stopped breathing now? Would the turbine stop turning? So when the blade points up to twelve o’clock again I don’t breathe out, I just hold it. To start with nothing happens, but then there is a burning in my throat, a pushing forward into my mouth like there is darkness trapped inside me trying to get out. I don’t like it at all and I let the breath escape in a rush. After a while breathing with the turbine again I decide to try the other way, so I breathe out, and then don’t let myself breathe in. There is a boiling inside of me, almost straight away, and my head starts to thump, my face tingling.
Hey, says Margot.
But I shake my head.
Pea! she says. You have forgotten to breathe!
I shake my head harder and she nods hers very hard back. I shake and she nods and I shake and she nods until my mouth opens itself all on its own and the air is sucked in. I think it is very strange that we breathe without even thinking about it, and that we can’t stop it and start it like we can with other things. I wonder, since it’s so hard to stop breathing, how people manage to do it until they die.
In between me and the turbines, Margot has started cartwheeling.
Come on! she says. This is very good exercise and it’s also very impressive.
It is impressive, I say. And I join in. The ground makes dents in my palms, but the turning over part makes up for it. We are angels’ wings, turning over and over, on the top of our own hill. When we stop we are smiling and puffed out. I sit and look out towards the étangs . The sunshine is painting white splashes on the blue water.
Do you think she is going to be hiding for ever? I ask Margot.
Maybe, maybe not, Margot says. She cocks her head to the side which usually means she is going to say something interesting.
I think, she says, that it will depend on the baby.
I take a stick and start to write my name in the dirt. I make a big ‘P’ and then stop.
P is for peacock, says Margot.
No, I say. P is for me, I’m just not sure which one.
E, says Margot. I draw the E, scraping the stony ground to get the corners straight. After that the A is the right thing to do. Then I write Margot, then I draw a spider with zigzag teeth. The baby will be quite small, I say. I’m not sure it will be able to help us much.
No. But maybe the baby has got Maman’s happiness, says Margot. Maybe the happiness wasn’t left at the hospital but it stayed in her tummy?
Or maybe when the baby is born it will be my turn with Maman again?
Could be, says Margot. Or could be not.
You know what we really need? I say.
A papa, she replies.
I still don’t know where to get one from. This is a chewy thought, so I look at the angels some more and ask them in my head if they have any ideas.
Margot appears in front of my face. Would you like a bonbon ? she says.
Oh, yes please, I say.
Margot gives me a handful of purple seeds. I chew them. They are a bit gristly but the flavour is very nice. As I chew I scratch at the ground some more with my stick. The soil here is sandy-coloured on top, but underneath it’s the same red-brown as Merlin. It is warm like Merlin too, but not as flappy. I would like to see him now. And Claude.
Margot, I say, shall we go to Claude’s house and see if he wants to come and play?
He’s a grownup, Pea, she says.
Papa was a grownup, I say, and he used to play with us.
Yes, but Papa was a papa. It’s not the same when you’re not a papa. You aren’t so interested in children and you like to talk to grownups and to meet ladies. Not girls, she says. Not normally.
I’m bored of normally, I say. And anyway, Claude is interested.
Well we can’t go to his house, says Margot. It’s in the rules.
What rules? I say.
The Rules! Margot replies.
Can you remind me? I say.
Margot stands up straight. Here are The Rules, she says.
1. Don’t go down to the low meadow on your own.
2. Don’t lick your fingers then put them back in the olive jar.
3. Boys have to wear
Hey, says Margot.
But I shake my head.
Pea! she says. You have forgotten to breathe!
I shake my head harder and she nods hers very hard back. I shake and she nods and I shake and she nods until my mouth opens itself all on its own and the air is sucked in. I think it is very strange that we breathe without even thinking about it, and that we can’t stop it and start it like we can with other things. I wonder, since it’s so hard to stop breathing, how people manage to do it until they die.
In between me and the turbines, Margot has started cartwheeling.
Come on! she says. This is very good exercise and it’s also very impressive.
It is impressive, I say. And I join in. The ground makes dents in my palms, but the turning over part makes up for it. We are angels’ wings, turning over and over, on the top of our own hill. When we stop we are smiling and puffed out. I sit and look out towards the étangs . The sunshine is painting white splashes on the blue water.
Do you think she is going to be hiding for ever? I ask Margot.
Maybe, maybe not, Margot says. She cocks her head to the side which usually means she is going to say something interesting.
I think, she says, that it will depend on the baby.
I take a stick and start to write my name in the dirt. I make a big ‘P’ and then stop.
P is for peacock, says Margot.
No, I say. P is for me, I’m just not sure which one.
E, says Margot. I draw the E, scraping the stony ground to get the corners straight. After that the A is the right thing to do. Then I write Margot, then I draw a spider with zigzag teeth. The baby will be quite small, I say. I’m not sure it will be able to help us much.
No. But maybe the baby has got Maman’s happiness, says Margot. Maybe the happiness wasn’t left at the hospital but it stayed in her tummy?
Or maybe when the baby is born it will be my turn with Maman again?
Could be, says Margot. Or could be not.
You know what we really need? I say.
A papa, she replies.
I still don’t know where to get one from. This is a chewy thought, so I look at the angels some more and ask them in my head if they have any ideas.
Margot appears in front of my face. Would you like a bonbon ? she says.
Oh, yes please, I say.
Margot gives me a handful of purple seeds. I chew them. They are a bit gristly but the flavour is very nice. As I chew I scratch at the ground some more with my stick. The soil here is sandy-coloured on top, but underneath it’s the same red-brown as Merlin. It is warm like Merlin too, but not as flappy. I would like to see him now. And Claude.
Margot, I say, shall we go to Claude’s house and see if he wants to come and play?
He’s a grownup, Pea, she says.
Papa was a grownup, I say, and he used to play with us.
Yes, but Papa was a papa. It’s not the same when you’re not a papa. You aren’t so interested in children and you like to talk to grownups and to meet ladies. Not girls, she says. Not normally.
I’m bored of normally, I say. And anyway, Claude is interested.
Well we can’t go to his house, says Margot. It’s in the rules.
What rules? I say.
The Rules! Margot replies.
Can you remind me? I say.
Margot stands up straight. Here are The Rules, she says.
1. Don’t go down to the low meadow on your own.
2. Don’t lick your fingers then put them back in the olive jar.
3. Boys have to wear
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