Free Little Jewel by Patrick Modiano Page B

Especially to this woman who appeared to be so favourably disposed to me.
    â€˜I’m going to let you sleep now…’
    â€˜Couldn’t you stay the night with me?’
    It was as if someone else was speaking. I was terribly surprised at having been so bold. I was ashamed.
    She didn’t bat an eyelid. ‘Are you frightened of being here alone?’
    She was still sitting on the edge of the bed, next to me, looking me in the eye, and her gaze, unlike my mother’s in the painting by Tola Soungouroff, was gentle.
    â€˜I’ll stay if that would be a comfort to you.’
    And, with weary, unaffected ease, she took off her shoes. It was as if she did the same thing every evening, at the same time, in this same room. She lay back, without taking off her fur coat. I remained on the edge of the bed, motionless.
    â€˜You should lie down, too. You need some sleep.’
    I lay down next to her. I didn’t know what to say or, rather, I was frightened that the slightest word would sound false, and that she’d change her mind, get up and leave. Shewas silent, too. I heard music nearby; it sounded as if it was coming from in front of the building. Someone was playing a percussion instrument. The notes rang out, clear and mournful, like background music.
    â€˜Do you think it’s coming from Zone Out?’ she said. And she burst out laughing. Suddenly, it all dropped away: everything that terrified me, made me uneasy and led me to believe that, ever since I was a child, I could never shake off an evil curse. A musician with a thin lacquered moustache was tapping a xylophone with his drumsticks. And I envisioned the stage at Zone Out, illuminated by the cold white spotlight. A man dressed as a coach driver was cracking his whip and announcing in a muffled voice, ‘And now, ladies and gentlemen, I give you Death Cheater!’
    The lights faded. And suddenly, under the spotlight, the woman in the yellow coat appeared, just as I had seen her in the metro. She walked slowly towards the front of the stage. The fellow with the lacquered moustache kept banging his instrument with his drumsticks. She greeted the audience with her arms raised. But there was no audience. Just a few inert, mummified figures seated at some round tables.
    â€˜Yes,’ I said. ‘The music must be coming from Zone Out.’
    She asked if she could turn off the light on the bedside table, which was on her side of the bed.
    The neon light from the garage shone its familiar glow on the wall above us. I started to cough. She moved over, closer to me. I rested my head on her shoulder. As soon as I felt the fur’s softness, my anxiety and dark thoughts began to recede. Little Jewel, Death Cheater, the Kraut, the yellow coat…All those pathetic props now belonged to someone else’s life. I had shed them like a costume, a harness I had been made to wear for ages and which made it difficult to breathe. I felt her lips on my forehead.
    â€˜I don’t like you coughing like that,’ she said softly. ‘You must have caught a cold in this room.’
    She was right. It would soon be winter and they hadn’t yet turned on the central heating.

SHE LEFT VERY early the next morning. I had to go to Neuilly that afternoon to look after the little girl. I rang the doorbell of the Valadier home at around three o’clock. Véra Valadier opened the door and seemed surprised to see me. It was as if I’d woken her up and she’d had to get dressed quickly.
    â€˜I didn’t know you came on Thursdays as well.’
    And when I asked if the little girl was there, Véra Valadier said no. Her daughter wasn’t home from school yet. Even though it was Thursday and there was no school. But she explained that on Thursday afternoons the boarders played in the playground and the little girl was with them. I had noticed that neither Véra Valadier nor her husband ever called her by her name. They