couldn’t and she’d come back the next day to look some more. And here it was; it had surfaced, after all these years. She wiped it on her skirt.
‘It’s funny that the soldiers didn’t find it …’
‘What soldiers?’
‘You know, my darling, the soldiers, the ones who were here during the war, when your papa was wounded.’
‘Mama, what’s this insect called?’
‘It’s an ant.’
The little boy stretched out on the ground, his cheek against the earth, watching the insect. Agnès tried to put the ring on, but it didn’t fit any more; she’d gained weight since she’d been feeding her daughter. She put down her sewing. She leaned on one elbow. She closed her eyes. Her dishevelled hair was tickling her neck. She was too tired to push it back. Lazy, fleeting thoughts ran through her mind.
It’s hot … I wish we were at the seaside. How annoying that I’ve made my blouse too tight; I’ll have to add an extra panel. ‘Guy, you’re getting your clothes all green, dragging yourself along the ground like that.’ I wonder if Pierre will come and find us? Ah, finally, some air. She sighed, as a puff of wind, a light breeze swept through the pine trees. Maybe there’ll be a storm?I want to eat an ice cream, stretched out in the sand, or floating in the sea. ‘Guy, don’t roll around like that,’ she said out loud. ‘You’ll make yourself even hotter.’
The afternoon passed slowly, with nothing happening. She fed the baby. Guy, who wanted to climb a tree, fell and cut his knee. At three o’clock Madame Florent left; she wanted to stop by the bakery to order some cakes for dinner the next day.
As soon as she had gone Madame Hardelot, now calm (no one could usurp her place in the good graces of little Guy), remembered that she hadn’t supervised the ironing of the delicate linen. She hauled herself up, put on her hat over her grey hair and sighed. ‘Well, I’m going back, my dear. Don’t you rush. It’s really hot along the road!’
‘We’ll be back by six,’ said Agnès, knowing that if she got home a few minutes late, she would find Madame Hardelot leaning out of the window, watching the road and exclaiming, ‘Finally! I thought you’d died.’
Once her mother-in-law had gone, Agnès tried to pick up her sewing again; it fell from her warm fingers. At four o’clock she took from her bag some jam sandwiches, fruit and biscuits, and poured some cool water into Guy’s silver cup. ‘Come and eat something, Guy.’
Guy ate his jam sandwich and she watched the wispy clouds around the sun as it began its descent.
‘It’s impossibly hot, there’s bound to be a storm. No doubt the weather will take a turn for the worse when we’re at the seaside, it always does. It’s funny having found that ring. It’s been ten years since I lostit. Only ten years … It seems longer. So much has happened …’
Absent-mindedly she traced some patterns in the earth with her embroidery needle. ‘If, back then, the maid hadn’t gossiped … If the Hardelot-Arques ladies hadn’t seen anything … If Saint-Elme hadn’t found out that “the Hardelot boy and Mademoiselle Florent were meeting secretly in the Coudre Woods”, then I’d be married to someone else now. Happily? Perhaps. How little it takes to turn the course of your life in a different direction.’
She had a sudden thought: ‘What is it that binds Pierre and me together so strongly? Why is it that as soon as we got married, we stopped living, suffering, being happy, thinking as individuals? Why have we become so totally one entity? There are couples who never manage it. It’s a great mystery and a great blessing.’
‘Guy, come here, what are you doing?’ she called out. ‘Stop throwing those pine cones around; you’re going to hurt yourself or your little sister.’
‘Mama, can I have your ring?’
‘No. What do you want it for?’
‘I want to play with it.’
‘It’s not a toy.’
Once again her thoughts
‘It’s funny that the soldiers didn’t find it …’
‘What soldiers?’
‘You know, my darling, the soldiers, the ones who were here during the war, when your papa was wounded.’
‘Mama, what’s this insect called?’
‘It’s an ant.’
The little boy stretched out on the ground, his cheek against the earth, watching the insect. Agnès tried to put the ring on, but it didn’t fit any more; she’d gained weight since she’d been feeding her daughter. She put down her sewing. She leaned on one elbow. She closed her eyes. Her dishevelled hair was tickling her neck. She was too tired to push it back. Lazy, fleeting thoughts ran through her mind.
It’s hot … I wish we were at the seaside. How annoying that I’ve made my blouse too tight; I’ll have to add an extra panel. ‘Guy, you’re getting your clothes all green, dragging yourself along the ground like that.’ I wonder if Pierre will come and find us? Ah, finally, some air. She sighed, as a puff of wind, a light breeze swept through the pine trees. Maybe there’ll be a storm?I want to eat an ice cream, stretched out in the sand, or floating in the sea. ‘Guy, don’t roll around like that,’ she said out loud. ‘You’ll make yourself even hotter.’
The afternoon passed slowly, with nothing happening. She fed the baby. Guy, who wanted to climb a tree, fell and cut his knee. At three o’clock Madame Florent left; she wanted to stop by the bakery to order some cakes for dinner the next day.
As soon as she had gone Madame Hardelot, now calm (no one could usurp her place in the good graces of little Guy), remembered that she hadn’t supervised the ironing of the delicate linen. She hauled herself up, put on her hat over her grey hair and sighed. ‘Well, I’m going back, my dear. Don’t you rush. It’s really hot along the road!’
‘We’ll be back by six,’ said Agnès, knowing that if she got home a few minutes late, she would find Madame Hardelot leaning out of the window, watching the road and exclaiming, ‘Finally! I thought you’d died.’
Once her mother-in-law had gone, Agnès tried to pick up her sewing again; it fell from her warm fingers. At four o’clock she took from her bag some jam sandwiches, fruit and biscuits, and poured some cool water into Guy’s silver cup. ‘Come and eat something, Guy.’
Guy ate his jam sandwich and she watched the wispy clouds around the sun as it began its descent.
‘It’s impossibly hot, there’s bound to be a storm. No doubt the weather will take a turn for the worse when we’re at the seaside, it always does. It’s funny having found that ring. It’s been ten years since I lostit. Only ten years … It seems longer. So much has happened …’
Absent-mindedly she traced some patterns in the earth with her embroidery needle. ‘If, back then, the maid hadn’t gossiped … If the Hardelot-Arques ladies hadn’t seen anything … If Saint-Elme hadn’t found out that “the Hardelot boy and Mademoiselle Florent were meeting secretly in the Coudre Woods”, then I’d be married to someone else now. Happily? Perhaps. How little it takes to turn the course of your life in a different direction.’
She had a sudden thought: ‘What is it that binds Pierre and me together so strongly? Why is it that as soon as we got married, we stopped living, suffering, being happy, thinking as individuals? Why have we become so totally one entity? There are couples who never manage it. It’s a great mystery and a great blessing.’
‘Guy, come here, what are you doing?’ she called out. ‘Stop throwing those pine cones around; you’re going to hurt yourself or your little sister.’
‘Mama, can I have your ring?’
‘No. What do you want it for?’
‘I want to play with it.’
‘It’s not a toy.’
Once again her thoughts
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