Free Amandine by Marlena de Blasi Page B

my mother since she is also your mother. And Marie-Albert’s mother and Josephine’s mother. And Marie-France et Jacqueline et Suzette. Mater is the mother of all my sisters just as Père Philippe is our father. But hurry now so that we can ask Mater about the carousel.
Solange, Solange, vite, vite
. I want so much to ride a white pony.’
    “Of course I said nothing. Her notion seems just, doesn’t it? We all live in the same house, we all pray and work together, we all call you
Mater
, we all call Philippe
Père
. I was shocked at myself, I mean that I hadn’t considered this assumption. It’s—”
    “An easily clarified absurdity. She is precocious. It’s time—it’s perhaps even late—nevertheless you must, we all must, I suppose, begin to conspire, begin to explain to her, each in our own way, that she has no parents. That she is an orphan. Yes, we must begin. I would suggest that you begin and we shall all follow suit. And now, please leave me, Solange.”
    Solange makes no move to stand, to curtsy, rather she sits quietly, looking at Paul, who takes up her pen, begins to write, her slanted, looping hand sure and fast across the page.
    “Please leave me, Solange.” Now she commands.
    Solange remains seated.
    “Mater, I’ve decided to tell Amandine the truth.”
    Pen still in hand, Paul looks up. “What truth?”
    “That she has a mother but that … that her mother wasn’t able to—”
    “What figment do you consult, child?”
    “I disbelieve the story you told to me. That both her parents died only days after she was born. Without more information, more credible information, more details, more evidence, I can’t believe it, and so I can’t ask Amandine to believe it. I shall not try to convince her of what I am not convinced myself.”
    “Of what
are
you convinced?”
    “That not knowing one’s mother and so hoping one day to know her is far better for a child to contemplate than that her mother is dead. Especially when no one knows for certain that she is. You are not certain, are you, Mater?”
    Paul stays silent.
    “This is what I think will be best for Amandine, Mater. I will tell her that her parents, her mother, at least, is alive. I will tell her that I don’t know who her parents are or where they are or why, exactly, they left her here with us, with you. I will tell her that one day her mother will come to take her home.”
    “You would give the child hope? Cruelty I did not expect of you. Better you tell her that you are her mother. I’ve always thought, should she live long enough to question her parentage, that you would claim motherhood. Natural enough, wouldn’t you say? And truer than your fantasy since motherhood has more to do with fidelity than with blood. Certainly you have been faithful to her, Solange.”
    “I’ve thought of telling her that I’m her mother. I admit that. And if I was certain that her own mother would never come forth to claim her, that is what I would do. But under these conditions, that would be fair neither to Amandine nor to her mother.”
    “Conditions? There are no conditions. Amandine shall never know her parents. Her mother. Dead or alive, neither do
I
know the state of their being. What I
do
know is that Amandine does not exist for them.”
    Paul looks away from Solange. Sotto voce she says,
Essentially, the child shall no longer exist once you leave this room
. She turns back to Solange. “Yes, I think those were my lines.”
    “Pardon me, Mater. Your lines?”
    “Be certain of this, Solange, that the child’s life began on the day she was brought here. Left here. Be certain of that and save yourself and the child at least some part of the suffering already allotted to her. I admit the strangeness of it, but nevertheless it is all the truth we have.”
    “You thought she was going to die, didn’t you, Mater? You and the bishop, you thought it would be a few weeks, a few months, and she would be gone. She was taken on as a