Son the older and I are watching Jean Cocteau’s La Belle et La Bete. A perfect activity for a rainy morning.
On screen, disembodied arms hold lighted candelabras down a long, dark corridor. Soot covered faces, embedded on either side of the roaring fireplace, turn to follow movements in the room.
The Bete’s waist is encircled with ribbons whose tips sparkle with rhinestones. Smoke rises from his shoulders and fingertips.
Belle’s tears are diamonds. The white stallion glitters.
Son the elder and I take our French lesson from the dialogue. “Souvenez vous de votre promesse!”
Remember your promise.