The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 84 Kate and Marissa Part 84
'Even the axle oil smells sweet.'

Pasetti is not kidding.

She had actually smelled it secretly, sniffing it, and it was the same as the turpentine in the studio - the axle oil was the smell of lard from the abundance of food and clothing;

Turpentine is filled with the original fabric of a girl's skirt and the scent of powder added later. It is the warm chest of a gentleman under his shirt and tie, filled with the stimulating and never disappointing happiness emanating from a superior body.

They walked around all day emitting this warm smell, not caring at all, but they recognized each other by smell like rabbits or cats and dogs:
This is what they are capable of.

I can tell what kind of person is in front of me just by smell.

Is it a rabbit or a tiger?

The woman's slightly pockmarked face was close at hand.

She sniffed hard several times against Kate's face with a strange look on her face, as if she was choked by the smell of rotting mud on her body.

"You stink, Pasetti."

She fanned her hands and moved away.

She looked at the classmate in the locker room who was dressed "simply", at the wrinkled skin on her pale and dehydrated lips and her forehead and nose wings that were smeared with cheap hair powder. She looked at her for a long time before she felt enough pleasure.

"You can't put powder on your face, Pasetti. Do you need the money?"

"After a long time, this face will be ruined." She stroked her smooth face, which was as smooth as a peeled and boiled egg, and flicked it with her little fingers. "Without it, how can you be here and 'get along' with these people?"

Kate tugged at her skirt and walked past her with her head lowered.

"By the way, did you hear what Teacher Paret said?" Miss Pockmarked Face covered her mouth and smiled gracefully a few times.

Kate knew the laughter was neither genuine nor sarcastic—it meant nothing.

It is like a gem in a silver ring, a pattern on a gold cup, a gentleman's hat, a lady's veil...

It's a decoration.

Pointless but respectable decoration.

“He’s already started looking at this year’s candidates.”

The pockmarked lady walked lightly in front of Kate with her hands behind her back. Kate hoped that the face would be pecked by vultures day and night, showing undisguised malice.

she says:

"What sweet dreams are you having?"

…………

……

Snare drums, violins, and horns sounded in a side room of the dance studio.

There is a layer of velvet hanging cloth between two layers of door panels and a short corridor, so that the students in the dance room can hear the music clearly without being so harsh that it affects the teacher's teaching.

The students danced gracefully, following the teacher's rhythm, sometimes stretching and sometimes contracting.

Occasionally he would pause, fix his posture, and wait for the silver-haired Mr. Paret to correct him:

He wore a pair of odd silver-rimmed glasses, and his waistcoat and the shirt beneath it were not wrinkled at all.

His trousers were straight, but on his feet he wore a pair of dark brown soft fur indoor shoes.

If humans could live that long, he would have to be two or three hundred years old - the wrinkles on his face were as many as the layers of a lady's skirt.

"Hands up, ladies and gentlemen!"

"In the eyes of those who watch it, the stage is like a candle in the dark night: standard! Meet the standard I want! Otherwise, you will be a piece of mud that has been trampled into shapeless pieces. Mr. Wilfort, are you feeling unwell today?"

Whenever the old teacher stared at someone with his pair of dark brown, cloudy old eyes, the person being stared at would tremble like a baby rabbit that had strayed into an eagle's nest.

That's what the young man with blond curly hair did: he smiled awkwardly and raised his arms.

"Don't smile at me. You should be ashamed, Mr. Weaver. If you were in the theatre, on the stage, what would people say, 'Ah, there's Paret's pupil. Was he in such a hurry to get out that he happened to bring muddy soles of his shoes with him?'"

There was a low laugh. "This is not funny! Everyone! Look at yourselves!"

He passed his hands one by one. "Promise me, promise not to bring your stupid behavior to the stage! Imagine: the musicians are behind you, the audience is above your head, under your feet, left and right, and everywhere around you! Your every move, every verse, every action -"

"Mr. Evans, you're wearing the wrong color tie today. If neither you nor I are blind."

The teacher, called Paret, does not really know how to distinguish the identities of the young men and women or the families behind them.

Because those who could study here were not from high-class families.

Of course, even so, there are still differences between families, and they are very big.

For example, Pasetti and the lady with pockmarked face.

"Twenty minutes break, come here girls."

He waved and made his way through the crowd.

Several girls came forward holding their skirts and surrounded the old man.

"Mr. Paret."

The pockmarked girl cried out crisply, smiling brightly. "I learned a lot today."

"I know exactly how much you have learned, Miss Peyton."

Paret didn't give any face at all. He glanced at the girl who was approaching him and said something thorny:

"If you continue to train in this way, I'm afraid you will be able to be classmates with my students next year. If you really want to pursue art like trees and grass pursue sunlight, you should learn from Miss Pasetti."

He ignored Payton's suddenly pale face and glanced at Kate Pasetti, then glanced at the other girls.

"Girls, I will select the two best ones this week, and they may then have the 'honor' to perform at the Garden Theatre - you should know that since it was renamed, the stage conditions have become more demanding every year."

He took off his glasses and wiped them with a glasses cloth from his vest pocket:

"Take advantage of it, girls. Many a man has become famous there since Congreve. If it is fame you seek, it will give you; if it is art you seek, it will still give you."

"Money, fame, art - these are in your wrists and toes, in your waist and neck, in your dancing and singing."

"So, please don't blame me for being ruthless, okay?"

"Everyone go and rest. Oh, Miss Pasetti, please wait a moment."

He asked the girls to rest in their chairs and drink tea, leaving Kate alone.

The expectant girl seemed to know what would happen next.

But what Paret said was far from what she thought.

"You're on the edge, Pasetti."

The old man put on his glasses again and stared at her with his cloudy eyes. "One step further and you'll step into the circle... but you've never been able to take this step."

He was not as harsh as before, and spoke to Kate in a tone that only someone familiar with her would use.

"I don't know what's distracting you from dancing - there's nothing wrong with your singing, and your limbs are flexible enough..." Paret hinted in a less hurtful tone.

Just a little bit short.

This shortcoming made him particularly hesitant.

What made him hesitate was that, even for the sake of fame, he should at least recommend a child who was truly capable and talented.

Talent is the biggest mockery to a diligent person.

Especially when she failed after trying everything.

Especially, it’s the truth.

(End of this chapter)