Six could sleep in each bedroom, and there was one place available in Hodkann’s. Without asking anyone’s opinion, he announced that Nicolas would take it. The teacher approved: although she was still worried about his sudden mood swings, she liked the idea of the biggest boy in the class looking after the smallest one like this. She felt somewhat sorry for shy, overprotected Nicolas. The rooms were furnished with bunk beds. Since Hodkann had assigned him to an upper bed, above his own, Nicolas climbed the ladder and wriggled into the borrowed pajamas, rolling up the legs and sleeves. The top came down to his knees; the pants swam on him. Going to the toilet, he had to hold the pants up with both hands. And he had no slippers, towel, washcloth, or toothbrush – things no one could lend him because they didn’t have extras. Luckily, nobody paid any attention to him, so he was able to slip unnoticed through the bustling bathroom and be among the first ones in bed. Patrick, who was in charge of his room, came over to muss his hair and tell him not to fret: everything would be fine. And if there was anything wrong, he would come to Patrick and tell him about it, promise? Nicolas promised, divided between the real comfort this assurance gave him and the painful impression that everyone was waiting for something to go wrong for him.
When they were all in bed, Patrick turned out the light, said good night, and closed the door. They were left in the dark. Nicolas thought that a ruckus would break out immediately, a pillow fight in which he’d have trouble holding his own, but no. He realized that everyone was waiting for Hodkann’s permission to speak. Hodkann let the silence last for a long while. Gradually their eyes grew accustomed to the gloom. Their breathing became more even, but there was still a feeling of expectation in the air.
‘Nicolas,’ said Hodkann at last, as though they were alone in the room, as though the others didn’t exist.
‘Yes?’ murmured Nicolas, like an echo.
‘What does your father do?’
Nicolas replied that he was a traveling salesman. Nicolas was rather proud of this profession, which seemed to him prestigious, even a little mysterious.
‘So he travels a lot?’ asked Hodkann.
‘Yes,’ said Nicolas, repeating something he’d heard his mother say. ‘He’s on the road all the time.’
He was working up the courage to mention the advantages this meant for premiums from gas stations, but he didn’t get the chance: Hodkann wanted to know what his father sold, what kind of stuff. To Nicolas’s great surprise, Hodkann seemed to be asking questions not to make fun of him but because he was truly curious about what his father did. Nicolas said that he sold surgical supplies.
‘Forceps? Scalpels?’
‘Yes, and artificial limbs too.’
‘Wooden legs?’ inquired Hodkann in amusement, and Nicolas sensed, like an alarm deep inside him, the threat of mockery closing in.
‘No,’ he said, ‘plastic ones.’
‘He drives around with plastic legs in his trunk?’
‘Yes, and also arms, hands –’
‘Heads?’ burst out Lucas, a red-headed boy with glasses whom Nicolas had thought was asleep, like the others.
‘No,’ said Nicolas, ‘not heads! He’s a traveling salesman in surgical supplies, not gags!’
Hodkann greeted this sally with an indulgent chuckle, and Nicolas immediately felt relaxed and gratified. Protected by Hodkann, he, too, could say funny things, make people laugh.
‘He’s shown you these artificial limbs?’ continued Hodkann.
‘Of course,’ said Nicolas, drawing confidence from this initial success.
‘You’ve gotten to try one on?’
‘No, you can’t do that. Because it goes where your arm or your leg was, so if you’ve still got your arm or leg there, you’ve got nowhere to put it.’
‘Me,’ said Hodkann calmly, ‘if I were your father, I’d use you for demonstrations. I’d cut off your arms and legs, I’d fit on the artificial ones, and I’d show you to my clients like that. It’d make a great advertisement.’
The occupants of the neighboring bed cracked up. Lucas said something about Captain Hook in Peter Pan, and abruptly Nicolas felt afraid, as though Hodkann had finally shown his true face, one even more dangerous than he’d feared. The henchmen, fawning, begin cackling already, while the potentate nonchalantly searches his imagination for the most refined of tortures … But Hodkann, sensing the threat in what he’d just said, removed the sting by saying with that surprising gentleness he sometimes showed, ‘Don’t worry, Nicolas. I’m just teasing.’ Then he wanted to know if, when Nicolas’s father brought back his bag the next day, they might be able to see those amazing artificial limbs, those sets of surgical instruments. The idea made Nicolas nervous.
‘They’re not toys, you know. He only shows them to clients …’
‘He wouldn’t show them if we asked him?’ persisted Hodkann. ‘And if you asked him yourself?’
‘I don’t think so,’ replied Nicolas in a small voice.
‘If you told him that, in exchange, no one would beat you up during ski school?’
Once more apprehensive, Nicolas said nothing.
‘Fine,’ concluded Hodkann. ‘In that case, I’ll find some other way.’ After a moment, he announced to the room at large, ‘Time to go to sleep.’
They heard him tossing heavily in bed until he found a comfortable position, and everyone knew they shouldn’t say another word.