Real Life by Adeline Dieudonné

Author:Adeline Dieudonné
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: World Editions
Published: 2019-05-10T07:42:03+00:00

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IT DIDN’T STOP raining that summer. You’d have thought the sky was in mourning. Long wet days and long wet nights, with that endless background noise, a pattering so sad you might have wondered if nature itself was contemplating suicide. Even the hyena had stopped laughing, and Sam seemed to have lost his enthusiasm for torturing animals. But my own memory of that summer is a wonderful one, thanks to Professor Pavlović, and to several evenings spent babysitting Takeshi and Yumi. Although I babysat them no more than three or four times, those evenings had the same effect on me as a fountain in the middle of the desert. I loved those children as if they were my own younger siblings. I loved Feather Girl. And I loved the Champion. Best of all, each of those evenings ended like the first one, with those few minutes just for the two of us, the Champion and me, his hands brushing against my knees as he changed gear, my body ablaze. It was like a rollercoaster ride, a mixture of delight and apprehension, with feelings of indescribable pleasure that were terrifying in their uncontrollable power.

* * *

When the rain decided to call a truce, I loved to go walk barefoot in the goat pen.

The goats’ pointed little hooves had turned the waterlogged earth into a real quagmire and I enjoyed sinking my feet in right up to the ankles. The aim of the game was to not fall over in the slippery mud. I loved the feeling of sodden earth on my bare skin, and I would play with Paprika, though our games often ended with me sliding and falling. I laughed, Dovka yapped, and the goat made joyous little leaps. Sometimes Cumin charged me and I had to throw myself out of the pen to avoid his horns. I returned home covered in mud from head to toe.

My mother tried to make me realize that at thirteen years old I should start acting like a young woman. “Men don’t like slobs,” she said. And this was undoubtedly true. At school, the girls no longer had play fights or chased each other. These were activities reserved for boys. They contained themselves, and struck poses. I watched them sometimes. They laughed while placing their hands in front of their mouths or sweeping strands of hair behind their ears. The gestures were subtle, graceful, like those of Feather Girl. But I knew that subtlety and grace were not part of my genetic code.

* * *

Other families called me to look after their children—word-of-mouth had been effective—and I found myself working more and more. Not only did I earn a fair amount of money, but I was able to escape meals with my family. With the income, I could afford regular visits to Professor Pavlović, where I stuffed myself with science, digesting as fast as I consumed, hungry for more.

I made rapid progress. Professor Pavlović said—laughing—that at this rate I’d have the Nobel Prize for Physics before I was twenty-five.

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