The next morning I woke up late, feeling bruised everywhere. I had to hide
my pain when descending those damn stairs, and invented an excuse to eat
standing. I was sure the pain would kill me. But even through those efforts,
I knew my face looked dispatched. And I was for once sorry not to have some
make up, that might have helped a bit. I stood in shadows, but still, she
saw my mucked face, and asked me:
"What happened darling?"
"Oh, nothing much, I just fell out of bed." I had to find an idea. It didn't
seem to satisfy her, because she looked doubtfully in Baptist's direction.
He was looking at his plate, not uttering a word. She was suspicious, but
couldn't possibly say anything. She walked away, I smiled difficultly, at
him.
"Thanks." He understood, and smiled weakly. He wasn't sure this was the
right thing to do. But there was no way I could have everybody knowing my
misadventure. It would surely be a very hard day, but it would be all right
if nothing was said.
After breakfast, I washed, took a long deep shower, hoping to clear of all
the marks I now had. But it doesn't work like that. Then I lay on my bed, just waiting for sleep to catch me, at least I wouldn't feel the ache
filling my body, or the agony that was filling my spirit. But nothing came
to save me. Not even Baptist whom I hoped would come to my rescue. Nothing
came, and I laid there with all sorts of thoughts and questions around me.
When lunch came, I thought it would be a lot better to have myself excused
and just to stay there. But he came, not letting myself take the easy way
out. He pulled me up, and nearly dragged me (as one would drag a rag doll),
to the table.
In the afternoon, ms went to visit a friend, and as mr was at work, she told
us we could do anything in her house, as long as it still stood tonight. So
I wandered what I should do that didn't require me to sit or lie down. And
as I was in the kitchen, a brilliant idea struck me. We should bake. Do
tonight's diner. Baptist though it was a bad suggestion, because he wasn't
to keen on cooking. But I suppose he didn't have any better ideas, so we started
looking for a book.
Once we had found it, the hard thing was to find a recipe which seemed tasty
to us, and of which we could find all the ingredients in the large and
impressive cupboards that sat heavily on the kitchen's wall, waiting with a
devilish grin, to be opened.
At the end, him being fed up to have to look around for the ingredients, and
me not wanting to ruin the idea, we opted for something very tasty, very
French, very easy; 'des crêpes'. Now that was easily done. We prepared the
dough, which was then to be left to repose. In the mean while, we waited,
just hanging around in the kitchen. The atmosphere wasn't very joyful. Was
it only my opinion, or the truth? I wonder.
Anyway, after an hour and a half idling around, we decided it was time for
action. We decided to cook the 'crêpes'. Now, which size were we supposed to
do them in? We had an argument because he wanted huge ones, and I found
small ones cutter. So we did some big, and some tiny. As we made them, it was
impossible for us to resist the temptation of eating at least one.
"I want to have a taste of our great cooking. Every grand chief always takes
a spoonful every now and then in his dishes."
"Alright. I guess so. And anyway they tempt me too."
"But what are we to put on them? We are not going to simply eat them, with
out anything on. Do you think they'd have some sugar or some jam?"
"Yeh, they must have." We looked around, but there was none.
"It can't be. There has to be some. When I searched for the ingredients, I
saw some, but can't get my hand on it now." In the room, there was a door
leading to the cellar. Our eyes both converged to it.
"Well, maybe we should see." The room was totally dark. We couldn't put a
foot in front of the other without lightly stroking the others foot. We were
continually saying "o pardon me", "I didn't see you"...etc. It was becoming
really ridiculous. I let out a little giggle, and that settled us for long
party of laughing. It was great to laugh out loud. The air, and darkness
were then smoothed to a perfect intimacy .When we stopped, I didn't need to
see to know that we both had a smile on our lips, and a glint in our eyes.
My hands trembled, and I moved them upwards, at the same time as him. Our
fingers touched delicately. A shiver went up my spine. My mouth became dry,
I turned my tongue around, but it was hard to. Our hands met, and we didn't
move them. I was exited. My heart thumped really hard, even more then on the
day I arrived at the house. My stomach turned topsy turvy. What was
happening? I felt his hands quiver too. He felt the same. Did he feel the
same?
Suddenly, we heard some movement coming from upstairs, and with an only
gesture, we placed our arms along side our body in a guilty fashion. We
climbed the stairs, and when arrived in the kitchen, realised in a sidelong
glance, that we had both blushed. And that made our cheeks even worse.
It had been ms Joystriple coming back.
"Hi children. So what have you done? Oh, some cooking, how nice. Now what is
it? A French speciality? It smells good. So, when will you be ready?"
"Any minute now ms."
"Oh great. So I'll set the table." She quitted the room with a smile,
humming to herself. Once we were again alone, we peek at each other; we
looked more like red hot chilly pepper than anything else now. We finished
baking the 'crêpes'. Then took them to the table. And eat them without
great effusions.
After diner, as we were about to have another television night, the phone
rang. Of course this was supposed to be normal in any other family, but
here, since we had been here we had not heard it but once when her friend
asked her to come around for tea. So when this time it started playing that
awful little tune, which is different, but still similar, for every phone,
we jumped and became attentive.
It was for us. I sprang from my seat, but got to the phone just a few seconds after he had reached it.
"Who is it?" I muttered, awaiting a step away. "It's mr Trummer. Shush, I can't hear a damn thing." I saw him nod, and agree with our teacher. "Alright. Ok, I'll tell her. Thank you. See you tomorrow." He placed the phone back on the receiver. "He was phoning to inform us that they have found ms Baulland,
and that tomorrow they will pick us up at the usual time. We'll have to have
our bags ready, because after having visited another place, we will be taking
the route to Rosselare .And there take back the boat to Cherbourg." "Tomorrow? Whoa. The time passed so quickly! I was dreading that it would last forever, but how short it has been!" "Well, you're the one who should be happy; you didn't even want to come!" "Yes I suppose, but sometimes things are not how they appear to be." This was the end, our trip was ending. "Where was she then?" "Mr Trummer quickly explained that she had been to a friend's house, far from the town, that he had forgotten it was her day off." "Why didn't she answer the phone?" "She was low on battery I suppose. That often happens to her. Remember when we were visiting that museum; she couldn't phone because of that." We passed a calm evening, and I slept through the night, without another walk anywhere. At least I think so, because I had in front of my door, my suitcase, and I don't believe I moved it. In the morning, I packed my things, and came down to breakfast in this house for the last time. I remember looking longingly outside, where the birds twittered in the tall, skinny trees nearby. The grass making little wavelets dancing with the wind like a sea of green. The leaves where swirling and turning in the December wind. I lady holing an umbrella, working against the swift cold air to stay upturned, was going down the street in a hurried walk. The grey clouds where moving rapidly across the sky, like white sails on a dark and dangerous ocean. My mind swam out of this long stare, and came back to the inside's action. The door bell rung and we knew it was for us. We said good bye, and thank you very much for having us, and they replied, oh no, it was a pleasure. Once the proper adieus made, we jumped into the bus, and placed our bags in the boot. My friends were there already, and had kept a spot for me near them. We babbled on and on, until we arrived to the national Gallery; which we visited. After that, we climbed in the bus who took us to Rosselare in the afternoon. We were Wednesday the 17th. We arrived some hours later, and went into the ferry. We were four in a room, Olivia, Arietta, and I, were with Marine. Everything seemed great. But as we left the port, and stood on the deck, watching the sun hide behind massive sheep, floating heavily in the grey sky, I thought it would not continue. We were having a party that night, in a room on the top level. There were music, cakes, sweets, and of course, dancing. I disliked nearly all of those, so after having lingered about because my friends wouldn't let me go, once they were gone, dancing their heads of, I departed the noisy party for the calmness of the deck. I had the wind in my face, my hair swirling behind my face, the sweet salty air of the sea filling my nose. I walked slowly around, and finally stretched myself across a bench. Was it the air, the rolling of the boat, the sense of emptiness that felt my head, I don't know. But I fell asleep. When I woke up, it was dark, I was wet, it was raining, and the waves were crashing on the deck. We were in the middle of a storm. I tried to get on my feet, but the floor was too slippery, and the swaying of the boat sure didn't help. The water was cold, I couldn't feel my hands anymore, and my nose felt as good as dead. My glasses had been thrown out of my reach, so I could not see much more than the ray of light coming from the open door of the party's room. Perhaps they were looking for me, but they surely wouldn't be going outside, and my only chance was that my numb fingers would hold long enough for me to be able to arrive to the door. I got out of my seat, and launched to the wall, my hands grabbed a rope hanging there, and I felt safe. I advanced carefully, one step at a time, stopping whenever I sensed a wave coming. Suddenly, a rush of water collapsed on the metal structure meekly floating on the sea's troubled surface. My hand slipped, I fell, slide to the barrier, and got stuck there. The rain poured even harder. I was scared, cold, out of my mind, which would excuse the stupidity of what follows. I tried to get on my feet, but my shoes being completely drenched. I slipped, knocked my back on the banister, and toppled over it. I was now only holding by my frozen hands who since the last minutes, I had no confidence upon. My mind raced to the worse, I was scared to death, and started yelling on the top of my voice, which wasn't very much because of the storm's noise.