Here Comes Another Day”
By John Williams Noémi Beauregard clasped her knees as she watched the sun spill over the horizon. A sunset means a lot of things to a lot of people, but to her it was a gift. Silent tears swam down her cheeks as the dingy bobbed up and down beneath the bridge. Her son Gabrielle lay peacefully wrapped in the folds of the canvas they had found stowed beneath one of the seats in the vessel. The sunlight danced off the waters of the Seine River and banished the bruise colored sky. A new day was beginning and sound began to sweep its way down the canal as Parisians all across the city rolled out of bed. Noemi cried tears of sadness but also tears of joy. Her lip trembled as she stifled a sob. It was best not to wake her son. She had survived another day amidst the death throes of the French Monarchy. She had cheated death and slipped past the specters of Robespierre if not for just one more night. With that sunrise came a new day of challenges, but with that sunrise came something else. What that something else was, nobody knew, but that was the beauty in it. Nobody knew what this new day brought, but nobody said it was bad. There was a chance, no matter how small, that this day would be better than the last. That is why she smiled at the sunrise. That is why she had greeted the sunrise with the words "here comes another day" ever since she was a young girl. She closed her eyes and let the warm rays banish the darkness and cold. She closed her eyes and thought of what that fateful sunrise had brought her two years ago. Noémi stood at the back of the crowd with her son's hands wrapped white knuckled around hers as they led Joseph up the platform steps. The hanging platform towered over the square. Her husband would be hanged today at sunrise. The crowd of expectant bloodhounds quivered with silence. She was appalled at the turnout. Only monsters would get up at the break of dawn to see the hanging of someone they didn't know. She didn't want to be here but her son Gabrielle had said he wanted to go. Noémi had obliged. They stood with shaking despair and silent tears as the executioner read out his supposed "treason." With

the formalities out of the way, the hangman tied the rope around Joseph's neck. Noémi and Gabrielle tensed up. Seconds before the executioner pulled the lever; a scream tore from the crowd. "I love you dad!" sprang from Gabrielle's lips and shattered the silence. A hundred heads swiveled to follow Joseph's wide-eyed gaze. Noémi whirled on Gabrielle and grabbed his hand. She dragged her son unceremoniously down an alley as the square erupted into chaos. The surviving wife and son of the Beauregard family were on wanted posters all over the city and the obsessive focus of Robespierre himself. Her husband had worked closely with Robespierre and published many scathing articles about the French monarchy in his newspaper. When the French revolution began however, Joseph refused to take part in the manipulation of the populace as Robespierre had. Her husband had begun to publish withering reports on him and as a result brought down the full force of the reign of terror on his family. Now that same force ran them through the alleyway in thirst for the bounty that had been placed on their heads. Noémi ran to the theme music of her husband’s voice. He shouted for them to run and that he loved them. The music stopped abruptly with the snap of a rope and the catcalls of the mob filled the air around them. How many times had she watched a doomed street urchin scramble through the streets in a desperate attempt to flee the constables. Now she and her son were that urchin and what seemed like the entire city of Paris were the constables. She burst out of the alleyway onto a thoroughfare clogged with wagons and crowds of people. Noemi gathered her skirts in her hands and slipped into to stream of people, son in tow. They quickly lost the bewildered crowd in the river of people. Noémi was getting better at this. Gabrielle was also becoming quite adept at becoming invisible. She was not mad at her son for his outburst. How can you expect a child to stay silent as his father dies a hundred feet away? She read the signs along the street. One stood out to her. “The House of the Rising Sun” beckoned from a nearby dreary two-story tavern. Noémi knew this was a brothel, but she also knew that this was a place where she could get new clothes and escape the more ardent followers from this morning’s crowd. Perhaps this could become a new home. The sun was hot as she and her son slipped into the cloying building. Smoke wafted through the air and red lights stained the room a sickly red. The mere decadence of the room appalled her. Long flowing curtains blocked out all but the faintest sliver of sunlight. She brushed past a busty hostess and dove into the house. She met with the owner of the establishment, Madame Chantelle, and negotiated room and board for both her and her son in exchange for her services. Noémi was to become like any other common women that sold herself, yet she had no choice. Her son cleaned the house and served drinks. Gabrielle knew what his mother was doing and understood full well why she had to make this choice. The makeup of the house provided them expert disguise and ample coinage for them in hope to escape Paris one day. Noémi Beauregard now went by “the lady of the sunrise.” She dressed in a garish yellow and caked makeup on her soft face. Mother and son grew more resigned to their new positions and made friends with their fellow inhabitant of the house. Most women had sons about Gabriel’s age that he became quite fond of. The entire house learned of the mother and son’s true identities and kept their secret. Two years passed without much noticeable change. One morning Noémi sat in her waiting room as her next customer walked through the door. The room fell silent as Robespierre strolled into the parlor. Immediately Charlotte, one of her now closest friends, marched up to him and began to bat her eye lashes. Robespierre was momentarily stalled by the distraction. Noémi whirled around in a flurry of her yellow dress. In moments her son was by her side as they marched towards the back door. “Go now,” whispered Madame Chantelle in her ear. Suddenly, Robespierre threw Charlotte aside and began to fight towards Noemi and her son. They didn’t look back. Silently they slipped out the back door and busted into a full out sprint. Robespierre still had to fight through two years of steadfast women that were more than capable of handling themselves. Once again Noemi and her son raced down an alleyway to the music of chaos as Robespierre struggled through the house of “The House of the Rising Sun.” Noémi and Gabrielle silently crept down to the waterfront and slid into an oar boat on the shore. The small craft slipped into the Seine as catcalls sounded

in the distance. They rowed silently beneath a bridge and waited there. Gabrielle fell asleep in silent terror, wrapped in the shrouds of a canvas they had found below one of the seats. Most of the night Noémi kept watch as patrols swept the streets and torches lit the walks around her. Two years had not dulled the wrath of Robespierre it seemed and although things had calmed down he apparently still had some available to do his bidding. Around midnight the searches stopped and calls faded into the hum of the city. The torches went out and darkness replaced the reflections on the water. The dingy knocked gently against the underside of the bridge. The battered cork bobbed among the hustle and bustle of Paris. It rocked Noémi to sleep. Early that morning she woke up to watch the sunrise. The sunrise means a lot of things but to her it was a gift. The sunrise always brings a new day and more chances. With each sunrise she was a new person. She remembered that sunrise two years ago that had changed her life forever. She remembered the Rising Sun that had changed her and strengthened her for the past two years. The sun threw its tentative rays across the sky and danced off the water. She smiled into the sun and whispered, “Here comes another day.”