Page 45 of Atlas: The Story of Pa Salt
‘My Lord... my Lord... my Lord...’ Monsieur Ivan continued to repeat this refrain, shaking his head and biting his nails as he worked out his response. ‘Young Bo... OrnotBo, as we are both aware, I am simply lost for words.’ He stood up and grabbed me, giving me an embrace so firm that the air was crushed out of my lungs. ‘But I knew it! Émigrés. We are strong, Bo. Stronger than anyone can ever know.’
‘Monsieur Ivan, if anyone were to ever find out...’
‘Please,petit monsieur. We are bonded by our place ofbirth. Remember, I understand the land from which you have come, and the trauma you have lived through. I swear, on the graves of my family, that I will never utter a word of what you have just spoken to me.’
‘Thank you, monsieur.’
‘I feel moved to tell you that I believe your parents would be very proud of you, Bo. Your father... do you truly believe that he still lives?’
‘I do not know.’
‘And the... item you mentioned, is it still in your possession?’ Perhaps this is the one part of my tale that I should have kept from Monsieur Ivan. As I had learnt, greed can infect minds and drive the rational insane. He sensed my hesitation. ‘Please, I have no interest in it, you may be assured of that. I merely mean to tell you that you must protect it at all costs. Not because of its material value, you understand, but because it may well be used as a bargaining chip to one day save your life.’
‘I will. I do.’
‘I am glad to hear it. Now, please, tell me more about Elle. After what you have faced, I understand the significance of having such a friend in your life.’
I related her story to him. ‘She is a very special person, Monsieur Ivan, to remain so positive and brave despite her circumstances. I think she is a little like gravity, pulling all towards her.’
Monsieur Ivan chuckled. ‘Ah, Bo. Now I see. I think that perhaps she does not pulleveryonetowards her, but only yourself. God help you, young man, as if you didn’t already have enough problems, you are in love!’
‘I do not know if it is possible for an eleven-year-old to be in love.’
‘Don’t be silly,petit monsieur! Of course it is!Lovedoesn’tcare that you are so young. She has you in her grasp, and now you are a slave to her.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Sorry? Please, there is no need to be sorry! It is something to celebrate. Indeed, if you were older, I would pour you a vodka and we could talk long into the night about your passion.’
‘Will you see her, Monsieur Ivan?’
‘If I discover what you have shared with me is an elaborate ruse to get your girlfriend through the doors of the conservatory, I shall rain down hellfire on you...’ He held my gaze, before breaking into an enormous grin. ‘I am joking,petit monsieur. Of course we will see her. Monsieur Toussaint teaches the flute, and Monsieur Moulin the viola. She will have her audition. Needless to say, though,ifwe arrange to provide tuition, theprofesseurswill not work for free.’
‘That is catered for by a charitable individual at the orphanage.’
‘Very well. I will arrange details and let you know upon your next visit. Am I to assume that when you return through that door, you will go back to being mute in our lessons?’
I paused to think. ‘No, Monsieur Ivan. We are bonded by our place of birth.’
‘Thank you for your trust,petit monsieur. I assure you that you will not regret placing it in me.’ I nodded, and reached for the door handle. ‘One more thing. You have told me all but your true name. Will you share it with me?’
I did.
‘Well. Now it makes sense.’
‘What does?’
‘Why, when you play, you have the weight of the world on your shoulders.’
In the end, Elle’s audition had been a formality. Monsieur Ivan had certainly intimated as such when arranging it.
‘Little Bo, I have had to tell a small white lie to ensure that your girlfriend is guaranteed acceptance.’
‘She is not my girlfriend, Monsieur Ivan.’
‘Of course she is. Anyway, needless to say, the otherprofesseurswould be none too happy about the conservatoire turning into a crèche.’
‘What was the lie?’ I asked nervously.
