8:04 A.M.
I walk down the main pedestrian avenue that leads towards the sea. On both sides there are cube-shaped houses painted in pastel colors, like brand new dolls’ houses with roofs and walls that can be taken off. I spot the street name on a sign beneath the green cross of the pharmacy: “Mail de Rodrigues.”
Ever since Papa closed the door behind me, I have obeyed all his instructions. I’ve been a very good girl. I haven’t run. I’ve walked on the pavement. I’ve gone down the steps. I’ve crossed the road. Now I’m on the big street with no cars, but I still haven’t run.
And I remember what I need to do next. Go into each shop and show the shopkeeper the list.
Wait. Pay.
Easy, even if I can’t see very well, wearing these enormous sunglasses, especially when I’m in the shade.
Papa was very strict, though. He said I mustn’t take them off!
Down there, at the end of the street, near the beach, there is a policeman wearing a uniform. He’s on his own. Standing completely still, only his eyes moving, like a lazy cat watching sparrows.
He’s looking at me now. I must have done something that surprised him. At least I didn’t cry out or anything. I’ve been holding it all in as much as I can. Even though, in my head, everything has turned upside down.
That’s me, in the newspaper!
Big pictures, on the front page, with Papa and Maman. There are piles of newspapers outside almost every shop. But I have to keep walking normally, just like Papa told me. I have to be clever. In the picture in the newspaper, I’m wearing my yellow dress and I have long hair, and you can see my eyes too. Nobody will recognize me like this. Certainly not that big pussycat, anyway.
I go straight into the grocer’s. “What can I do for you, my dear?”
I play dumb and hand the list over to the lady behind the till. Bread, ham, biscuits and bananas. The lady takes ages to put it all in the bags. When she’s finished, and taken forever to give me back my change, I just say in a very quiet voice, almost a whisper:
“Thank you, madame.”
Papa told me not to change my voice, just to speak as quietly as possible, as if I was very shy.
I come out of the shop. The big police cat is still there. He’s not moving, but he looks like he’s come closer, like he’s playing a game of statues.
I keep walking as if I haven’t noticed anything.
Four shops. Two clothes shops, one flower shop, one crêperie.
I walk on. Forcing myself to go slowly.
A bookshop.
I go in.
“What are you looking for, little boy?”
I look up. Straight away, I get scared. The man is Chinese.
I’m afraid of Chinese people. They’re the scariest people in the world, after ogres and the pirates of the Caribbean. Even in Paris, in restaurants, I’m afraid of them. Maman likes eating Chinese food when we go shopping, but I don’t. In school, Timéo, told me that they eat weird things, like stray dogs and spiders and fish without eyes. Here, they eat sticky cucumber. I slowly unfold Papa’s sheet of paper, and tell myself I’m being an idiot. I know Timéo talks rubbish. Anyway, this Chinese man sells books.
And newspapers.
There’s my picture again, right in front of my nose, in a pile of papers as high as my chin. Inside my head, I try to read the big black letters.
KILLER ON THE LOOSE.
“Do you want a paper, son? Can you read already?”
I lower my head, frowning and looking down at my sandals. I only have one thing to buy, but I have to read it out to ask for it, and the shop is too dark, even darker than a troll’s cave. What else can I do? I take off my sunglasses and read out the words.
“A 1/25,000 map. The 4406 RT.”
The Chinese man hesitates for a second, then hands me a blue map folded in a rectangle.
“Are you going on a picnic with your parents in the mountains, little man?”
I don’t reply. I hand him the money and look down at the floor again. My sandals are ugly. It’s probably a good thing he’s Chinese, after all. He must think I’m scared of him. He must be used to it.
I’ve got everything now so I leave.
The policeman has moved again. He’s cheating, he’s walked up the street and he’s ahead of me now. I’ll have to walk past him to get back to the blue-haired lady’s house, where Papa is waiting for me.
It doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter. He couldn’t possibly recognize me!
Another twenty meters.
All right, that’s enough of statues. We’re going to change the game. I’m the best at British Bulldog. The trick, to get from one end to the other without being caught, is to make people forget you’re there. Not to run like mad like those boys who think they’re so great. They always get caught before me.
I walk past the policeman, going the same speed, not even turning my head. Maybe he’s watching me, maybe his eyes are on me, maybe he’s staring at my back. But I don’t care, I don’t care, he can’t possibly have recognized me, that stupid bulldog.
Another thirty meters.
All I have to do is cross the road. Now I can turn around.
The policeman is far away, he’s walking towards the beach, at the other end of the street.
I’m the best!
Once I’m over the road, there’s just twenty steps to climb and after that I can run, really fast. I can’t wait. I just have to let the cars go past first.
There’s only one car. Big and black with very high wheels for driving on mountain tracks. It slows down. It stops to let me cross.
I step onto the crossing. Without thinking, I turn my head towards the car.
The man behind the steering wheel is so strange! His skin is so dark, it’s almost orange, and he’s wearing an Indian shirt. On his head there’s a green cap with a big red tiger embroidered on it. A Malbar, that’s what Papa calls people like that. There was one in the hotel who cut people’s hair. This one’s wearing sunglasses too.
The orange man turns towards me as I cross the street. I climb the steps, avoiding the palm tree in the middle. I have a very bad feeling, I’m shivering all over, crazy ants are crawling over my legs. I can’t see the man’s eyes, but I’m almost sure—he’s seen through my disguise.
He knows I’m a girl! He wasn’t fooled like that stupid policeman or the Chinese ogre in the bookshop.
Now that I think about it, I’m more afraid of Malbars than I am of Chinese people.
My legs are trembling as if I’ve had to cross a whole haunted forest instead of this street with three palm trees.
I’m being an idiot. I’m almost back. Papa is waiting for me, there, after the turning. I can almost see our house. I’m running now, along the pavement, not turning around. The big black car has probably moved off by now anyway.
Papa!
The house door opens, and I recognize Papa even though he looks strange with his hair cut so short. His lips look weirdly small without his beard and moustache. I rush into the hallway. Papa closes the door behind me. He hugs me.
I love it when my Papa hugs me. He doesn’t do it much. Actually I like it, I think, being on my own with Papa. We do more strange things than we do when Maman is there. Play new games.
Games where I’m the best! I give the bags to Papa. I won the treasure hunt and I didn’t get caught! And, best of all, this afternoon, we’re going to see Maman.
Papa goes through everything in the first bag. He looks happy, he’s very proud of me. He roughs up my hair.
Thinking about my hair makes me want to cry. I wonder if it was really worth cutting it. I could have just worn a cap, a big green one with a tiger on it, like the Malbar wore.
Papa has checked all the bags, including the last one, the one with the map in it.
“You’re a champion, darling!”
“Are we going to find Maman now?”
He takes me in his arms.
“Listen carefully, Sopha. I’m going to lock the house. I’m going to put the TV on for you. Leave the volume turned down low, and whatever you do, don’t open the door to anyone. Don’t move from the couch. Now that you’re back, I’m going to take a shower. I’ll be done in five minutes, and after that, we’re out of here.”
8:21 A.M.
I’ve been watching Titeuf for ten minutes, no more than that, when I hear a car outside, just in front of the house. I don’t get up.
I turn the sound down even lower on the television. That shuts Titeuf up!
There are noises coming from the garage. Papa left it open.
As if a car has gone in there.
I wish I could go to the window to check. I really think that the car hasn’t parked in the street. It’s here, very close, I can hear the engine.
There is a door between the garage and the house. And it could be open.
Someone could come in.
Without knowing why, I think about that Malbar with the orange face in his big-wheeled black car. I should call Papa, but he told me not to make any noise. And I’d have to shout loud for him to hear me over the noise of the shower. I can’t go into the bathroom, because I’m not allowed to leave the couch.
Unless . . .
I get up. I walk quietly to the bathroom door. The thick carpet muffles my footsteps.
Nothing. I can’t hear any noise at all now.
Not Titeuf, not Nadia, on the television both of them are silent. No noise in the garage either.
I can’t even hear the sound of the shower.