Part 53 (1/2)
She screwed up her face. ”You can't do that one.”
”Why not?”
”Just can't.”
”Explain it to me.”
”Words make pictures inside my head.” She stopped, frustrated with her inability to clarify. Or with my inability to understand.
”Go on,” I encouraged.
”Some words look flat, and some words look crookedy.” Scrunching her eyes, she demonstrated ”flat” and ”crookedy” with her hands. ”Flat words you can make round by adding o o at the end. I like those. You can't do that with crookedy words.” at the end. I like those. You can't do that with crookedy words.”
Clear as a peat bog.
I thought about my initial exchange with Claudine. The girl spoke a jumbled Franglais, seemingly unaware of the boundaries between French and English. I wondered what conceptual framework divided flat from crookedy words. ”Sparkly” and drole drole were obviously flat. were obviously flat. Gros Gros was crookedy. was crookedy.
”Fat.” I tried my initial word in English.
The green eyes sparkled. ”Fat-o.”
”Happy.”
She shook her head.
”Fort.”
”Nooo. That one's crookedy, too.”
”Fierce,” I said, baring my teeth and curling my fingers in a mock monster threat.
”Fierce-o.” Giggling, she mimicked my fierceness.
Whatever semantic ordering her mind had created would remain forever a mystery to me. After a few more exchanges, I changed topics.
”Are you happy here, Cecile?”
”I guess.” She tucked her hair behind her ears. Smiled. ”But I like the other place, too. It has big birds on poles.”
The house in Tracadie. She'd probably been there when Harry and I dropped in.
”Can you remember where you were before you lived with Obeline?”
The smile collapsed.
”Does thinking about that place make you sad?”
”I don't think about it.”
”Can you describe it?”
She shook her head.
”Was someone mean to you?”
Claudine's sneaker made tiny squeaks as her knee jittered up and down.
”Was it a man?” Softly.
”He made me take off my clothes. And.” The jittering intensified. ”Do things. He was bad. Bad.”
”Do you remember the man's name?”
”Mal-o. He was bad. It wasn't my fault.” He was bad. It wasn't my fault.”
”Of course it wasn't.”
”But he gave me something cool. I kept it. Want to see?”
”Perhaps later-”
Ignoring my reply, Claudine shot from the room. In seconds she was back carrying a woven leather circle decorated with feathers and beads.
”It's magic. If you hang it over your bed you're sure to have good dreams. And-”
”Why are you hara.s.sing Cecile?”
Claudine and I both turned at the sound of Obeline's voice.
”We're having a chat,” Claudine said.
”There are apples on the counter.” Obeline never s.h.i.+fted her scowl from my face. ”If you peel them we can make a pie.”
”OK.”
Twirling her dream catcher, Claudine stepped past Obeline and disappeared. In moments, the sound of singing drifted down the hall. ”Fendez le bois, chauffez le four. Dormez la belle, il n'est point jour.” ”Fendez le bois, chauffez le four. Dormez la belle, il n'est point jour.”
I translated the child's tune in my head. Chop the wood, heat the oven. Sleep, pretty one, it's not daytime yet.
”How dare you,” Obeline hissed.
”No, Obeline. How dare you you?”
”She has the mind of an eight-year-old child.”
”Fine. Let's talk about children.” My tone was polar. ”Let's talk about your sister.”
All color drained from her face.
”Where is she?”