Fermentation

by Angelica J.

  I packed up the apartment and my suitcases and bought a travelling box for the chameleon. I also visited the cheese shop. Berthe and the old man took turns holding the child and both agreed she was a beautifully fermented specimen; a little early, but most important of all not too ripe. ‘Send me your address,’ the old man said, ‘when you know where you're staying.’

  The train journey was longer than I remembered. It is one of those laws. The journey back is always longer than the journey forward. The child slept most of the way and when she did cry I would walk her up and down the corridor and people smiled and touched her face.

  When we arrived at Lourdes we took the bus up into the mountains to Cauterets. I could see snow on the peaks. At first we stayed in the hotel but afterwards I found a small apartment in the main square.

  You want to know, did he come back? The question is still to be answered. At night when the child is asleep I stand by the window and wait. I think I will see him again. Last night I lit a candle and placed it in the window. I sat with the child in my arms and watched as a moth flew down from a dark corner of the room. It was attracted by the flame and danced around the fire on the tips of its wings. It could not escape unless I extinguished the flame.

  In the morning I fed its body to the lizard.