Page 32 of The Strawberry Thief
I pour myself a glass of wine – only for courage,mon père,that’s all. I drink it, rather slowly, and pour myself another. I tell myself that time is short, and yet I am reluctant to move, like a hunted animal hiding in its burrow. The warmth of my hearth, the caress of the wine – both conspire to lull me to sleep. But I jolt awake to a scent of smoke and, taking my coat from behind the door, I step back out into the street, where the wind is chasing the blossom from the jasmine by the door, and the red sky over the fields is filled with a murmuration of birds.
10
Monday, March 20
I ran until I was out-of-breath. It was getting late, and the sky was turning like a weathervane. The wind had dropped a little, and the clouds were outlined in pink. It was getting late, but I didn’t trust myself to go home. What if the wind followed me back? What if it tried to take someone else?
I took the path along the Tannes back towards Narcisse’s old farm. I still wanted to see Yannick, and find out what his mother had said. Perhaps if I went back, I thought, I could find his bedroom, and climb in through a window without his mother knowing. Or maybe, if he could get out of the house without anyone else seeing him, we could run to my wood and hide, and feed off nuts and berries.
It was getting dark by then. The sun had gone down into a tangle of purple clouds, and the rain was beginning again. There was no-one around, but then I heard a sound on the path behind me, and I hid in the hedge in case Maman or Roux had come looking for me. But it wasn’t Maman, or Roux. It was Reynaud, looking cross and upset – I could see it in his colours. He was wearing a long dark overcoat, with the collar turned up against the rain, and he looked like a bad guy out of a film – a spy, or maybe a murderer.
I hid in the hedge until he’d gone past, and then I followed him down the lane and over the fields towards the farm, not because I wanted to, but because that was where I was going, too. I wondered what he was doing, going to the farm at that time. He doesn’t like Yannick’s parents. Anyone could tell you that. He ruffles his crow’s feathers whenever they’re around him.
It was very dark over the fields. There were no lights, except on the farm: no moon because of all the cloud. That was good, because I could watch Reynaud without being seen. I followed him all the way to the gate, and then I watched from the bushes as he went up to the front door, and knocked. After a while someone came to the door. It was Yannick’s mother. I could hear her voice very clearly, sounding like some kind of bird – perhaps a shrike – with a very sharp and murderous beak.
‘Mon père, won’t you come in?’
His voice is lower, and I can’t hear it so well, but I can tell he doesn’t want to be there. I hear: ‘One moment of your time,’ and I can tell he’s furious. It isn’t in his voice, but even though his back is turned, I can see his colours flare.
Her voice is high and innocent. But I can tell she’s lying. Madame Montour has colours too: a kind of self-satisfied pink glow. She won’t give Reynaud what he wants, whatever he says. She’ll lie and lie. I listened, but I couldn’t tell why Reynaud was so upset. Something about Narcisse, I think. Something about my strawberry wood. I moved a little closer then, keeping to the side of the house. I could see the yellow light from a bedroom window. Maybe Yannick’s window, I thought, with the big old apple tree growing up the old stone wall. Easy to climb it and look inside. Easy for me, anyway.
I got as far as the third set of branches before reaching the window. It was Yannick’s room, all right: I could tell from the clothes on the floor. Yannick wasn’t there, but I could see that the window was open a crack. I got my fingers under the sash and pushed it up. I climbed inside. I’m pretty good at climbing. Anouk says that’s why I’m a monkey.
His bedroom was a lot like mine, but messier, and with a big TV screen on the floor, and a Playstation plugged into it. Yannick had been playing a shooting game, but had paused it mid-frame. A blurry man was crouching down behind some rocks, with a crossbow. I could hear voices from downstairs through the little crack in the door.
Madame Montour: ‘I assure you,mon père, I don’t know what you’re talking about. If someone came into your house, I suggest you call the police. I really don’t appreciate the implication thatIwas involved.’ That was a lie. I could tell it was. She’d sounded exactly the same when she said Yannick was sleeping.
‘Madame Montour, I’ll have you know that lying to a priest is a sin.’ That was Reynaud, his voice very sharp, but Yannick’s mother just laughed and said:
‘You’re making yourself ridiculous. You admit that you left the door open. Anyone could have gone inside.’
‘And stolen nothing but your father’s papers? I don’t think so, Madame Montour. It’s too much of a coincidence that the folder should have disappeared on the very day I refused to show it to you.’
He was talking about Narcisse. I moved a little closer. I tried to look through the hinges, but I couldn’t see anything.
‘I find it insulting that you should believe that I would ever do any such thing.’ Yannick’s mother always sounds so pleased with herself when she’s lying. ‘I suggest you turn your attention towards those travellers, Roux and his friends, who hang around by the river all day and never seem to do any work. If there’s been a theft,mon père, they’re far more likely to be involved. And Roux, of course, has a vested interest in my father’s will being upheld. Perhaps he thinks there’s something more he can get his hands on.’
She was calling Roux a thief! I made an angry squirrel sound, and put my hand over my mouth. For a moment I held my breath, hoping they hadn’t heard me.
Then I heard Reynaud’s voice, very cold: ‘Don’t be absurd, Madame Montour. This has nothing to do with Roux. The papers are of no value. They’re simply a collection of thoughts that Narcisse felt he had to write down. But if you know who took them, it is your duty to report the theft. I am, after all, the executor of Narcisse’s will. I can delay the process if I find that something irregular has occurred.’
That set her off. ‘Is that a threat? It sounds like a threat.’
‘Of course not,madame.’
‘Because a will can be overturned, especially when the person involved was old and clearly not of sound mind.’
More lies. Narcisse was perfectly sane. Or does she think that leaving the wood to me is proof of insanity? I wondered again where Yannick had gone. He couldn’t have gone far, I thought. I sat down on the bed to wait. The bed was bigger than mine, and there was a furry kind of bedspread. I gave the mattress a little bounce. It was fun. I tried another one. And then my foot met something hard under the furry bedspread; something that had been left underneath – left, or maybehiddenthere—
It was a kind of dark-green folder, tied with a piece of bright-pink tape It looked old, and there were pages inside, loose pages, written in old-fashioned handwriting. I can read pretty well from books, but this was harder to make out: there were lots of squiggles and loops, as if the person holding the pen couldn’t decide if they were writing or drawing. It was pretty, but sad too, and suddenly I understood that the folder had belonged to Narcisse. Were these the documents Reynaud meant? Could Yannick have taken them?
I looked at my reflection in the darkened window. In the glass, I looked very small, sitting cross-legged on Yannick’s bed. ‘How did you get here?’I whispered, softly, in my shadow-voice. Behind the glass the wind made a sound, a little crooning, encouraging sound, but I wasn’t going to call it, no. I just needed a little help.
And now I could see how it happened, like a shadow against the glass. I saw Yannick, playing his game: Madame Montour coming in with the folder, saying,Keep this for me, and stay in your room.Then as she went to answer the door, Yannick, feeling hungry, and knowing his mother was busy, creeping down the cellar stairs to check what preserves might be stored down there—
From downstairs I heard the sound of the front door closing. I knew I couldn’t wait for Yannick: Madame Montour would be back soon. But Narcisse hadn’t meant for her to read his papers. I knew that. And maybe there would be something about why he’d left the wood to me, maybe even something I could use to make Roux change his mind about leaving.
It wasn’t really stealing, I thought. After all, Madame Montour had already stolen it from Reynaud. And so I picked up the green folder and slipped it into my backpack, then climbed out of the window again and into the branches of the tree, closing the window behind me, and slipped away into the night.
