Free Vango by Timothee de Fombelle Page B

nobody on Arkudah had seen it coming is hard to say. But one summer’s morning, when he was thirteen, Vango solemnly announced to Father Zefiro:
    “I’ve been thinking, Padre. . . .”
    “That’s good news.”
    “I’m ready to take an important decision.”
    Zefiro was trying to catch a rabbit in the enclosure behind the chapel.
    “An important decision?”
    The padre was chuckling to himself. Vango often sounded as portentous as a judge.
    Zefiro grabbed a black rabbit by the skin on its back. He looked at Vango. He was enjoying watching this boy grow up. A beautiful present had washed up on his island three autumns earlier. It seemed to Zefiro as if, by appearing in their lives, Vango had nudged the earth around a little, to make it face the sun.
    “Tell me about it,” said the monk.
    “Not here.”
    “Rabbits have ears,” whispered Zefiro conspiratorially. “But don’t worry, this rabbit won’t breathe a word to anybody.”
    He was holding the rabbit tightly to him.
    “Tell me what you’ve decided.”
    “Not here. It’s important.”
    “Speak, little one!”
    Vango swallowed hard and announced: “I want to be a monk.”
    Vango hadn’t anticipated the storm that was about to hit.
    Zefiro let out a roar of anger. He released the rabbit and headed off to kick a pile of crates while cursing under his breath. He stumbled and fell to the ground. Then, unclenching his fists, he tried to pull himself together. He put his head in his hands, went very still, took several deep breaths, and said, “What would you know about it?”
    “I’m sorry?”
    “What do you know? Absolutely nothing.”
    “I know . . .”
    “Be quiet!”
    Vango looked down. The rabbits were trembling under a rock.
    “I’m telling you that you know nothing!”
    “I’ve been coming here for three years,” whispered Vango.
    “So what?”
    The monk could feel his anger rising again.
    “So what? After three years in a circus, you’d have wanted to become a clown! After three years in a rabbit hutch, you’d have wanted to become a rabbit! You know nothing, Vango! Nothing! Nothing! Nothing!”
    “I know your . . .”
    “But what about the world! Do you have any knowledge of the world? What have you seen of life? The islands! Two scraps of confetti floating on the sea! A nurse, a few men in hoods, lizards . . . The life of lizards, Vango, that’s what you know! You’re a lizard among lizards.”
    Vango had turned around. There were tears welling up in his eyes. He had expected the padre to welcome him with open arms.
    A little bird flew close by to console him.
    Zefiro went to sit on a stone. Each stayed on his own side for several long minutes before Vango approached him.
    “We need to say good-bye,” he heard Zefiro saying.
    Another silence passed between them.
    “You will leave this place, Vango, and you will leave your island too. You must go and spend a year far away from here. And in a year’s time, if you want, you can come back to see me.”
    “But where am I going?” Vango said, sobbing.
    Zefiro felt guilty.
    He should have sent this boy away a long time ago.
    “I’m going to give you someone’s name. You’ll visit him on my behalf.”
    “In Palermo?”
    “Farther away.”
    “Does he live in Naples?” The boy sniffed.
    “Much farther away than that, Vango.”
    “In another country?”
    Zefiro put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and hugged him.
    “In another country?” Vango asked again.
    “This whole planet is his country.”

On the shores of Lake Constance, Germany, six years later, April 1934
    In its gigantic hangar, the zeppelin was tied to the ground like a captive dragon. The mooring ropes squeaked. Spots of light lit up its flanks. It was almost midnight. Down on the ground, between the suitcases and mailbags, a radio was playing the music of Duke Ellington.
    “Herr Doctor Eckener!”
    These words were barked from outside.
    The balloon swayed on its ropes. Its silvery bulk still gave off the salty