Free The Notebook + The Proof + The Third Lie by Agota Kristof

boots.
    Right in front of us, a thin arm emerges from the crowd, a dirty hand stretches out, a voice asks:
    "Bread."
    The housekeeper smiles and pretends to offer the rest of her bread; she holds it close to the outstretched hand, then, with a great laugh, brings the piece of bread back to her mouth, takes a bite, and says:
    "I'm hungry too."
    A soldier who has seen all this gives the housekeeper a slap on the behind; he pinches her cheek, and she waves to him with her handkerchief until all we can see is a cloud of dust against the setting sun.
    We go back into the house. From the kitchen we can see the priest kneeling in front of the big crucifix in his room.
    The housekeeper says:
    "Finish your bread and butter."
    We say:
    "We aren't hungry anymore."
    We go into the room. The priest turns around:
    "Do you want to pray with me, my children?"
    "We never pray, as you know very well. We want to understand."
    "You cannot understand. You are too young."
    " You are not too young. That's why we are asking you. Who are those people? Where are they being taken? Why?"
    The priest gets up and comes toward us. Closing his eyes, he says:
    "The Ways of the Lord are unfathomable." He opens his eyes and places his hands on our heads: "It is unfortunate that you were forced to witness such a spectacle. You are trembling all over." "So are you, Father." "Yes, I am old, I tremble."
    "As for us, we're cold. We came here stripped to the waist. We're going to put on the shirts your housekeeper has washed."
    We go into the kitchen. The housekeeper hands us our parcel of clean clothes. We each take a shirt. The housekeeper says:
    "You're too sensitive. The best thing you can do is to forget what you've seen."
    "We never forget anything." She pushes us to the door:
    "Off you go, and don't worry! None of that has anything to do with you. It'll never happen to you. Those people are only animals."
     
     

Grandmother's Apples
    We run from the priest's house to the cobbler's house. His windowpanes are broken; his door is smashed in. Inside, everything has been ransacked. Filthy words are written on the walls.
    An old woman is sitting on a bench in front of the house next door. We ask her:
    "Has the cobbler gone away?"
    "A long time ago, the poor man."
    "He wasn't among those who went through town today?"
    "No, the ones who went today came from somewhere else. In cattle trucks. Him, he was killed here, in his workshop, with his own tools. Don't worry. God sees everything. He will recognize His Own."
    When we get home, we find Grandmother lying on her back in front of the garden gate, her legs apart, apples scattered all around her.
    Grandmother doesn't move. Her forehead is bleeding.
    We run to the kitchen, wet a cloth, and take the brandy down from the shelf. We put the wet cloth on Grandmother's forehead and pour brandy into her mouth. After a while she opens her eyes and says:
    "More!"
    We pour more brandy into her mouth.
    She raises herself up on her elbows and starts shouting:
    "Pick up the apples! What are you waiting for, sons of a bitch?"
    We pick the apples up from the dusty road. We put them in her apron.
    The cloth has fallen from Grandmother's forehead. Blood is trickling into her eyes. She wipes it away with a corner of her shawl.
    We ask:
    "Are you hurt, Grandmother?"
    She sniggers:
    "It'll take more than a blow from a rifle butt to kill me off."
    "What happened, Grandmother?"
    "Nothing. I was picking apples. I came to the gate to watch the procession. My apron slipped; the apples fell and rolled into the road. In the middle of the procession. That's no reason to hit someone."
    "Who hit you, Grandmother?"
    "Who do you think? You're not fools! They hit them too. They hit people in the crowd. But all the same there were some who were able to eat my apples!"
    We help Grandmother get up. We take her into the house. She starts peeling the apples to make a compote, but she falls down, and we carry her to her bed. We take off her shoes. Her shawl