Radiant Days Read Online Free PDF Page A

of reading, sleeping, drinking. At lunch, the maiden aunts scolded him for belching at the table.
    “I can’t help it.” Arthur smiled sweetly. “This goose is fantastic.”
    Georges rolled his eyes, but the aunts laughed. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” the youngest said, and handed Arthur a full plate.
    When he grew bored of reading, he composed complaining letters to the local newspaper and argued politics with Demeny and Izambard.
    “What do you think of me becoming a war correspondent?” he asked one afternoon while they were drinking at the local café.
    Demeny laughed. “What, you think Georges can bail you out of a combat zone?”
    “It’s not a bad idea,” said Georges. “He’s a good writer.”
    “Of course.” Demeny finished his beer. “He can read hispoems to the enemy. It’ll be a form of torture. They’ll surrender, and Arthur’ll be a hero. Hey!” He dodged as Arthur tossed his napkin at him.
    Sadly, Arthur’s journalism career was cut short when, after several weeks, an envelope arrived, addressed to Georges Izambard in small, tight letters.
    “From your mother.” With two fingers, Georges gingerly placed the sheet of paper on the floor, as though it might detonate. “She’s accusing me of ‘kidnapping, white slavery, contributing to the corruption of a minor.’ Also”—he squinted at the letter—“‘encouraging impiety and hylotheism.’ I don’t even know what that means.”
    “Equating God with the world around us.” Arthur snatched up the page. “Did she really say that?”
    “Yes. And she’s summoned the Paris police to Charleville, and she says she’s going to send them here unless I pack you back home.” Georges sighed. “I’m sorry, Arthur, but you’d better go. I could spring you from Mazas, but your mother?” He shuddered. “She says if you don’t come back, she’s coming here to get you. I think the shock would kill my aunts.”
    “Shit.” Arthur stared at the page, then at Georges. “Will you come with me?”
    “Is that the prisoner’s last wish?” Georges grasped his shoulder. “Come on. I’ll break it to the aunts. God knows why, but they’re going to miss you. Me, too.”
    That night Arthur copied all his poems into a notebook. In the morning, he handed it to Demeny.
    “Thank you.” Demeny flipped through the pages and shot Arthur a sideways grin. “These will come in handy for lighting the fire this winter.”
    “Maybe they’ll light a fire under your ass.” Arthur gave him a mocking bow. “I’ll see you in Paris.”
    “Not in a prison cell, I hope.”
    Arthur and Georges took the midday train to Charle-ville. The teary-eyed aunts waved good-bye as Arthur leaned from the window, fighting tears himself. When they arrived in Charleville, a thin rain fell as Arthur and Georges walked from the station beneath rows of linden trees, leaves burnished by the early dusk.
    “You look like you’re facing the guillotine at Mazas,” said Georges.
    “That would be preferable.” Arthur stopped and stared up at Georges, his pale eyes desperate. “I can’t stand this. I mean it—I’ll kill her, or she’ll kill me, or—”
    Georges shook his head. “It will be all right. You can write me. And Demeny has your poems, maybe something will happen with that. Just try to stay out of trouble, will you?”
    Arthur’s mother waited at the door, a vengeful raven in black, mouth tight and eyes aflame. Without a word she slapped him, pushed him inside, then whirled to face Georges.
    “How dare you show up here? I’m filing a complaint with the police, also with the school. If they even
think
of hiring you back there I’m going to—”
    She slammed the door in Izambard’s face. Inside, she tried tograb a lock of Arthur’s unruly hair. But the hair, of course, was gone.
    “You and your father!” She slapped him again. Arthur turned and raced upstairs to his room. “You think this is some kind of joke, running away? Do you?
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