you and will never forgive me if ye do anything with Marsali at all.”

Leaving Fergus with a decanter of their best whisky, Jamie headed down the ladder and into the house, steeling himself to meet his fate in the bedchamber with Laoghaire.

“You’ve put him in the stable?” Laoghaire asked, as Jamie entered their room and closed the door.

“Yes, Laoghaire,” Jamie responded. “Though he should be staying in the house, I have put him in the stable.”

“He should not be staying in the house. We’ve got two daughters,” Laoghaire insisted. “And he’s the bastard son of a French whore, who grew up in a whorehouse.”

Jamie’s eyes told Laoghaire she was treading on dangerous ground. “My da was a bastard son, Laoghaire. A child hasna any say about where they are born or who their parents are. Fergus is a good lad, and I’ve kent him for twenty years. He hasna lived in a whorehouse since we met.” Jamie didn’t persist any further, as he knew that while Fergus hadn’t lived in a whorehouse in all that time, he may have been to one, if the tales Wee Jamie and Rabbie had told him were true.

“If I dinna want that Frenchman here, ye canna say he can stay,” Laoghaire fumed. Even in her anger she couldn’t stay still. She was straightening quilts and folding clothes as if her life depended on it. “This is my home, James Fraser.”

“’Tis it now?” Jamie asked casually, his jaw twitching. “Seems to me that one of the marriage vows is ‘With all my worldly goods, I thee endow!’ This place is as much mine as yers now. I’ve worked this land plenty. I’ve made our home a better place.”

“Ye ken what I mean, and you know it, James Fraser,” she said, glaring. He always knew he was in trouble when she took to calling him his given name.

“Yes, I ken what you mean, but I also know who Fergus is to me. He’s the closest thing to a son I have in my life.” For a split second, Jamie thought of Willie, but Willie didn't count, obviously.

“But he’s not your son, is he?” Laoghaire asked, shaking out the feather pillows from atop their bed. She couldn’t see the way Jamie was clenching his jaw in response, or she might have reconsidered her words.

“Your girls arena mine either, now, are they? But I love them as my own,” Jamie insisted. “I’ve known Fergus longer. And I vowed to support the lad, if ever he was wounded in my service.”

Laoghaire sniffed scornfully. “And because he was foolish and taunted the British and lost his hand, you’re bound to him for life?”

“Fergus lost his hand drawing the Redcoats away from my cave and you ken it, Laoghaire,” Jamie started to raise his voice. “If it werena for the lad, you wouldna have a husband at all.”

“A husband!” Laoghaire scoffed bitterly. “How can you be called a husband when ye dinna respect my wishes, and ye dinna love me?”

Jamie took two fierce steps toward Laoghaire. “How can I love ye, when ye willna even let me touch ye?” His eyes were fiery, his body expanding in his anger. “When ye willna let me kiss ye?! Yer always sayin’, ‘Oh, Jamie, ye shouldna touch that.’ ‘It’s filthy’. ‘Ye canna kiss me there’. ‘Oh, ye shouldna put yer hand on that!’”

Laoghaire’s face was crimson, and she was nearly hyperventilating as she faced him, her fists balled at her sides.

“You’re heartless and cruel,” she screeched.

“I’m heartless? At least I tried,” said Jamie, shaking his head and glaring at her. “Yer the one who willna let me near ye. Yer the one who has made this room as cold as a prison! I’d rather sleep on the floor of a cell in Ardsmuir!”

“Well…well, yer a lecherous beast!” Laoghaire said accusingly, her lips quivering.

“A lecherous beast?” Jamie rolled his eyes scornfully. “Now there’s a lie if ever there was one. I am no lecher… In fact, I dinna ken if I’m even capable of a respectable cockstand anymore. Yer such an icy bitch, ye’ve rendered me a eunuch!” With his final words, he flung the bedroom door open and stomped down the hall, leaving Laoghaire to melt into a puddle of self-pitying tears.

On to Chapter 9 : Better to Marry than Burn Jamie had to feed his hunger somewhere...

#Jamie fraser #Laoghaire MacKenzie #CanonCompliant #Why did Jamie marry Laoghaire?#Why did their marriage fall apart?#Outlander fanfic #BetweenSceneswriter

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revistaceluloidedigital · 7 years

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FRAGMENTADO / SPLIT, de M. Night Shyamalan

La carrera de M. Night Shyamalan ha sido muy peculiar: luego de "Sexto Sentido" ("The Sixth Sense"; 1999), aquel sensacional drama sobrenatural que se alejó de todos los artificios que comúnmente caracterizan las películas de fantasmas y que entregó uno de los giros de tuerca más famosos de todos los tiempos, y la estupenda "El Protegido" ("Unbreakable", 2001), la filmografía del cineasta de ascendencia india comenzó con un notable declive tras el estreno de "La Aldea" ("The Village", 2004), película que dividió tanto al público como a la crítica. Y es que, a partir de entonces nos fue presentando películas que fueron de lo mediocre a lo verdaderamente lamentable –tan mala fue su última cinta, "After Earth" (2013), que incluso su protagonista, Will Smith, ya ofreció una disculpa por haber participado en esa insensatez cinematográfica–. Pero el año pasado sucedió lo inimaginable, a la cartelera llegó una modesta película del subgénero «found footage» (o pietaje encontrado) firmada por el mismísimo Shyamalan: "Los Huéspedes" ("The Visit"; 2015), y en ella reinterpretó el clásico relato de "Hansel y Gretel" en clave de falso documental regresando a sus orígenes con historias sencillas pero con contundentes giros de tuerca en el último acto. De esta manera, Shyamalan daba muestras de haber recobrado la cordura creativa, suceso que podemos corroborar ya con el estreno de su nueva película: "Fragmentado".

El versátil James McAvoy ("El último Rey de Escocia" y "X-Men: Days of Future Past") es el es ala principal figura ante la cámara de este thriller psicológico que gira en torno a Kevin, un joven con 23 personalidades distintas, una de las cuales es un metódico y obsesivo hombre –Dennis– que secuestra a tres adolescentes –Claire (Halley Lu Richardson), Marcia (Jessica Sula) y Casey (Anya Taylor-Joy a quien descubrimos como protagonista de la fenomenal "The Witch" el año padado)– y las confina en una suerte de Bunker mientras que, en confabulación con otras de las personalidades –Patricia (una fanática religiosa) y Hadwig (un precoz niño de nueve años)– se hacen cargo de los preparativos para recibir a «la Bestia», una vigésimo cuarta entidad psicológica que parece será la más peligrosa de todas ellas. De manera paralela al cruel destino de las adolescentes, la trama nos presenta la terapia que recibe otra de las personalidades de Kevin –Barry– por parte de la Dra. Karen Fletcher (la legendaria actriz de teatro Betty Buckley), quien está muy interesada en el caso del trastorno de identidad disociativo de su paciente e intenta probar científicamente el poder de la mente sobre la química del cuerpo, pero también sospecha que la estabilidad en la relación que mantienen las distintas entidades psicológicas de Kevin se está resquebrajando.

Shyamalan nos ofrece en "Fragmentado" una premisa profundamente interesante que captura la atención del espectador desde el inicio y que no nos brinda respiro; se trata de un vertiginoso juego del gato y el ratón, de poderes y de dominación psicológica bajo una atmósfera enfermiza que poco a poco va dejando pistas, tanto falsas como verdaderas, para jugar no sólo con la psique de los protagonistas, sino también con la del público. Y es que si bien el director no es un «heredero de Hitchcock» –como muchos entusiastas de su obra insisten en denominarlo–, hay que aceptar que podría ser uno de sus alumnos más aplicados y que ha aprendido del «maestro del suspenso» a emplazar la cámara como pocos lo hacen hoy en día y a echar mano de una narrativa más clásica que evita los golpes de efecto y que, en cambio, opta por la elegancia y el ingenio en la puesta en cámara para generar tensión e incrementar poco a poco el terror sin caer en lo 'gore'; aquí resulta sobresaliente la manera en la que omite las violentas acciones y las coloca fuera del campo visual del espectador, creando con ello un alto grado de sugestión que causa más impacto que cualquier escena explícita. Con la ayuda de la música de West Dylan Thordson –quien sustituye al recurrente compositor James Newton Howard–, y de la mano de la fotografía de Mike Gioulakis –responsable del trabajo en el clásico de culto instantáneo "It Follows"– logra crear los ambientes en los distintos espacios en los que transcurre la historia: por un lado juega con los espacios interiores creando la sensación de encierro, claustrofobia y terror psicológico puro, mientras que logra que las sesiones de Kevin con la Dra. Fletcher sean cálidas e íntimas.

Además de sustentar parcialmente la trama en la estrecha relación que se forja entre paciente y psicólogo como ya lo había hecho en la película protagonizada por Bruce Willis y Haley Joel Osment, "Fragmentado" de manera tangencial nos evoca a otros filmes como "Identidad" (2003), de James Mangold, "Psycho" (1960), de Hitchcock, "Las tres caras de Eva" (1957), de Nunnaelly Johnson o la miniserie "Sybil" (1976) con Sally Field. Sin embargo, el discurso de Shyamalan transita derroteros muy distintos. No sólo vuelve a recurrir a un personaje femenino como heroína de la historia –recordemos "La Aldea"–, sino que toma el trastorno de identidad disociativo y lo lleva un paso más allá; lo presenta como un paso más en la evolución humana, una alteración genética que emparenta al filme de una manera muy sutil con el cine de superhéroes, particularmente el de la saga de «los hijos del átomo» y la conecta, además, con el universo de la ya mencionada "Unbreakable", otra de las películas de Shyamalan que más agradó tanto a la crítica como al público antes de su debacle artística y que aquí encuentra una sutil conexión que agradará a los seguidores del cineasta. De acuerdo con la idea planteada por Shyamalan –"somos lo que creemos ser"–, las múltiples personalidades de Kevin han surgido como un sofisticado mecanismo de defensa psicológico en contra del abuso físico y emocional. Las heridas invisibles en la traumática infancia de Kevin han provocado que cada una de sus personalidades surjan para defenderse de la realidad, para darle las herramientas con las que pueda adquirir forma y fuerza a la identidad de un individuo emocionalmente discapacitado que no puede hacerle frente a las hostilidades de su entorno.

"Fragmentado" es un rompecabezas psicológico en donde un sobresaliente James McAvoy –como reemplazo a Joaquin Phoenix, quien originalmente sería el protagonista– nos presenta el papel más demandante de su carrera, un personaje tan atractivo como repelente al que el actor logra dar vida con gran aplomo. Y es que domina perfectamente la mirada, las gesticulaciones, el movimiento corporal y la modulación de su voz, para transmitir la imagen de la personalidad en turno, forjando de esta forma a uno de los villanos más memorables de la historia del cine del nuevo milenio y un fabuloso contrapunteo con la heroica figura femenina de la historia: una sensacional Anya Taylor-Joy como Casey, una chica marginada que poco a poco vamos descubriendo no ser tan diferente a Kevin. Y aunque la película no alcanza los niveles de astucia y precisión de "Sexto Sentido" y no posee imágenes tan poderosas, es un muy solvente thriller psicológico que encuentra su potencia en la premisa y en el vertiginoso desarrollo de la historia. Así, Shyamalan va reconquistando a crítica y público; es en definitiva una de las más angustiantes pero a la vez satisfactorias experiencias fílmicas del año y la película que vuelve a ponerlo en el mapa cinematográfico internacional.

Antonio Ruiz | @FinbarFlynnXY

FRAGMENTADO Split | 2017 | Dir. M. Night Shyamalan | Actores: James McAvoy, Anya Taylor-Joy, Betty Buckley, Brad William Henke, Haley Lu Richardson, Sterling K. Brown, Kim Director, Sebastian Arcelus, Lyne Renee, Neal Huff, Jessica Sula, Maria Breyman, Steven Dennis, Peter Patrikios, Matthew Nadu.

#fragmentado #split #m night shyamalan #james mcavoy #anya taylor-joy #betty buckley #estrenos #reseñas #recomendaciones #thrillers #thriller psicológico

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