XXI. The House with the Tree.
Figeac : Autumn 1904
They were ten years old, maybe eleven. Both were running on the dirt road. They looked like two inverted mirrors. One was tall for his age. He would have had dark blonde hair had it been clean. The other was thinner, frail, with a swirl tangled of black hair. The dawn's fragile light was glowing behind the hillsides, freezing the landscape in a sick ghostly gleam.
As the autumn sun rose behind the horizon line, their strength left them. They were walking slowly, exhausted. Leaving the path, they went through the sparse grass, damp with morning dew. After the first farm, the blond plopped down on an embankment.
"It's no longer following us. We can take a break.
"We're almost there," replied the other. What's the point of stopping now? "
The Manticore had stopped at the sign marking their entry into the town of Figeac. It was still dark, but the dark mass pursuing them roared with rage as it saw them passing the wood sign. They continued to run for a long time, however, in the mist, on the sloping path.
They had sneaked on a freight train going from Lyon to Aurillac. In Aurillac, they waited for the train to Figeac, but it never came. Instead, monsters found them. Figeac was no more than a day's walk away. All they had to do was the usual running, crawling, hiding. In the hilly landscape, they were not in the open. The lure of the end's trip was too strong. It was a bad calculation. They had to spend two days in the middle of nature, avoiding pitfalls. The blond was covered in mud. They had discovered that monsters took longer to find them this way.
Figeac was a small town of less than six thousand inhabitants. The old medieval city had been preserved, with its winding streets stone houses and pretty tiled roofs. Entering the village, they walked along the Célé, a stream that flowed into the Lot, then the Garonne. Near the river, a sort of column stood up, like a strange medieval obelisk.
The dark-haired child stopped for a moment in front of it. The other gave him an anxious look. At last, they reached Figeac, strolled through its streets as the sun was slowly showing itself. The medieval old town surrounded them with its shadowy walls. They shivered in the cool morning air.
"And now? Where does she live? asked the blond.
- I do not know… "
After two more alleys, they reached a square spread out on the Célé river's bank, in front of the church. A plaque indicated Place de la Raison. The blond pulled his comrade by the sleeve:
"Michel, come and see ...
- It's funny, it looks like the Concorde thing. The other replied.
Another obelisk, new this time, of cemented granite was erected in the square. At its base, another engraved plate:
"In memory of Jean François Champollion who was the first to penetrate the mysteries of the writing and the monuments of ancient Egypt, and who was taken from science by a premature death on March 4, 1832. He was born in Figeac on 23 December 1790. "
« Are you looking for someone? "
They turned around with a start. A priest in a cassock was standing on the church's steps.
"Where do they live now?" The boy made a vague gesture in the direction of the plate. "The Champollions. "
The priest observed them for a while with his piercing eyes. Then he waved his hand in the direction of the Celé.
"Cross, go up south, to the station, pass in front of Carmel. Take a right on the Cingle hill. She lives there. There is a bird statue at the entrance to the estate, you can't miss it. "
They nodded and ran off. Crossed the river, then climbed the hillsides. Their race had left them breathless, they took a break, sat down on the slope, looked at the tiled roofs of Figeac below.
"They are really gone" commented the blond.
He breathed better, stretched out on the grass.
"Hey, this is no time to sleep!
- You've never met her, have you?
- Damn Jean, I've already told you a thousand times.
- What if she kicks us out?
- We can always and beg at the church.
- No way ! The priest scares the shit out of me. "
He pouted, as the other urged him to get up. Finally they set off again, scaled a hedge to cut across the fields. The wind was playing in the green pastures' grass. Wild ducks flew away at their approach. The sun was fully up now and its yellow orb warmed their faces as they walked east.
They found the path that led to an old iron gate. To its right, wild Ivy covered an exotic bird carved in a stone. Jean gave the other a leg up to get over the gate. They reached a large abandoned courtyard, with growing weeds everywhere. Chickens cackled in front of the door.
The building was an old country house, one story high, with a central dwelling, peeling whitewashed stone walls, and a tiled roof. A large oak tree grew behind the house, stuck to its southern slope, covering it with its shadow.
The massive wooden door was closed. They hesitated for a long moment. Then the smaller one knocked. They waited in silence, but no one answered. He knocked and waited once again. The blonde started to fidget nervously, glancing around. The other remained quiet, hypnotized by the feverish beating of his heart.
The door slammed loudly, and a woman came out, pointing at them an old gun of 1870. She could have been fifty years old. Rather strong, she wore an apron and hid chestnut curls under a white headdress. Seeing them she relaxed a little:
"Go elsewhere, kids. It's private property here.
- I'm looking for Zoraide Champollion, asked the child.
- Get out, I said.
- I know she lives here.
- I must tell it in what language? Get out! "
The kid raised his chin with insolence. His dark eyes shone defiantly under his curls.
"I'm not moving from here, he shouted at her, what are you going to do? Shoot us? "
Furious, the woman opened her mouth to reply, but a female voice called out from within. "Françoise!" She turned inward and exchanged a few inaudible words. The two kids looked at each other. Françoise came out again and made them a sign. They then entered a large empty room. The ground was made of stone, dead leaves strewn over it. The tree was embedded in the wall that it pierced and crossed. A low branch slipped inside.
At the end of the room, under the branches, an old lady was seated in a light wood armchair. Her white hair, beautiful and thick, gathered in a loose bun framed very dark eyes, gleaming in the half-light. She was simply dressed in an old-fashioned black dress.
"Come closer. She said.
The two stepped forward. Françoise stayed behind. They stopped halfway, but she motioned to the smaller one who approached her. Zoraide smiled at him. She used to be a beautiful woman, it still showed, under the wrinkles and the white hair.
"You are Marie's son, aren't you? Michel, is that it? " She said with an old accent, rolling her rs.
He nodded, impressed.
"How is your mother ? It's been a long time since she came. Are you still in Grenoble?
- In Paris, he said.
- And what are you doing here then? "
The kid lowered his head.
"We had nowhere to go. They're watching my house. "
Zoraide turned to the other boy.
" And you are…
- Jean, he exclaimed. D'Aubigné, he added. "
She frowned. Her eyes made inspected him for a while. Jean stirred uncomfortably.
"A demigod," she whispered. Can't get any more noticeable than that. "
She turned to the first one again.
"They're after you, aren't they?" He nodded. "Do you know who they are?"
The brunette hesitated for a moment. "Wizards?" He tried, wringing a smile from Zoraide.
"That's a good guess actually.
- My mother says they're murderers.
- It depends for whom," she sighed. But that doesn't surprise me oming from her. Look at me !" She ordered.
Grabbing his chin with her right hand, she examined him.
"Pigs… what wouldn't they do for a few bits of magic." She released him.
"Don't worry, the house is guarded. They won't take the risk of coming here. They wisely prefer to let me die in peace. "
She shook her head to chase a thought away.
" You are hungry ?
- Oh yes ! Jean cried out a little too quickly.
He bit his lip, but the old lady smiled.
"Do you hear that Françoise? We have enough to feed two growing young men, I believe.
- Yes Madam. "
She was looking at them, still a little surprised, but softened.
"And give them a bath too. They look like two little wildlings." "
Françoise found clothes for them in their size and mended the ones they wore the day they arrived. They had spent those days sleeping in one of the upstairs bedrooms. Neither had had a real, safe night's sleep in months.
"Monsters, are they real? I mean, we aren't nuts, right? " Jean had asked Zoraide, when they had seen her again for dinner.
"Of course they're real, she told him.
- What do they want?
- To eat you," she had told him, most seriously.
Jean smiled. "I must have bad taste. They would get a hell of a stomach ache.
- It takes all sorts to make a world my boy.
- Who are the weird throwing light people then? Is it a sect? Anyway, they are friends with the Gypsies, we ended up having to systematically avoid their trailers.
- You did well, it's more careful. "
Michel said nothing, he was watching the door, as if he expected to see it explode at any moment. During this time, Jean was making conversation:
"Are you married ?
- I'm a widow.
- But why do you still have your maiden name then?
- Not in civil status, she smiles. I'm just known under that name.
- And so, you are Michel's aunt?
- His great aunt.
- And why doesn't he know you?
- Because I don't travel, and his father never wanted him to leave Grenoble.
- And you know how to hunt monsters?
- It's not my specialty. Let's say I'm managing it on my own.
- And where can I learn this?
- There is a place… she said slowly. Actually, I think you should go. Yes, that's it, it's probably the right thing to do.
- Going there ? How? It is far ?
- Yes. But don't worry, I'll find a way to get you there in one piece.
- And Michel, what are you going to do with him? "
The other jumped and snapped out of his thoughts.
"Don't worry, she said calmly. He is of my blood.
- It's okay, you look legit! Jean conceded to him. "
She raised her eyes to the sky.
"That is no proper way to express yourself, Monsieur D'Aubigné. "
Two days later, a man, who had arrived during the night, took Jean with him. Michel stared at him suspiciously and angry. Zoraide laughs softly at his distrustful look.
"Don't worry, she told him. Monsieur de Rohan is an old friend. "
The man in question had an ordinary physique, colorless hair and eyes, and was wearing a long traveling coat.
"I'll see you around, I hope," she told him. "
The man looked at her for a very long time, apparently moved.
"I will come back" he promised her.
He then took her hand and kissed it. As he walked past Michel, he gently ruffled his hair. The other freed himself, giving him a furious look. Jean then threw himself in his arms, and left after the man. The old woman and her nephew stayed at the door, watching them go.
"I know him, I'm sure. " He said to Zoraide, once the man left with Jean.
An amused spark flashed in the old woman's eyes.
"You've seen him somewhere ? "
He rummaged through his memories, then lowered his head, annoyed. He couldn't remember.
"He will keep him safe." She promised him.
"How can you be sure?
- I know him well.
- I don't trust him," he replied. Ferdinand de Rohan, it sounds like a false name. "
Zoraide smiled, looking satisfied: "You are a clever one. That's good. "
Michel stormed out of the room.
"Don't leave the garden's perimeter, "Zoraide shouted at him.
"Don't care," he grumbled to himself. "I can always walk away, I need no one. "
But the mere idea of leaving this place to go back being on his own made his stomach ache. Sleeping in the street was already difficult when there were two of them, but being alone once again was unbearable for him. He strolled nervously around the yard, then walked around the house and sat down under the tree. A hen was pecking two meters away. It rubed itself against him, trying to catch some seeds. He kicked it. Not impressed, he hen walked away a little, fixing a black scornful eye on him.
After a while he got tired of staring battles with chickens and returned to the house. He went upstairs, pushed open a door and entered a room with large bookcases going up to the ceiling. Smiling, he ran his hands over the covers. He stopped in front of some scrolls with strange characters, took one, unrolled it, turned it around.
"Do you like books? "
He jumped up and hurriedly put the scroll down, intimidated. Zoraide watched him with an amused smile.
"What are you looking at ?
- What language is this?
- Mandarin. A Chinese language, " she clarified.
"Can you read it?" he wondered.
- Just a little bit. It was my father's library. His own father was a bookseller, you know? And my uncle collected rare books. "
The child looked around with envious eyes.
"You can help yourself if you want. Those in French are over there. "
She burst out laughing seeing his incredulous look.
"Come, I'll show you something. "
She led him to the back door. They entered a study. The old floor creaked under their feet. The shutters were closed, but branches pierced some of them. The sun shone through the slits.
"The origin of all your problems. "
She winked at him then clapped her hands and the shutters opened, letting the sun in. He narrowed his eyes, dazzled. Once he got used to the light, he looked around the room. All kinds of drawings hung from the wall : hieroglyphics, paintings' reproductions... Fascinated he came closer to a large map hanging behind the desk.
"Egypt," Zoraide commented. "It used to obsess my father.
- Why ?
- He couldn't stand its silence. "
She watched him walk around the room, stroking the symbols he was seeing for the very first time. He stopped in front of the representations of animal-men. "Those are gods. " She explained, "This is a royal cartridge, " the name of a sovereign. "This, " as he grabbed a token from a wooden stand," is a Senet game. "
"Did you grow up here? In this house ?
- No, we lived in Paris, or with my cousins and my uncle, in the Vif. But part of my family has been living here in Figeac since my grandfather moved there.
- The bookseller ?
- He was a peddler in the Dauphiné. His own father was from Savoy and couldn't even write his own name. My aunt Pétronille and her sister took over the bookstore after his death. I was able to take shelter there when times were difficult. Of course, they are all dead now. The town house was abandoned. "
The child was still looking around, eyes wide open. Without knowing exactly why, his heart was racing. The midday sun warmed the room, awakening something akin to regret for a hot country he'd never known, as if another man's memories were gently filling his own being. All of a sudden, he was no longer there, he had left his gray-skied country and joined this new world of maps and drawings, all vibrating with an intoxicating aura. He blinked, and the sensation was gone, as quickly as it had come.
"All that is yours too," Zoraide told him.
She had the somewhat detached and dreamy smile of someone who has just found a long lost object.
A few days later, they were sitting as usual in the study, under the branches which, without the discomfort of the shutters, unfolded freely in the room.
"Show see your translation. This is not correct, look again. What is this case?
- Ablative, answered the kid.
- And what is its function?
- It is not used as an additional place, he thought out loud.
- Therefore ?
- It's an absolute ablative. Adverbial group…
- Correct it : "Castellisque compluribus eorum expugnatis…"
- And since several of their fortresses had been taken.
- You see, Latin is not difficult, it is a regular language. Everything is logical.
– Zoraide ?
- Tell me ?
- What are the monuments at the entrance to the city? The columns ?
- They're needles. There is that of Cingle to the south, and that of Lissac to the west. The other two are hidden. Formerly the pilgrims got lost in the forests around Figeac, so the abbot told them to "plant needles". There is a large obelisk too, but the needles are much more interesting.
- It's in the church square. The obelisk. "
He insisted on the word to remember it.
"The Rationality square," Zoraide corrected. "Five people were guillotined there during the Revolution.
- And where is the abbey? Is it the Carmel?
- No, it doesn't exist anymore. The Vikings plundered it in 861, after having massacred the sixty monks. Our city has a long history. In the Middle Ages, it was under the direct authority of Philippe le Bel, and had the privilege of minting money. Catholics were massacred there by Protestants during the wars of religion. They had come from Capdenac, the Calvinists inside had opened the doors to them. After the Hundred Days, Marshal Ney also came to hide here, a little before his arrest. "
She paused for a moment, but the child was still looking at her with wide, fascinated eyes. So she continued:
"The monastery has an interesting history too. They say a doves' flight indicated to Pepin the Short the place where he should build it. He would then have declared "fiat là", "let it be there". The word would have given Figeac. Of course, this is a legend, there is no etymological truth in all of this. In truth, Celts lived here long before the Romans and their Latin. The "ac" would come from the Roman "acum", which designated the Gallic localities, (from the gallo "ako"), which moreover gave the terminations in ac in our region. Do you speak Occitan? "
The kid nodded negatively.
" What a pity ! It is the language of the troubadours. Okay, enough Latin. Shall we do some Greek? "
Since he had nothing to do, alone in this big house, Zoraide had taken over his education. She was focusing on what she thought was essential. Dictations followed one another, Latin and Greek had become his main subjects, and he had to learn precisily all the important historical dates. He had translations to do everyday, and had to learn by heart La Fontaine's fables to work on his memory. When he wasn't working, she let him borrow the books he wanted. The library was far bigger than that of the schools he had been to, or the anarchist books' collection of the Folies de la Butte's owner.
It was a strange life, a little on hold. Zoraide forbade him to leave the garden's limits, and he had nowhere to go anyway. His only outings were on the days when he accompanied Françoise to the Figeac market.
"I wonder what they teach you at school", she had grumbled, when he admitted to her that he had never studied Greek. Except of course this one time, when the weird supervisor of the boarding school they were with Jean had given him a text to translate. Just before it had been a poem in Latin with a vocabulary he didn't know. "How can I translate it, if I don't know the words" - What is your intuition telling you? - Nothing at all ! " He had finally given up. Jean was much better than him. "I swear to you, I don't know how I did it but I knew what it meant." When had told Zoraide about it, she wasn't surprised. " Ancient Greek wil always be easy for Jean, but he'll probably struggle with the rest. You on the other hand, with a bit of work, you can be good at everything. "
She looked at the little he had translated from Plato and gave him a broad smile:
"You are good, you should do classical letters. Pass the competitive examinations for Higher normal schools, go to the Sorbonne ...
- For that I would have to get a scholarship.
- You know, studies are just a set of codes that you have to master. The tests are pretty standardized, and then you're not stupid either. "
He blushed. It was the first time that'd get complimented instead of yelled at. Primary school until then had been rather an accumulation of bullying and humiliations.
"You see, she said gently, when I was your age, I wanted to become a great scientist, a researcher. But the world just doesn't let little girls decide what they want to do.
"But it's not…" He searched for the word. " .. Fair ! You are the smartest person I have ever met.
- It's how it is, she whispered to him. "
They let silence settle in, as he pondered the tense of a verb.
"Zoraide. Can I ask you another question?
- Never ask for permission before asking a question. What's the matter ?
- Why is there a tree growing inside your house?
- Oh, this? "
She turned towards the branches that entered the cabinet.
"The house was built against it, and it kept on growing. I wasn't going to cut it. After all, it, he was there before. And then, it's a lucky sign. "
The child opened wide eyes, not really understanding. Zoraide smiled and stroked his cheek.
"You see, trees don't always grow straight, they grow in the way that makes them feel the best. Maybe it's up to us to adapt our houses to let them grow. "
Three months went on in this way, in history lessons and discussions. When he was idle, he would go and help Françoise in the kitchen. On a joke from her aunt, she began to speak to her only in occitan, which gave rise to many misunderstandings. Finally one evening, Zoraide came to find him in his room, sat down at the foot of his bed.
"Your mother has worked things out. You can return to Paris, no one will come after you.
- Could I come back? He asked immediately.
- Not sure it will be easy. But we'll work it out, she promised. "
She put a curl of black hair behind his ear.
"You'll stay here for two more months. Time for Marie to finish getting her things in order. She will get your custody, your father will no longer be able to see you. In the meantime, I'll make you catch up on your school year. Even get a bit ahead, "she added with her familiar wink.
Some kind of heavy weight left his stomach.
" I'm not going to see him again? My father ?
- I can always hex him if he tries to. Which spell do you prefer? "
Michel's smile widened. He had long understood that Zoraide was a kind of witch. She kissed him on the forehead. The day of departure arrived faster than he had expected. Françoise was to take him to the station, then take the train with him to Lyon. From there he would travel alone to the capital. Zoraide offered him a few books as a farewell:
"History of Herodotus, the Fables of La Fontaine, you can finish learning them, A bit of Descartes, a bit of Pascal, and the complete tragedies of Racine. Oh, and this. I think you should have it. "
He picked up the book, which was soberly titled: Egyptian Grammar.
"It's an original edition. It will be for later I think. It is always useful to have a grammar at hand, the old magicians are rather stingy with their knowledge.
- Thank you, he just said, his throat a little tight.
- Come on, she said, fare well. And study harder at school, I think your poor mother has been worried about you for too long. "
She watched him as they took the path down to Celé. It was a spring day. At the end of the yard, the apple trees were in bloom, and the wild ducks were migrating north again.
Figeac: spring 1914
"Zoraide. I'm going. My train is leaving soon.
- Come and kiss me then. "
He obediently did so.
"I took some new books from you," he added, "including the Orphic hymns. I'll give them back to you next time.
- They must not be really happy to know you're hanging around in this house, those up there.
- I'm not telling them everything. "
Leaning over her he hugged her gently. Then released her. As he picked up his things, a bag escaped him. He bent down to pick it up.
"Nervous? She asked him.
- Horribly, he said.
- You had your baccalaureate, this will be a party of fun next to it.
- Yes, well at the baccalaureate, they are not supposed to kill you if you fail the tests.
- What says your master?
- That I'm ready.
- See then? You'll make a good elementalist.
- What do you know about that?
- Our tree. It has accelerated its growth since you have been here. Look at the wall.
He turned and looked at the oak in silence. He had to go though. Zoraide gave him one last recommendation:
"Listen Michel, I know you well. Remember this is just a test. It would be wise to get the worst grades you can, just enough to keep you from falling behind. "
She looked up at him mockingly. "Nobody likes smartasses."
He slowly nodded.
"I'll come see you again," he promised her again. "Before my military service.
- The joys of the army," she scoffed. "The republican dream doesn't give you only rights, and free school. It comes with its load of duties as well. I left some works upstairs. I trust you to take a look.
- As soon as I have a moment.
- Go now, we'll check the needles when you get back. And enjoy Cairo, you won't be able to visit it often. "
He sighed involuntarily.
"With my specialty, no.
- Any regrets?
- I'd prefer to do something else. Elemental magic isn't very… complex. In the form I mean. All is mostly based on your instincts.
- Even if the elementalist magicians barely use hieroglyphics, nothing prevents you from doing the opposite.
- Some forms of magic are still more appropriate. "
Zoraide motioned him to come closer.
"Magic, she whispered to him, is like dreams: they should not be compared. "