Human Traces Read Online Free PDF Page B

would keep his gaze fixed on the widest horizon. The words of the psalm they had sung in church came back to him: "I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills..." That line would be his reminder, his coat of arms. He relaxed his grip on the blanket and allowed himself a silent smile. He was a practical youth who made tables and had taught himself to dissect rats; as such, he knew that there was a much more immediate problem to be solved: he must find a way to study and a means of support. His smile broadened in the darkness. I am too young, he thought. I am, perhaps, absurd. Now I shall sleep, and think about the fence, the roof, my mother and the chance of goose rillettes from the market. But then he thought again. Dear God, make me great. Make me good. Amen. The following evening, when Jacques returned from the woods, he heard the unusual sound of voices coming from his father's house. They reached him as he opened the gate into the orchard and there was something in them that made him hurry. He ran round to the front of the house and let himself into the parlour. Grandmere stood with her back to the scullery door, rigid, with her arms at her sides; Tante Mathilde was screaming, red-faced and tearful in the middle of the room, and at the foot of the stairs was the encrusted, tangled figure of Olivier. He held in his right hand one of the saw blades from Jacques's table, with which he appeared to have gouged a hole in his left forearm. Blood ran in narrow streams down over his open palm and onto the floor. Tante Mathilde screamed incoherent abuse. "You madman. You wretched lunatic! What have you done to your father's house? Kill yourself for all I care. Go on. Take the blade and cut your throat. Why don't you? You wicked, wicked man!" Olivier took two paces towards her, still sawing at his arm. "Don't bring that thing near me! Did you see that, Grandmere? He's trying to attack me. He wants to kill me! Jacques, do something. Get the blade off him." "It's all right," said Jacques. "He doesn't want to hurt anyone, do you, Olivier?" He did not want to touch his brother, but tried to catch his eye. Olivier's gaze was turned wholly inward; Jacques had never seen him so far away. "What happened?" said Jacques. Grandmere at last gave voice. It was thin, but firm, with a strong local accent. "I heard a noise from my room. Upstairs. I went to look and found..." She seemed to struggle for a name, '... Him.. . Olivier. He was in your room. He'd smashed everything. All the jars and everything. He'd written words on the walls. It was a mess. I told him to go back to his stable. Then he came down here and started shouting at Mathilde." "That's right," said Mathilde. "He wants to kill me, I know it. He's always hated me. We should send him away somewhere. Get rid of him. But your father's too kind-hearted." Jacques cautiously put his hand on Olivier's arm. "What is it, Olivier? What's the matter? You can tell me. No one's going to hurt you. Tell me. Like old times. Like the old days when we used to talk." Olivier turned to face Jacques. His tongue emerged from the hair that covered his mouth; it moved along a line where the lips must be. He swallowed and said, "I had to kill the spiders that were in me. They were laying eggs in my arm, under the skin. I was told to kill them." "Where are they now, Olivier?" "I killed them, I killed them." "I'm going to get the gendarme," said Tante Mathilde. "No," said Jacques. "There is no gendarme in Sainte Agnes. Anyway, Olivier is all right. You'll be all right, won't you, Olivier? Shall we go to the stable? And I'll bring you something to eat. Would you like a glass of water?" "Put him in with the pig," said Tante Mathilde. "Until your father gets home. Look at him. He doesn't know his own name." "Olivier?" said Jacques. "You see. He didn't answer. And who's this?" She poked Jacques in the ribs. "Go on. Tell me. Who's this? See! He doesn't know his own brother." "Leave him alone," said Jacques. "I can