Free Revolution Baby by Alison Anderson, Joanna Gruda Page A

Feller called an end to the meeting, and the gong for dinner went just then, so we got up without saying thank you or goodbye, and rushed to the refectory. I already had a few ideas for my garden. During dinner, Marcel regaled us with an imitation of Gros Pierre. He adopted his most sententious air and came out with his finest rolled
r
’s: “We are going to plant the garrrden, with the earrrth and the tools. It is verrry difficult. You’ll have to rrrread books. Marrrcel, do you think you can?” He was a real idiot, that Marcel, but he did have a gift for imitating people.
    My mother was due to visit two days later, so I decided I would order my seeds through her; as she always came to the orphanage by bus, I couldn’t ask her to bring anything too cumbersome. I’d already begun leafing through Gros Pierre’s gardening books. I was very excited about the contest, and after that first official meeting I began looking closely at all the gardens on the way to school, obliging myself to form an opinion about each one: “I like this one,” or “That one is pretty but a bit too tidy,” or even “That is exactly what I do
not
want to do.” Since all the children at L’Avenir Social went to the same school, all I could use these gardens for was inspiration, without copying anything, because that would be too obvious and diminish my chances of winning.
    For the first time since I had come to L’Avenir Social, I was looking forward to my mother’s visit. I had made up a list of the seeds I wanted her to get for me, in decreasing order of importance: “Poppies, pansies, zinnias, campanula, asters, and cosmos,” to which I added yellow or orange dahlia bulbs. I wanted a country garden, with bright colors.
    My mother’s visit went fairly well this time; I was the one who did nearly all the talking. I showed her the garden, and explained the rules of the contest. I don’t know how much she understood, but thanks to my list, where everything was clearly indicated, she couldn’t go wrong. The only time I got a little bit annoyed was when I asked her to come back within four weeks and I could tell from her somewhat vague reaction that she wasn’t taking my request very seriously. Her usual “
Oui
,
oui
” really annoyed me, and I insisted and explained that otherwise she might as well not come at all, because it would be too late for the contest. She promised she’d be there “as soon as possible.” The way she put it was not precise enough to my liking, but there was nothing more I could do, other than to hope she would prove to me that I could count on her, in spite of all the lies she had told me when I was little.
    So I was immensely relieved when roughly five weeks after this meeting, Arnold informed me that Lena would be coming the very next day. I had begun to think that she had forgotten all about me . . . but she hadn’t, and I felt bad about not trusting her.
    â€œHello, my little Julek.”
    â€œHello, Lena. How are you?”
    â€œFine, fine, and you?”
    I resigned myself to joking about this and that with her; I would wait a while before referring to the matter that truly interested me. After a while she was the one who brought it up.
    â€œI have this thing for you. You want?”
    â€œYes, of course!”
    Lena took a little paper package from her big canvas bag. She handed it to me. I took it. And opened it. Little chocolate sweets . . .
    â€œBut you have my seeds, too, don’t you?”
    â€œ
Oui
,
oui
,” she said, somewhat surprised by my reaction.
    â€œSo where are they?”
    She just stared at me.
    â€œThe seeds, remember, I gave you a list, flowers, the names of flowers on a piece of paper?”
    â€œAh,
oui
,
oui
, flowers! But I have chocolates. Flowers, after. Next time.”
    I felt my ears go warm. I wanted to stand up, and take her by the shoulders, and