No matter how long the night, it passes. A few days later, the Yark wakes up in a snug bed, tucked under a quilt of handsome purple velvet.
Sitting at his bedside, a child watches him. Silently, the Yark sniffs at this little girl with her big juicy eyes, her almond-scented skin and sugary breath.
“Where do you come from?” she asks. “What happened to you?”
“Poisoned,” the beast replies in a whisper.
Little by little, his spirits revive, and the Yark looks around him.
His bed is in the middle of a round room with glass walls. Around the windows, clouds coil like languid ghosts. You’d think that the room was floating in the air.
“Where am I?” the Monster stammers.
“In an abandoned lighthouse. This is where I live,” the little girl murmurs, slipping a handful of herbs into the convalescent’s mouth.
“And what’s this?” the Monster asks in surprise.
“Mint, basil, and chamomile… All you need to cure a sore tummy.”
This is the first time the Monster has ever tasted such a salad. But in the presence of so much innocence, he dares not say a word, and he munches in silence.
“My name’s Madeleine. What’s yours?”
Clearly, the little girl doesn’t realize that he is a Monster. The Monster in question decides it’s pointless to inform her of the fact and pretends to go back to sleep. He discreetly sniffs at the little girl to find out more about her, and he isolates her three main olfactory components. Violet and anise are the heart notes that reveal an underlying melancholy. The base notes of cotton and fresh rice attest to her goodness. Last, the Monster discerns a blend of blood orange and milk sugar, top notes that emanate only from the purest souls.
Moved to tears, the Yark wonders at this combination, which proves her to be the most wonderful little girl in the world.
“Poor little innocent!” he muses, choking back his saliva and his shame. “This angel has no idea that she’s saved a demon! Ah, if she only knew the risk she runs in being so kind to me!”
A murmur from Madeleine interrupts his thoughts: “I thought you’d never wake up!”
Then she adds with a smile: “You gave me a scare, you know.”
This is hardly the first time the Yark has scared someone. Fear of the Yark is to be expected. But Madeleine’s fear is quite different.
He thinks her fear is for him.
“For me,” the Monster repeats to himself in disbelief, for this is first time he’s received such a feeling as a gift. At that, a wave of emotion sweeps over him. A sensation so new that he can’t find a name for it.
After a lengthy silence, the Yark opens one eye.
“I don’t frighten you?” he asks timidly.
“No!”
“You don’t find me ugly?”
The little girl shrugs, as if the question is absurd.
“Actually, I find you beautiful!”
Beautiful? This word, which has never been used to describe him, gives him the shivers.
“Ordinarily, humans find me repulsive,” the Monster whispers.
“Humans don’t have a great deal of imagination. They see beauty only in what looks like them.”
“But you’re human yourself!” the Yark exclaims.
“True! And since I find you beautiful, that’s proof that we look alike!”
With these few words, the little girl thinks she’s said all she needs to. She smiles at the Monster, kisses him on the forehead, and leaves the room, wishing him good night.
The Yark finds himself alone with his exhaustion, the noise of the storm, and stirrings of happiness.
And now, he dreams… On an immense oval table, a constellation of dishes and bowls spreads out to infinity: boys in bacon, orphan gratin, chicken-fried children, breaded babies, leg of twins, brats in a bun, paté of little girl, stuffed schoolchildren, tandooried toddlers, choirboys in bundt cake…
But suddenly, a shock! The Yark discovers Madeleine’s decapitated head lying on his plate. The child’s big eyes stare sadly up at him. The Monster shrieks and wakes up in a cold sweat. For the first time in his life, a feast of children ends with a cry of horror!
