one knee on the floor, and he holds my wrists from behind. A bit too hard but I don’t say anything.
Hey! says Claude, turning my arm so he can see the old scabs and the new scratches. What happened here?
I don’t know, I say.
You don’t know? Did you fall over? Did somebody hurt you? You need some antiseptic on that.
I don’t know, I say. Maman said it was broken when I was a baby.
Broken? Claude runs one finger over the pink skin and the bobbly red scabs. But this? he says, where it was bleeding.
It stings. I snatch my arm away. It itches, I say. I was scratching it.
Don’t scratch it, says Claude. You’ll make it worse.
Can I throw the stick now? I say.
OK, he says. First, look where you want the stick to go. So, remember that rainbow you were telling me about?
Yes . . .
Now you have to imagine the stick is going to make the same shape, from here to there. Can you see the rainbow?
I can, it’s easy. Yes, I say.
Show me the shape with your finger.
I draw the rainbow in the sky.
Great, says Claude, so now you throw the stick up the rainbow like you were trying to reach the very top. He pulls my wrist down and back. Are you ready? Off you go.
He lets go of my wrist and I fling the stick forwards with a grunt. It goes a bit further than before, but not very much. Merlin pounces on it and takes it back to Claude.
Margot laughs. You sounded like a pig! she says.
That’s not funny, I say.
Hmmm, let’s try again, says Claude, handing me back the stick. This time, take your time, and keep imagining the rainbow. His fingers close around my wrist again.
Can you let go of my wrist please? I say. I want to do it by myself.
The fingers uncurl and I feel a breeze on my back as Claude moves away from me. I look out across the meadow, then I close my eyes. I paint a full high rainbow in the sky of my mind and I let the stick fly up out of my fingers. When I open my eyes the stick is high in the air and still going up. Then it turns and starts to tumble down, curving towards the ground.
Impeccable! says Margot.
Very good! says Claude.
I smile proudly. Can I do it again?
Claude shakes his head. I think we should stop now, he says. Merlin is getting tired.
Merlin has got the stick, but he has not brought it back. He has taken it into the stream, where he is lying on his belly, chewing it.
Do you want to go over to the girl-nest? asks Claude. There’s a snack there and some water.
Yes please! we shout.
Claude, what are you? I ask as we walk.
Claude looks at me strangely. I don’t know what you mean, he says.
Well, what do you do?
I used to be a gendarme , he says. Now I just look after my garden. And I like to make things.
Why haven’t you got a proper job?
Are you too old? says Margot.
Not too old, says Claude. But a bit broken.
Because of the tiger, says Margot.
Ah yes, I say. The tiger.
Claude shivers. He looks like he is going to cry. That’s right, he says. The tiger.
Don’t be sad, I say. The tiger is probably dead now.
Claude screws up his mouth.
Also, I say, why don’t you live in a proper family? With four people, or three people, or a man and a lady? Where are your children, Claude?
Claude chews his tongue, so I can tell he has something important to say. He reaches out for my hand, not grabbing at it, but putting his palm forward, emptily. I put my own inside it and he closes his fingers, one at a time. Pea, he says, you know, sometimes there are some questions that can make grownups sad. It’s OK to ask them, but it has to be OK to not answer them too. I wish I had my own little girls and my own lady. But I don’t.
At least you have us, I say.
Yes. That is a thing that makes me very happy, says Claude. As we arrive at the tree he leans back against it with a big sigh. Merlin flops down at his feet.
Go and have a look, says Claude, pointing up to the girl-nest. See if there is anything you’d like.
We scramble up the ladder to see what there is up there. A paper bag
Hey! says Claude, turning my arm so he can see the old scabs and the new scratches. What happened here?
I don’t know, I say.
You don’t know? Did you fall over? Did somebody hurt you? You need some antiseptic on that.
I don’t know, I say. Maman said it was broken when I was a baby.
Broken? Claude runs one finger over the pink skin and the bobbly red scabs. But this? he says, where it was bleeding.
It stings. I snatch my arm away. It itches, I say. I was scratching it.
Don’t scratch it, says Claude. You’ll make it worse.
Can I throw the stick now? I say.
OK, he says. First, look where you want the stick to go. So, remember that rainbow you were telling me about?
Yes . . .
Now you have to imagine the stick is going to make the same shape, from here to there. Can you see the rainbow?
I can, it’s easy. Yes, I say.
Show me the shape with your finger.
I draw the rainbow in the sky.
Great, says Claude, so now you throw the stick up the rainbow like you were trying to reach the very top. He pulls my wrist down and back. Are you ready? Off you go.
He lets go of my wrist and I fling the stick forwards with a grunt. It goes a bit further than before, but not very much. Merlin pounces on it and takes it back to Claude.
Margot laughs. You sounded like a pig! she says.
That’s not funny, I say.
Hmmm, let’s try again, says Claude, handing me back the stick. This time, take your time, and keep imagining the rainbow. His fingers close around my wrist again.
Can you let go of my wrist please? I say. I want to do it by myself.
The fingers uncurl and I feel a breeze on my back as Claude moves away from me. I look out across the meadow, then I close my eyes. I paint a full high rainbow in the sky of my mind and I let the stick fly up out of my fingers. When I open my eyes the stick is high in the air and still going up. Then it turns and starts to tumble down, curving towards the ground.
Impeccable! says Margot.
Very good! says Claude.
I smile proudly. Can I do it again?
Claude shakes his head. I think we should stop now, he says. Merlin is getting tired.
Merlin has got the stick, but he has not brought it back. He has taken it into the stream, where he is lying on his belly, chewing it.
Do you want to go over to the girl-nest? asks Claude. There’s a snack there and some water.
Yes please! we shout.
Claude, what are you? I ask as we walk.
Claude looks at me strangely. I don’t know what you mean, he says.
Well, what do you do?
I used to be a gendarme , he says. Now I just look after my garden. And I like to make things.
Why haven’t you got a proper job?
Are you too old? says Margot.
Not too old, says Claude. But a bit broken.
Because of the tiger, says Margot.
Ah yes, I say. The tiger.
Claude shivers. He looks like he is going to cry. That’s right, he says. The tiger.
Don’t be sad, I say. The tiger is probably dead now.
Claude screws up his mouth.
Also, I say, why don’t you live in a proper family? With four people, or three people, or a man and a lady? Where are your children, Claude?
Claude chews his tongue, so I can tell he has something important to say. He reaches out for my hand, not grabbing at it, but putting his palm forward, emptily. I put my own inside it and he closes his fingers, one at a time. Pea, he says, you know, sometimes there are some questions that can make grownups sad. It’s OK to ask them, but it has to be OK to not answer them too. I wish I had my own little girls and my own lady. But I don’t.
At least you have us, I say.
Yes. That is a thing that makes me very happy, says Claude. As we arrive at the tree he leans back against it with a big sigh. Merlin flops down at his feet.
Go and have a look, says Claude, pointing up to the girl-nest. See if there is anything you’d like.
We scramble up the ladder to see what there is up there. A paper bag
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