When he got home that Sunday, he found his father lying in his bedroom with the curtains closed. He went gingerly toward him, letting his eyes grow accustomed to the darkness. When he reached the bed, he saw that his father wasn’t asleep. He seemed to be waiting for something, his arms motionless on top of the sheet, his upper body propped up on pillows. He was staring at a point on the wall that only he could see. He looked at Théo for a few seconds, as though he needed time to recognize his son, then a few seconds more to be able to adopt the appropriate response. For a brief moment his face registered that fleeting spark of joy that used to animate it when he collected Théo from elementary school, and then he put his hands beneath the sheet. He asked Théo if he’d had fun. He repeated the question several times. It wasn’t a polite formula, it was a real question, and the answer mattered to him.
Théo replied that it had all gone really well. There was a short silence during which he couldn’t help wondering if Mathis’s mother might have followed him or might soon find his address and turn up without warning.
For the first hour, he listened out for the noise of the elevator and froze every time he heard the sound of a voice on the stairs.
Later, he spent the afternoon picking up and cleaning in case someone came. A sort of intuition told him that that was the most important thing to do, restore some order to his father’s apartment.
It wasn’t all that complicated. His father had taught him the trick of turning chores into a game, back when he was still capable of laughing and staying out of bed for more than four minutes. To transform the most boring task into a paper chase or a treasure hunt, all you had to do was set a target or a challenge, or invent a story.
This time Théo imagined he was taking part in a famous reality TV show. He was being tracked by about ten cameras all over the apartment that were broadcasting The Big Clean-Up challenge live. At the very moment he was filling the sink with water, more than a million people were following his actions. Because he was the youngest contestant in the whole history of the game and definitely the viewers’ favorite. The day’s challenge was particularly long and tough, but might enable him to claim victory. Like the others, he would be scored at the end of The Big Clean-Up on both his speed and his efficiency. And he is, in both categories, the best.
An imaginary voice-over eagerly commented on his actions, highlighting their agility and precision. This evening, in the video diary room, he’ll be able to tell the camera how he felt during the task, the moments of doubt, and the determination that nonetheless never left him. And with a bit of luck, he’ll soon be on the cover of all the TV magazines.
His father hasn’t gotten up since Sunday. For three days he’s been dozing in bed. The door has stayed half-open but he never opens the curtains. He only gets up to go to the bathroom, dragging his feet; Théo hears the sound of his slippers shuffling over the parquet, and then the noise of the flush. He hasn’t taken a shower and has eaten practically nothing. Théo brings him water in a carafe and makes him little sandwiches, which he barely touches.
Théo could tell his grandma, but he doesn’t know her number. And anyway, she doesn’t come over anymore. The last time, which is already several months ago, she had an argument with his father. As she was leaving, she turned to Théo with a fake look of surprise and said, “You’re so like your mother.”
A plastic bag on the kitchen counter with the logo of the local pharmacy contains the medicine his father takes every day. During the night, Théo takes the boxes out of the bag and reads the instructions.
In biology, Ms. Destrée told them about molecules that have an effect on the brain. She explained how doping in sports works and why it’s banned. Then she talked about medicines that can change a person’s mood, help them to be less sad, less anxious, and sometimes even restore the reason of people who do and say crazy things. But these are dangerous medicines that only a psychiatrist or a doctor can prescribe.
But Théo’s father has a heap of medicines, boxes and boxes, though he never leaves the apartment. It’s as if he’s stockpiled them for months.
Perhaps Théo could go and see Ms. Destrée and talk to her about his father.
Sometimes when she’s drawing on the board with chalk or explaining all the things that go on inside an organism, he has the impression that she’s talking to him. Perhaps she knows. And can keep a secret.