When Dad comes to get me, I follow him in the dark, feeling the walls of the house as I go. Dust gathers under my fingers. At home, my globe glows in the night when I go to bed (and it’s out when I wake up). Here there’s no light at all.
I get my flashlight out of my backpack. The house is empty and has probably been that way for a while. There’s a hole in the roof. Dad bangs on a large mattress and a cloud of dust rises. He takes a down coverlet from his bag and tells me to undress.
“Should I put my pajamas on?”
“You brought them?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, put them on. Did you also bring your toothbrush?”
“No, I forgot it.” I put my pajamas on. It’s cold in the house. I don’t want to lie down in this large bed alone: it feels ice cold, and I’m certain there are creatures lurking in it, maybe even a skeleton.
I tell my dad that the mattress hurts my back and that I’d rather sleep on the floor like him. All I want is to sleep next to him, but I don’t want to admit it. He comes to lie down next to me and puts his hand on my back, which warms me up. He starts to tell me a story like the ones Yaya tells me that last a long time. I feel my feet get heavy, then my legs, and I fall asleep.
The rain wakes us up. It’s raining right next to us because of the hole in the roof. It’s very early, the sun just coming up, and the air smells of wet grass and cows.
We get dressed. Usually I don’t mind wearing the same T-shirt twice in a row, but this time it would have been nice to change because my shirt feels damp. We stop in the village and Dad buys some muffins, a bottle of orange juice, and some sandwiches for the road. We have a morning picnic and drink the orange juice directly from the bottle. It’s all good, except for the rain. And I wish Mom and Lise were with us, like on a family vacation.
It rains all day. We walk along the river. In one of my geography lessons I learned that the Loire is the longest river in France. It begins at Mont Gerbier-de-Jonc. All I can think about is how I’m tired of walking along the Loire.
“Are we there yet?” I ask.
“In a while. You want me to carry you?”
I hesitate. I don’t want to seem like a baby.
“No, I just wanted to know.”
We stop to watch some fishermen. There are several of them, all wearing thigh-high rubber boots. All waiting in the water without moving. I take advantage of our rest to remove some gravel from my shoes. One of the fishermen takes a sandwich out of his shoulder bag. It would be nice to eat with him and ask him if he’s caught a lot of fish, but Dad says we can’t risk being noticed, that a man with a child is easily remembered.
We eat on a bench farther away. The rain has made my sandwich all soggy, and it doesn’t taste good. Plus I’m thirsty and we have no water left. Dad takes an old road map out and tells me to go watch the fishermen.
I stay at the edge of the river. It takes them a long time to catch a fish. They don’t talk, and I wonder what they think about all day, standing with their feet in the water.
I think about my mom: I hope she found the letter on my desk. I hope she didn’t cry. Then I think about Lise. She’s probably upset that I left with Dad, especially since I’m pretty sure she tried to do the same thing and got caught. I wonder if Hassan stopped by to find out if I was sick. We’re not best friends anymore, but even so.… He and I were supposed to go to summer camp together, after all.
Will my mom tell him the truth?
I want to call Lise. I know I’m not supposed to, but I want to anyway.
We leave the river and take a small road. There’s no traffic, so we walk in the middle.
Dad asks me what I want to be when I grow up.
“A journalist,” I say.
“Why?”
“To tell the truth. Journalists lie. One of them said that you killed a bank guard.”
“Is that the only reason you want to become a journalist?”
“Yes.”
“They’re not all liars. Some go to countries that are at war and risk their lives to tell the rest of the world what’s going on. You’re sure that’s what you want to do?”
“Yes.”
“It can be dangerous.”
“I wanted to be a policeman before, but not anymore. All I know is that I don’t want to be a thief.”
It starts to rain again and we pull our hoods up. Now all I hear is the swishing of our Windbreakers and the rain falling on the road. Soon we’re walking in mud—squish, squish—and my new Nikes are all dirty. If Mom were here, she’d clean them.
Suddenly I can smell the ocean.
I’m drenched and I start to sneeze. I forgot to bring tissues. Dad takes a sweater out of his bag and tells me to put it on. It’s too big, but it’s warm and it smells good, just like my dad. He picks me up in his arms. I hang on to him and rest my head on his shoulder. I know that’s what babies do, but I don’t care. No one’s around to tell.
A car approaches and dad lifts his arm to make it stop.
“Our car broke down,” he says. “Could you take us to the nearest service station, please?”
The driver looks at me. I sneeze and he opens the door. Dad sits next to the driver. They talk, but I don’t listen to their conversation. The driver puts the heat on and I go to sleep in my dad’s big sweater.
When I wake up, I’m in a bed. I hear voices. I listen and recognize my dad. It’s dark in the room, but I can see a light coming from under the door. My eyes adjust after a while and I start to make out some of the shapes: a bed, a desk, a chair, and a chest of drawers. On the floor, there are boxes with books, toys, and a little lamp. I look for the light switch and knock the lamp over, but I manage to turn it on.
I open the door and walk along the hallway. At the end of it, I see my dad sitting in front of a fireplace. He’s talking with a man I’ve seen at our house before. Mom closes the door when he comes so we can’t hear them, or she pretends that his cigarette smoke bothers us and she takes him outside.
Dad adds a log to the fire. Some plates and a pan are still on the table and it smells like applesauce. I’m starving.
“Ah, Anthony, this is Thierry. Do you remember him?”
“Yes,” I say.
Thierry gets up and looks at me. I look at him too, even though his gold earring makes him look like a pirate. He scares me.
“Do you want to eat something?” he asks me.
“Yes, please.”
Thierry brings me some food. It’s dark outside. I don’t know where we are, but I can hear the sea and the wind. It’s still raining. Thierry says it will clear up during the night.
I eat and watch the flames in the fireplace. Dad and Thierry go on talking, exchanging news about friends. Dad tells me about the man who gave us a lift. Thierry says that Mom called him and that he told her not to worry.
Dad frowns. “What did you tell her, exactly?”
“I just said that my nephew was coming to visit me. I think she understood.”
I don’t understand what he means, so I just look at Thierry’s arms. They’re covered in tattoos. On one arm he’s got a Native American with a colorful feathered headdress. On the other arm there’s a dagger with something written over it.
When dad gets up to take a shower, Thierry explains that he got the tattoo of the Native American when he was young, with friends who all got the same one. That makes me think Thierry might not be so bad.
I smile. “I wear the same sneakers as my best friend,” I tell him.
He pulls up his sleeve to let me look closely at the other tattoo.
“This one I got when I was in jail.”
My eyes go wide. “Why did you go to jail?”
“Little boys don’t need to know. Are you tired?”
I go back to the room where I slept. I put my pajamas on, but they’re cold. I push up against the radiator, and when I feel warm, I go back to bed. Dad comes in to say good night.
“Are you asleep, Anthony?”
“No.”
&nb
sp; He sits next to me. “We’ll stay with Thierry for a few days. The police don’t know I’m here. We’re safe. Thierry will help me escape.”
“So you’re leaving again?”
“Yes. If I don’t, they’ll find me. When the time comes, Thierry will take you home. Mom knows.”
“Where will you go?”
“I’m not sure. But you don’t have to worry about it. I’m here for the time being.”
“What does Thierry do?”
“He works at an oyster farm. He’ll show you.”
“Why did he go to jail?”
“That’s none of your business. Besides, he’s out now.”
“Will you sleep with me?”
“Yes.”
He lies down on top of the bed and we turn off the light. It’s easier to talk in the dark.
“Dad, why did you become a bank robber?”
Dad takes a deep breath. “I don’t know anymore. Your grandfather taught me and it seemed easy. I’m not a big brain like your uncle, you know.”
“It’s Grandpa’s fault, then?”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying.”
“Lise says that if Yaya had been a good mom, you wouldn’t have robbed banks.”
“Lise isn’t always right, Anthony. When you’re an adult, you make your own choices. And this is what I decided to do. Your grandmother didn’t force me.”
“But can’t you do anything else? Don’t you have a real trade?”
“I do, in fact.”
“What is it?”
“Woodworker.”
Being a woodworker is good, I think. Not as good as a photographer, but still good. “What’re you going to do now?”
“I’m going to catch up with some friends.”
“To work or to rob banks?”
“I don’t know, Anthony.”
“I want you to tell me. If I ask Yaya, she’ll just lie to me. I want to know the truth.”
Dad sighs. “Listen to me if you’re a big boy. I never killed anyone. I took money from banks, not from people. Banks are insured, and—”
“Lise says that if everybody robbed banks, then no one would have a real job anymore.”
“But not everybody does what I do. What I do is dangerous.”
“What if you get killed?”
“I’ve never gotten hurt.”
“Not yet. But maybe one day …”
“No. I promise you.”
“You got caught. You could just as well get killed.”
“I tell you it won’t happen to me. Go to sleep now.”
I want to say that if he gave back the money, even in installments, we could have a normal life. But he pulls the itchy blanket up to my neck, which means I have to go to sleep.
Dad is still stretched out next to me on the blanket, fully dressed, with his shoes on. He takes up a lot of space, but I like being snug against him and hearing him breathe. It’s a lot better than being alone in the room.
• 6 •
The Policeman’s Daughter
It’s a beautiful morning. From the window of my room, I can see the ocean and the white waves. My dad is outside, smoking a cigarette as he looks out at the sea.
Thierry is at work, so Dad makes breakfast. Then I get dressed in clothes Thierry set out for me, and I read a stack of comic books.
When I get tired of reading, I explore the house. It’s a small one-story with a ladder that goes up to the attic. The house is surrounded by trees, so no one can see it from the road. Behind it is the sea. The house is pretty empty inside—no rugs, no pictures or decorations of any kind.
I’m bored. I wish I could go to summer camp with Hassan, and I miss the fights I have with Lise. I wish my life could be normal.
I ask Dad to give back the bank money so we can live like everybody else, with Mom and Lise. He doesn’t answer me, just strokes my hair.
Dad is listening to the radio (there’s no TV in the house) when Thierry comes back at lunchtime. Thierry’s brought some mussels, which he cooks in white wine. I’ve never had white wine before—Mom doesn’t want me to. Once, Lise and I tried some in secret, just to see what it was like. We spat it out right away; it was too sour. But Thierry cooks the mussels directly in the wine and it tastes good.
By the time Dad and Thierry are drinking their coffee, I’m bored again. I ask them if I can call Lise. They exchange a look. Dad hesitates and I think he’s about to give in, but Thierry shakes his head. I ask if I can write to her instead. Thierry gets up to get some stationery.
I start my letter. I don’t really know what to say to my sister. I don’t want her to be sad that she isn’t with us, but I want her to understand that her brother the shrimp managed to leave with Dad even though I’m younger than she is.
Dear Lise,
Being on vacation with Dad is nice but we have to walk a lot. He slept with me last night but it wasn’t like sleeping with you. We didn’t do hot water bottle and we didn’t make a tent under the blanket. I ate mussels cooked in white wine, which was very good. I saw fishermen. We had a picnic for breakfast.
XOXO,
Anthony
I write the address on the envelope and Thierry puts a stamp on it.
I want to go out and play but there’s nothing to play with. Thierry closes the kitchen door to speak to Dad. I have nothing to do, so I listen to their conversation.
“A kid is too much of a burden. And if anyone reported him missing …”
“Not a chance.”
“I’m not saying that his mom alerted the police, but the cops in front of your house must have noticed that Anthony isn’t around.”
“I didn’t have a choice about bringing him. I’ll stay here two days, then I’ll go. You’ll take Anthony back home.”
I open the door. “I can go back alone, I’m old enough.”
My dad gets up and slaps my face. “Be quiet! Now go to your room and stay there!”
I am so stunned my dad hit me that I don’t feel my face burning right away.
When Dad realizes what he’s done, he mumbles that he didn’t mean to hurt me, that he just lost control. I don’t think I said anything wrong. I run off. Dad tries to catch up with me, but I slam the door of my room (just like Lise does with me) and I tell him I don’t want to see him.
I hear Thierry say that I’ll calm down in a little while.
They turn the radio on. Quietly, I open the door and tiptoe back to listen to them. They don’t mention me. My father wonders what my mom told the police so that they don’t suspect anything.
I wonder why I was stupid enough to want to follow Dad.
My cheek is still burning. I shouldn’t have forced him to take me along. I head back to my room.
A while later Thierry knocks on the door and comes in. I turn my back to him on the bed. I don’t want him to see that I was crying.
“You’re taking me home?” I ask.
“Not yet. Have you ever gone sailing?”
I sit up. Thierry is looking at me, smiling. He seems nicer now.
“I sailed once on a lake, with Yaya, my grandmother.”
“Sailing on a lake doesn’t count. Come on, let’s go! We’re headed to the bay. You’ll have fun.”
I don’t know if it’s going to be fun, but I have no choice but to follow him. I don’t dare tell Thierry that I was seasick out on the boat. He’s a big guy, so if he slaps my face … He takes me to the attic and makes me try on an old wet suit and a pair of rotten Top-Siders. He says that the wet suit was his son’s and that I need old shoes because my feet are sure to get wet. I don’t want to put them on. They’re totally ratty!
Thierry stares at me with his big eyes and I’m afraid he’ll scold me, so I put the shoes on. My dad is sleeping. Thierry looks at the ocean and we head off.
Thierry walks barefoot, even over the gravel along the embankment. He’s going so fast I have to run to keep up with him. The wind blowing in my face slows me down.
He raises his arm—the on
e with the dagger tattoo—and points toward a beach dotted with sailboats and motorboats.
When we reach the sailing club, I feel dizzy because of the wind. Thierry points to a girl about my age and tells me to go see her. I’m going to be paired with her since I’m a beginner.
I walk over to her. Her long hair is all tangled in front of her face. She notices me looking at her.
“Hi. Is this your first time?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“Are you related to Thierry?”
“Yes.”
Thierry’s talking to a friend, but he comes over to us and the girl kisses his cheek.
“You’ll take good care of my nephew, won’t you, Noemi?”
“Sure. I didn’t know you had a nephew.”
Thierry winks. “You don’t know everything about me.” He puts his hand on my shoulder. “Anthony, this is Noemi. Noemi, Anthony. Now, have fun, you two.” And he heads back to work at the oyster farm.
The girl shows me around the boat. She explains the use of each rope. She shows me how to tie all the different nautical knots, but it’s really hard. I’ll have to practice a lot.
“Your uncle is a nice guy,” Noemi says. “Did you come for the village fair?”
I hadn’t heard about any fair, and Thierry didn’t tell me what to say if anyone asked what I’m doing here. Instead of answering Noemi’s question, I ask her how we’re going to leave the shore. I notice that she’s wearing sailing shoes that are just as ugly as mine, with worn-out treads. They make me forget my own decrepit shoes.
We launch the boat. Noemi does everything. I just enjoy the ride. I look out at the water: it’s blue, brown, or gray—gray most of the time. I try to pinpoint Thierry’s house, but we’re leaving shore so fast that the houses quickly become little white dots.
I don’t say a word to Noemi because I’m afraid she’ll think I’m stupid. We sail for two hours without talking.
When we return, she walks barefoot like Thierry, holding one wet shoe in each hand. The wind is at our backs now, pushing us. We extend our arms in front of us and let the wind propel us forward. We start talking about Noemi’s school, her friends. She asks me if I’m a good student. I tell her about Hassan, about level four of a video game where I’m stuck. Then she asks if I have a girlfriend.
On the Run Page 5