A different ending to the book 'Chocolat'

(Written in 2008)

Monday, March 31^st

Easter Sunday

The winds have changed directions, pere. A warm gush of wind blows, restless. It was the change of the north winds that embarked her presence in Lansquenet. I thought I could gain victory over her, and make her fly away with the next change of winds. Instead, it is me that the winds are carrying away with them.

               Is this the fruit of my penitence? Is this what the Lord had in store for me? I was weak with abstinence during the entire period of lent. I resisted. I tended to my flock, but to what avail? And even you, mon pere, your body has failed you. Just when I needed to see your solemn face, to reconfirm the faith within myself. Your suffering, a constant reminder of the tribulations that one must endeavour to achieve divination.

             And those chocolates…..those chocolates. Tempting me with voices from their inner souls, calling me, mocking me.

‘Taste me, Try me’.

They attack me with their redolence. Their smell, an intoxication, alluring me out of my resistance. A seduction more damned than the covetousness of the flesh. Ah! Their names just as bewitching as their aromas. White rum truffle. Manon Blanc. Crème de cassis. Each word rolling over your tongue as if succulently making love to them.

Oh pere, how could I be so weak? I preached to my people to resist temptation, to resist her, to resist those chocolates, but they were my own downfall. It is all the doing of Viann. She made me do this. She entered my mind and tempted me with her sorcery. She is a witch I tell you, a witch! Underneath that beautiful, smooth soft skin, and lovely smile that curves ah so gently around her mouth, looking so naïve and innocent, lies evil! I knew it the moment I saw her. I felt it in the wind. I should have gotten rid of her the moment she set foot in Lansquenet. She and her wild bastard.

              She made me want to think of Muscat. To liken him to a pig. Knowing so well that gluttony is the evil of a pig. She eluded my thoughts. She has watched over my dreams at night, catching them in the weathervane above St. Jerome. And when she finally removed her veil from my mind, there I was on the ground, rolled over in chocolate, a display of humiliation. Just like her display of Eostre, I lay next to it, a show of her winnings.

              I arose from there with whatever dignity I could muster and hurriedly came to you, Mon pere, to soothe my wounds. But the nurse waiting for me was the forbearer of bad news. Why pere? Why could you not wait for me to come back? Did you not give me a sign yesterday? Is this what this Easter was supposed to be, a resurrection of your soul?

But we shall meet again, pere. I have been pure for you.

               Armande Voizin stands in front of me, youthful again with her dark hair flying wildly in the wind. Even the dead mock me. The winds may be carrying me away, but I shall find you Vianne Rocher. How long will you stay in tranquility in Lansquenet? You are restless like the winds. They won’t let you stay for long. And when the winds change directions again, our paths will cross. Till then, I wait in readiness.