Free Black Alley by Mauricio Segura Page A

disappointment – Lajoie won most of the races easily. When Cléo won the grade five sprint, you exploded with joy that was as euphoric as it was liberating. You hugged him, congratulated him, carried him in triumph: he was the best, the fastest! And Serge said, put him down right now, you’re going to hurt him! Yes, Marcelo, one day they made fun of him, the next he was a hero again. It seemed you only liked him when it was convenient. Then the police officers came to help Serge and backed you up against the fence: come on, now, children, that’s no way to act! Let’s go, everyone sit down now. And after his victory, Cléo started to act like the others: he clapped his hands, cracked jokes, laughed, pushed back when someone jostled him. Yes, every day, he was becoming more outgoing.

    Then it was time for the grade five girls’ hundred metres. Cléo stood so he could cheer them on better, and Sylvain followed suit, for once Caramilk had a good idea, and the rest of the school did the same. Sylvain couldn’t contain himself since Serge had told him he was going to replace Yuri in the relay race, the Polish boy had a bad case of the flu and had had to stay home. They clapped their hands, stomped their feet, they made fun of the opposing team, “Loo-loo-loonies!” “Lo-lo-lo-Losers!” Obsessed by the races, Serge rarely came over to you, but when he did, he would order, Lower your voices, children; but you’d start up again a few seconds later. The groundskeeper, an old man with a tanned face, came over. You quieted down so you could hear what he had to say: settle down, children, the residents around here don’t like that much noise. And, without missing a beat, Sylain replied, screw the residents! What do you say about that, gramps? Shouts acclaimed Sylvain’s fearlessness, and the old man walked away grumbling.
    Just then, the two police officers came towards you, toddling along, as if they were just taking a stroll to stretch their legs a bit. Smiling, they pretended to be supremely absorbed in their own conversation. They looked a lot alike in their navy blue uniforms, though one was shorter and visibly more nervous than the other. Stocky and bowlegged, the nervous one was tossing his nightstick in the air and catching it expertly. They stopped in front of you, whispered something in each other’s ear and gave a hearty laugh. Finally, the officer put his nightstick back in its holder and noisily cleared his throat.
    â€œChildren?”
    He had to call you like that several times before you paid him any attention.
    â€œChildren?” he repeated. “I have a riddle for you. Do you want to hear it?”
    This surprised you. Some of you surveyed him with distrustful looks: what was he up to? Others kept talking, as if nothing
was going on. Suddenly Sylvain’s voice could be heard, let’s hear it, you Smurf, tell us your riddle! This was followed by some laughter, but the officer said shhh! and asked again if you wanted to hear his riddle. In unison, several of you called out yeeeessss! in a childish tone, and then laughed even louder.
    â€œThat’s enough!” ordered the police officer, raising his voice. “Or else, I won’t tell you and that will be the end of that.”
    His ultimatum worked: with your heads tucked down into your shoulders, you studied him in silence now. He turned towards his colleague and winked with a big smile. Then he turned back to you, “Okay!” he said, clapping his hands together. “That’s better. Let’s start by sitting down.”
    You obeyed. He licked his lips and pronounced the following sentence, articulating carefully as if he were speaking to the hard-of-hearing, “What-is-the-most-beautiful-sound-on-earth, children?”
    You looked questioningly at one another: what could it be? You repeated the question out loud, stroking your chins. Then you all shrugged your