Class Trip by Emmanuel Carrère

Author:Emmanuel Carrère [Emmanuel Carrère]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781473567573
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2020-02-06T00:00:00+00:00

17

He felt hot, quite hot, huddled under the covers. He was awake, but he put off the moment of opening his eyes, wishing to prolong the heat, the comfort. The insides of his eyelids were orange. From somewhere in the chalet – a washing machine, perhaps, or maybe it was his own ears – came a faint, soothing hum. The wash was going around and around behind its little porthole, tumbling slowly in the scalding water. Nicolas’s knees touched his chin; the hand clutching the covers was pressed against his lips – he could feel the dry warmth of the knuckles. Somewhere in the bed was his other hand, somewhere in the lazy, toasty depths where his body lay all curled up. When he finally opened his eyes, the light was warm too. The curtains had been drawn, but behind them the sun was shining so brightly that the room was bathed in an orange glow sprinkled with tiny dots of light. Recognizing the table, the lamp shade, Nicolas understood that they’d installed him in the office where the telephone was. He let out a feeble moan, to hear the sound of his voice, then groaned again, louder, to find out if there was anyone around. Out in the hall, footsteps approached. The teacher sat down on the edge of his bed. Putting a hand on his forehead, she asked him softly if he felt better, if he hurt anywhere. She offered to open the windows, and the sunshine streamed gaily into the room. Then she went to get a thermometer. Did Nicolas know how to take his own temperature? He nodded. She handed him the thermometer, which vanished into the bed. Fumbling under the covers, still curled up in a ball, he pulled down his pajama pants and guided the thermometer between his buttocks. It felt cold and he had trouble finding the hole, but he managed, nodding again when the teacher asked him if everything was okay. She continued to stroke his forehead while they waited; after a moment, there was a faint ringing under the blanket. The teacher said that was enough time, and the thermometer made its way back to her. ‘Almost a hundred and three degrees,’ she read. ‘You should rest.’ When she asked him if he wanted anything to eat, he said no; something to drink, then – he ought to have fluids for a temperature. Nicolas drank, then withdrew into the warmth, the sweet and fuzzy sluggishness of fever. He played some more with the black ball. Later, the telephone awakened him. The teacher arrived as quickly as if she had been standing right outside in the hallway. She spoke for a few minutes in a low voice, smiling at Nicolas all the while, then hung up, sat on the edge of his bed to have him take his temperature again, and gave him more to drink. She asked him gently if he’d ever walked around at night before without realizing what he was doing.

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