by Alain Gillot
“What are you talking about?”
“She used to make omelets just like—”
“That’s enough, let’s talk about something else, all right?”
She made an effort to chew without opening her mouth.
There was no more sound in the house. There we were, the two of us, facing each other across the round table. The garbage truck passed on the street. That was all you could hear.
“She’s sick, you know. Her cancer’s come back. Chemotherapy and everything.”
“If you talk about her further, I’ll throw you out.”
Madeleine stopped her fork in mid-air. She’d thought I’d give her a bit more leeway, but she’d been wrong.
“You have to understand one thing. You’ll never be able to make me feel sorry for her. And her illness doesn’t change a thing. She brought her cancer on herself. It’s what she did that’s eating away at her, or rather what she didn’t do.”
“You can’t say that.”
“Yes, I can. I’m not asking you to think like me. I haven’t come looking for you. You’ve lived your life, and I’ve lived mine. That’s all. We have nothing to say to each other, nothing to share, not on that side anyway. Haven’t you understood that in all this time?”
“No. I must be stupid.”
Her mouth started quivering. All at once she was a little girl again. That was all I needed.
“What’s the other side?”
“Huh?”
“The side we can share.”
“If you stop always making the past sound better than it was, there may be one.”
I saw she was tempted to answer me, but then had second thoughts. She really didn’t have the strength. She ate a last mouthful, more slowly, grimacing as if she found it hard to swallow. I noticed something unusual. She’d always been well-groomed, but now her nails were dirty. She must have had to tinker with the Renault to get all the way here.
“You should have some cheese.”
“No, I’m fine. I’m really grateful. I think I’ll go to bed.”
“If you aren’t warm enough with one blanket, there are others in the closet. If you want to take a shower, you have to let the water run for a while until it gets hot.”
She stood up. She hesitated about whether to come around the table and kiss me. She preferred not to take the risk. She must have thought I was going to bite.
“Good night, then. And thanks.”
“For what?”
“Not leaving us outside.”
“What do you take me for?”
7
I went straight to bed and switched out the light. I thought at first it was going to work, and then I realized I was wrong. My fists were clenched, as if I was at the dentist’s, and my eyes were wide open. The past had come into the room.
I’d seen my mother for the last time on July 8, 1998, while the World Cup was still on: It was the day of the France-Croatia semi-final. By then, I was only going to Saint-Quentin once a year, and I always arranged it so that I showed up unexpectedly. I’d call, see if my father was there, and if he was out, I’d drop by. It was a matter of take it or leave it, and my mother knew that.
It happened to be her birthday. That was pure chance, I didn’t realize it until the last moment, but it was too late to turn back, and in a way that’s what set the whole thing off. Because, of course, she’d bought a cake to make my visit into a bit of a celebration, and so that was it, we celebrated.
At first, things went fairly well. My mother still had a way of making me feel sorry for her. You mustn’t think it’s always easy to be in a rage. Sometimes it’s good to discover you can be as much of an idiot as anybody else. It’s like gorging on sugar candies while watching some dumb comedy. You know perfectly well you’re going to feel sick and you won’t remember anything about the movie, but it makes you feel good at the time. That’s the kind of thing I was looking for that day, knowing full well what I was playing at and happy to go along with it.
The weather was wonderful and we sat out in the garden. My mother had put on a flowered dress for the occasion, which made her look younger. She kept talking, but I wasn’t listening. I was looking at her. I’d always been touched by how small she was. When she sat down on a chair, her legs didn’t touch the ground, and when she was in a mischievous mood, which occasionally happened, she’d knock her calves together like a little girl. Obviously, I wasn’t fooled. Little girls could be as calculating as adults, maybe even more so, and as far as that went, my mother was a queen, a queen in Saint-Quentin, in a house with unstable foundations, but a queen all the same. I knew it, and all the pitiful consequences that followed from it, but I needed to feel touched, and I’d decided to grant myself that pleasure, in that garden, that afternoon.
We even talked about my sister, her love affairs and mine, my work, all those things that people talk about without anything unpleasant rearing its head.
And then, just when I least expected it, maybe for the very reason that I’d lowered my guard, a single sentence turned everything upside down. Why did I suddenly pay attention at that moment? Why did I hear that sentence rather than any other? Because the sun had gone in? Because I didn’t like the sparkling wine we were drinking? Because you can never get away from yourself for long?
My mother said, in that shrill voice of hers, “In spite of everything, we had some good times, didn’t we?” That was how it started.
I said nothing for a moment or two, as if I had to let that sentence reach my brain. I looked at her for a long time to see if she’d noticed the effect her words had made. I saw her face turn white, as if sensing disaster.
I sighed, shook my head a little, like a boxer who realizes that the match won’t be over until he’s knocked out his opponent, and started to answer her, in a calm, almost detached voice. Actually, it wasn’t an answer so much as an indictment. Everything went into it, methodically, precisely, everything I blamed on my childhood. The humiliations, the prohibitions, the lack of understanding: I didn’t leave anything out, from the little wounds to my self-esteem to the terrible day my father broke my arm by throwing me down the stairs, like a puppet, and I had to tell the surgeon, friends of the family, and even my school friends, that I’d slipped and fallen.
At first, my mother tried to protest, to present a more balanced point of view, to remind me of days by the sea, after-school snacks, handmade gifts, the times I’d been ill and caused them a lot of worry, anything she could think of that might serve as a counterblast, but little by little she gave up and withdrew into herself. The little girl gave way to an inadequate mother, and by the end of it there was nothing left on that chair but an old woman, her slice of cake in front of her, barely started, the candle melted on the chocolate, and we both realized that this birthday was actually a funeral. I’d buried our shared story and covered it in quicklime.
I left soon afterwards. She insisted on walking to the door, as if to share another few yards, another few seconds with her son, and when I was out on the sidewalk she said, “See you soon,” in a muted voice, not even believing it herself.
On the train back to Paris, I sat for a long time as if in a daze. Did I really have all those things inside of me, after all these years? Maybe if that clarification had happened a little earlier in our lives, I would have considered it beneficial, but now all I felt was a rising sense of disgust. Reminding my mother just how much she had abandoned us, how hostile that house had been, couldn’t bring me anything now but sadness. It was too late to make amends. It was too late to take revenge. The best thing I could do was make a clean break with my childhood, and that travesty of a family. The decision saved my life. Going back to that battlefield had been a big mistake, and I vowed, on the train, never to make it again.
I heard a slight noise. In other circumstances, it wouldn’t have reached my ears, but memory had sharpened my senses.
It was the sound of metal, coming from the kitchen. I got out of bed, put on a dressing down, opened my door, and walked to the kitchen down the dimly lit corridor. There was no trace of a presence, or any disturbance, but looking closer, I saw that the bread had been carefully cut and a piece was missing. I immediately thought of Léonard. He had gone to bed without eating. Maybe he’d felt the need to have a bite of something, but hadn’t dared open the fridge.
I headed back to the bedrooms. Sure enough, the light was on in Léonard’s room. A fleeting image came to me as I walked down the corridor. How many times, as a child, had I made night-time expeditions to the kitchen to grab a jar of jam, chocolate, cookies, whatever I could find, then run back to my room and eat that pirate feast under my bed by the light of a pocket torch, while planning my escape?
I came level with the door. Léonard was sitting on the bed, cross-legged, with his back to me. He had opened the black box that had intrigued me and laid it out in front of him. It was a chess set. He was completely engrossed. He was taking turns as both players, and checking each one’s time with the help of a stopwatch. He wasn’t aware of my presence and I could watch him for as long as I wanted. It was fascinating. He moved the pieces with striking precision and speed, never taking more than a few seconds to think.
I saw that the piece of bread was next to him. He’d munch some of it at regular intervals. He’d almost finished it. I retreated to the kitchen and put together a snack. A bit of salty and a bit of sweet, of course. A fizzy drink full of unmentionable chemicals, the kind that boys can’t get enough of.
I went back to the bedroom, tray in hand, and stopped just before the door. Léonard still hadn’t noticed my presence and I wondered what I should do. Cough, say something to let him know I was there, walk into the room as naturally as possible? I was still trying to make up my mind when I heard his voice. He hadn’t interrupted his game or changed his position.
“Can you play?”
His voice threw me. It was closer to that of an adult than a boy his age.
“No,” I replied, advancing into the room.
I put the plate down on the bed, while he continued moving the pieces. The board was almost empty and it was all down to the bishop and a knight, assuming I’d identified them correctly. I didn’t think he’d seen the tray because he was concentrating so hard on the game, but, without taking his eyes off the board, he grabbed a piece of cheese and wolfed it down.
“Are you afraid you won’t understand?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Adults say they don’t want to play, but it’s a lie. They’re afraid they won’t understand. I can teach you, if you like.”
I looked at his face for a trace of irony, or arrogance, but couldn’t see anything like that. As I’d already observed when he arrived, he had a way of not showing his feelings, or maybe he just didn’t have any. In fact he seemed to have already forgotten me after that brief sequence of verbal communication. He was again immersed in his world, concentrating on the game he was playing with and against himself.
I left the room and he didn’t seem to notice. Yes, I’d have to do something about that wallpaper one day. It was two o’clock in the morning. The rain was coming down again. I heard it lashing the windowpanes. I got back into bed. In my job, I dealt with lots of kids, but none of them was anything like this one.
8
In the morning, the sky was bright blue. The wind had swept everything clean during the night. I walked around the deserted streets looking for a grocery that was open. I bought some cornflakes and orange juice, then made a detour via the bakery to get some brioches. I had everything I wanted.
By the time I got back home, my sister was already up, and was struggling with the coffee machine. Par for the course so far, but what aroused my curiosity was that she’d put on her raincoat and her big bag stood in the middle of the hall.
“What are you doing?”
“Making myself coffee. Trying, anyhow. I don’t think this thing of yours is working.”
“You have to hit it hard to get it started. You look like you’re ready to leave.”
“I have a long drive ahead of me. I’ll drink my coffee and then wake Léonard at the last moment. He can finish sleeping in the car.”
“You mean you’re taking him with you?”
“I think it’s for the best. I came here in a rush. You know me, I’ve always been impulsive. I was in a bit of a panic.”
“And now you’re not?”
“Yes, I am. But I realized it was a bad idea.”
I put everything down on the table. What I wanted more than anything was to keep calm. “Can you tell me why?”
“Why it’s a bad idea?”
“Yes.”
She turned to me and gave a slight smile, as if to conceal her anxiety, but she was so tense that it turned into a grimace. “Why should you burden yourself with a kid, especially your sister’s? You’re tired enough of her already. There’s a reason you live alone, and I swear I understand you where that’s concerned. I’d give a lot to have only myself to take care of.”
The night hadn’t brought her any rest. She had rings under her eyes, and her mouth drooped a little. I remembered her as a teenager, looking at herself in the mirror for hours and miming kisses. She always said her lips were what the boys liked best about her. The best weapon to shoot them down with. In the meantime, she was the one who’d come down to earth.
“I asked you to give me time to think. Why don’t you let me be the judge of what I want or don’t want to do? Please sit down.”
The air she’d kept in her lungs since I’d entered the room escaped in one go. She agreed to take a seat.
“You show up unexpectedly at my door. You give me a problem to solve and then solve it for me. You haven’t changed since you were a kid, you’re still like a tornado.”
“Don’t tell me you were ready to agree.”
“And now you’re doing my thinking for me. Better and better.”
“It’s just that . . . I need time. I was stupid to come here, and now I have to drive five hours back in the opposite direction. And when I get to Paris, I’ll have to start looking again.”
“And why would you find someone now, when you have even less time?”
“I’ll manage.”
“The way you manage with jobs? Or with men?”
“You bastard.”
I sustained her gaze. I knew perfectly well what she was thinking at that moment. That I was really terrible. I shook the coffee machine and it immediately started working again. I filled two cups.
“You came into my territory. You’re asking me to do something for you, so accept responsibility, for God’s sake.”
“What did you mean when you called me a tornado?”
“Don’t you remember? It was your technique. You fooled everyone like that. As soon as you got home, you’d throw our parents a bone, an amusing anecdote or a good grade, which was impossible to check. And by the time they realized, you were gone again.”
All at once, her face lit up. For a few seconds she was fifteen again. She made that pout that meant that she always got by, and then she returned to her body in the present.
“The first thing you noticed was that he didn’t say hello. You won’t be able to stand the fact that he never looks you in the eyes.”
“He also patronizes me, you can add that too.”
“Did he patronize you?”
“Last night, he told me I was afraid of playing chess, but that he could teach me.”
“He spoke to you last night?”
“Yes.”
“He doesn’t usually speak to people so soon.”
“That’s very flattering. But tell him not to force himself. I like silence.”
“Are you telling me you’re going to keep him?”
“Possi
bly. I don’t give a damn if he won’t look me in the eyes or thinks I’m a fool. I have no intention of becoming friends with him. As long as he listens to me.”
“If you decide on something, he’ll do it, I told you. He doesn’t like conflict.”
“I’ll take him to the field. After all, he’s the same age as my boys.”
“No, that one you can forget.”
“Why?”
“He doesn’t like sports.”
“We’ll see.”
“When he doesn’t like something, he doesn’t usually change his mind. But you can leave him in his room. He never gets bored.”
“Does he play chess all day?”
“He plays, and then he sleeps. Or else he makes notes in his exercise notebooks. He has lots of exercise books where he writes down possible moves.”
“He’s unusual, isn’t he?”
“No more than kids who play video games.”
“Ten days, not a day more. If you don’t keep to the contract, I’ll stick him on a train for Paris and you can figure something out when he gets there.”
She drank her coffee in quick little gulps. She should have been a bit more relaxed by now, but she just couldn’t manage it. She had to plan her day, the route she was going to take, everything that was at stake in her training course, and beyond that the job interviews, all the obstacles she had to get through and the others that were sure to arise. There were two buttons missing on her raincoat. The threads were still hanging. I was sure she hadn’t told me everything about the situation, but at that moment I really didn’t want to know anything more.
“If that’s how it is, I’ll wake him and talk to him.”
We sat there in the kitchen, facing each other. I sensed that this moment would have consequences.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
I didn’t reply. I had no desire to share my thoughts with her. I wondered what our childhood would have been like if we’d lived through even one situation like this, where the distance between people was reduced out of necessity.
