SARAH
The school bell rings out just as she turns the corner into Rue Hospitalières-Saint-Gervais. The children come swarming out, some boys pretending to be fighter planes swooping down. They’re noisy and hungry, eager to get home. All except Sam. Standing back from the mass of mothers and children, she waits for him to slouch out. But the playground is empty, suddenly quiet.
What if he’s run away again? She runs through the gate, into the school and along the corridor to his classroom. Then she stops dead. He’s there, standing next to the principal. He looks tiny, his shoulders slumped and his head hanging low. An overwhelming feeling of sorrow drowns her.
“Madame Laffitte.” The principal looks at her. “I’m glad you came in. We need to talk. Let’s go into my office.”
“Yes, monsieur.” She feels like a child again, a child in trouble. Following him down the corridor into his room, the silence is threatening. She reaches for Sam’s hand, and he lets her take it for the first time. They are both in trouble. Once in the room, the principal sits at his desk, signaling for them to sit opposite. As Sarah takes her seat, she glances at Sam, hoping to make eye contact, but he stares blankly ahead.
“Madame Laffitte,” he starts, “I know this isn’t easy for anyone, least of all for Samuel. But we have to think of all our students. Look, I’ll get straight to the point. We don’t know what to do with Samuel, and it’s not just a problem of language. He shows no interest in learning whatsoever. This is unusual in such a young child. He’s sullen, uncooperative, and today he was caught fighting in the playground and—”
“Please stop,” Sarah interrupts him, surprising herself as much as him. “I know he doesn’t want to be here. He’s homesick.” She reaches out, touching a strand of Sam’s hair. “I’m going to take him home now. He won’t be coming back again.”
“Madame Laffitte, this is not what I meant. You can’t just withdraw him like that. He has to attend school.”
“Don’t worry. He’ll attend a school. Come on, Sam.” She holds out her hand, standing up, ready to leave.
He puts his hand in hers. She’s careful not to apply any pressure, just lets herself feel its warmth. Together, in silence, they walk out of the school, down the street, around the corner, and up the stairs to the apartment. She takes him into the living room and sits next to him on the couch. Burying his head in his hands, he cries and cries. Sarah holds him as he sobs. “It’ll be all right. Everything will be good again. I promise you.”
She picks up the phone, twirling the coiled plastic around her finger. Slowly she dials the number of her husband’s office. He picks up straightaway.
“David, can you come home early? We need to talk.”
“Did you visit Beauchamp?”
“Yes, I went to see him. Please, David, can you come home?”
“What’s the matter? What did he say?”
“Just come home.”
She makes a sandwich for Sam and, breaking the rule in their home, takes it to him in the living room. She sits in the armchair watching him nibble at it. He’s lost so much weight since he arrived, and his skin has turned paler. She wonders if it’s possible for a child to die from sorrow, or would nature kick in, the survival instinct taking over?
“Sam.”
He glances over at her, his eyes blank.
She feels like she’s looking at Beauchamps’ son, not her own. “I know how hard this has been for you. It’s been hard for us too, to watch you suffer, to see how much you detest being here with us.”
He’s watching her, and she has the feeling he’s following what she’s saying. “We love you very much. Do you know that, Sam?”
He shrugs a shoulder and looks away.
“We want you to be happy. But we want you to know who you are too.”
“I know who I am.”
She stares at him in astonishment. His French is almost perfect. “I know you do, Sam.”
How she longs to take him in her arms, to feel his proud, vulnerable heart beating near her own, to breathe in the smell of him. It’s as though he’s outgrowing his child’s body, his thoughts and emotions too substantial to be contained in such a small, slight frame.
She leaves the living room, wandering back into the kitchen, waiting for David.
As soon as she hears the front door click open, she goes into the hall.
“What is it, Sarah? What did Beauchamp say?” David hasn’t even taken his coat off yet.
“Come into the kitchen, please.”
He follows her in. “What did he say?”
“Sit down first. Do you want something to eat?”
“Later. Tell me what he said.”
“He didn’t say much. It was more the way it made me feel.”
David looks at her, his eyes searching hers.
“It was horrible. Him being there… in prison. He shouldn’t be there. It reminded me of…”
He takes her hand, squeezing it softly. “I wish I’d never suggested you go.”
She sees a frown grow across his forehead, and she pushes ahead before she loses her nerve. “He loves Samuel. He really does.”
“I don’t doubt that, Sarah. Of course he does. What were you expecting?”
“I don’t know. Someone I could despise.”
“That’s not what you would have wanted for Samuel.” He pulls on his beard. “What did he say to you?”
“He asked me if I would put Samuel’s happiness before my own.”
“Unbelievable! How dare he!”
“And he asked if you would too.” She pauses, looking into David’s eyes. “I told him that of course we would. I can’t believe he asked me. He doesn’t know what it means to give your child away.” Her voice cracks.
“Maybe he knows now.”
“But is it true?”
David raises an eyebrow, as though guessing at what’s coming next.
“Would we really put his happiness before our own?”
“Sarah, don’t torture yourself like this. He’s our son and we love him. One day he’ll love us back. He just needs time.”
“Time,” she repeats. “The intolerance of time.”
“What?”
“Time stole him away from us.”
“And time will give him back.”
“No.” Her throat feels thick; it’s going to be hard to let out the words she really wants to say. “David, I can’t do it… I can’t do it anymore. When he ran away, I prayed to God.” She wants to reach out, take David’s hand, but she can feel a wall growing between them. “I made a promise to him. I promised to give Samuel up if he brought him back safely. That’s all I want now. His safety and happiness. I don’t care about the rest.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t stand by watching his despair, his misery. He’s behaving like a prisoner who can’t see a way out. He’s losing his will, and he’s only a child.” Picking up a tea towel, she wipes away her tears.
“But Sarah, we can’t give up now.”
“David!” She swallows fresh tears. “We have to… we have to give up. Don’t you see?”
“No, I don’t.” He moves toward her.
She pushes him back. “I can’t do it anymore. Don’t make me!”
He stands there, staring at her with wide disbelieving eyes. Then he turns away. “I’m going to visit Beauchamp myself.”