Georges-Olivier Chateaureynaud: A Life on Paper: Stories

Lozere, March 1989

ith the help of his cane, the old man went to see if the gardener had indeed opened the valve to drain the pool. On his way back, he passed under the arbor. On the rattan table were cards someone had forgotten to put away after the last hand of liar's poker. He gathered them, replaced them in their case, and crossed the grounds, grumbling.

The sky was still blue, but he felt the autumn coming in his bones. A sudden disgust of winter and cold had overtaken him early, toward his fortieth year and, bit by bit, extended to autumn and its rains. He abhorred the dulled thud of chestnuts falling on the wet lawn, and of his own steps on the matted leaves.

Now he loved only the year's lambent half, spring and summer, which seemed to him shorter every time. Had he been fabulously wellto-do, he would have followed them, in a plane, around the world. Alas, he was but well-off. He lived in a large house, much too far north, that it would have cost him to leave in pursuit of the sun.

Half the year, he left the house as little as possible. Morose, he stewed away by the fire. Books tumbled from his hands. If he rose from his chair, it was to pace in circles and chide his housekeeper who, from the vagaries of his mood, surmised the news he had received that morning. If he was humming to himself, or petting his dog more tenderly than usual, it was a safe bet Francis and Lydia had passed up two weeks at the shore to humor him. If he turned his nose up at filets of sole for lunch and shut himself away for three days straight in his study, it meant that Zoe had chosen riding lessons instead.

Very early on in the winter, often as early as Christmas, he readied for summer. He wished his favorite season, and his house-too large now that his daughters lived far away-to be full of children. He checked names off his lists as he received replies to his imploring letters. He would stoop to anything to persuade his grandchildren to spend the summer with him. He had bought a pony, had a pool dug, and filled the basement with scooters and tricycles, balls of all sorts, BB guns, Indian costumes, croquet, bocce and ninepin sets… Anxious to have his heart's fill of the brats, he also invited his nephews, the children's friends, their friends' cousins. He hired a pretty student to watch over the swarm, with whom he didn't really mingle.

His own happiness lay in spying on the children's. In truth, he left the house barely more often in summer than winter. From his study-his favorite observation post-he followed the frolics of his guests with the help of binoculars. Or slipped down secret paths to the hedge from which he witnessed games of hide-and-seek or tag. When he had been sated by bursts of laughter, sharp cries, and breathless whispers, he returned to his lair, opened a great register, the record of his summers as a tender voyeur, and wrote down, on that day's page: Little Roland had so much fun this afternoon. He was so excited he scratched his arm on the reed grille of the kitchen garden by accident.

Or perhaps: They've lain waste to my cherry tree like a cloud of blackbirds!

Or even: A big game of hide-and-seek today. Benoit-I was just as awkward at his age-let himself be tricked at every turn, while Lydia displayed her diabolical imagination. Wasn't it her idea to turn over the gardener's wheelbarrow and hide under it like a turtle in its shell? At the cry of "Come out, come out, wherever you are," she reappeared, her hair and back covered with twigs and dirt, a bit sti, but triumphant.

He set down his pen and daydreamed at length of other summers, other games of hide-and-seek. Of one in particular.

That day his brothers and his cousins, all girls, had hidden themselves so well he hadn't been able to flush out a single one. And when, weary of searching, he'd cried, "Come out, come out, wherever you are!" none had revealed themselves. They must have planned it in advance. He was the youngest, and easily brought to tears. It seemed he'd wandered the vast grounds for hours, though probably it hadn't lasted that long, shouting, "Come out, come out, wherever you are!" in a voice first confident, then angry, then trembling with fear. The others had chosen their day well: with the maids off and the parents otherwise occupied, only the children remained at the house. The world about the frightened boy was but a silent desert. Conte out, come out, wherever you are! Come out, oh come out of the fold in time or space where you've huddled one against the other, giggling at the little weakling choking on his tears!

When at last his eldest cousin took pity on him, the unlucky child was shaking with fright in the plain light of day. The others surrounded him, fussed over him, tried to make it up to him. He'd had nightmares for weeks afterward.

The deck of cards in his free hand, the old man stopped in the middle of the lawn, his gaze circling the grounds. Francis and Lydia had been the last to leave, that very morning. The summer had been glorious. For two months, house and gardens had resounded to clamor and commotion. The sun had obediently shone on the pool's blue water, the wooden croquet balls, the freshly painted swing set. And vet this was a fleeting happiness, he knew; this perfect summer would be the last. The children had grown up a great deal since the one before. Next year, if they still agreed to visit, it would be to explore surrounding lands, beyond the Edenic bower. Already they spoke insistently of bicycle rides and swimming in the nearby river…

Then, beneath the foliage of his grounds-still green, but to his clouded eyes faded from within-he murmured in a tremulous voice: "Come out, come out, wherever you are!" And one by one, from behind the groves in their last reprieve and the flowerbeds soon to brown, appeared the creatures he had till now kept at bay. Uncoiling their scaly lengths, spotted with warts and sores, pressing their shriveled snouts between the saplings, they began their advance.

Lozere, May 1986

he ironies of fate are infinite. Around the time I turned twenty, despite having decided to steer clear of both doctors and women, I met Maude, then a surgical intern, and at her pressing request became her lover.

Don't go thinking I've ever borne the slightest ill will toward the medical body, much less a woman's body. My prejudice extends only to the physician or female likely to see me naked, discover my misfortune, and make it even crueler to bear.

It all comes down to character, they say. In my place, someone else might've rejoiced at what seemed to me a catastrophe. After all, if I'd wanted at any price to rise above the human herd or leave my mark on the world, I certainly could've. But I didn't give a flying fig about being thought original or unique; my only ambition was to blend in with the crowd, flank to flank with my brethren and fellow creatures in the cozy stable of the species. Alas! I was a brother to no man, and no creature was my fellow. In the course of a few days I sprouted wings or, rather, wingbuds. At first naked, pinkish, coarse, and altogether repugnant, these excrescences were soon covered in a chick's yellow down. Thank God for small favors. When I craned my neck to see my back in the bathroom mirror, the down honestly made those extra extremities easier on the eve.

On my first date with Maude, my appurtenances weren't too cumbersome yet. Unfurled, they spanned about a foot and a half. Folded and pressed flat by a tight undershirt, they could be hidden beneath roomy coats or large, loose-fitting sweaters. My profile suffered a little, but I didn't care. Given the choice, I'd probably have preferred a hunchback's honest hump to these wings which seemed no less suspect for having fallen from the sky, so to speak. What did the heavens want with me? I admit to being terrified. I hid myself away from the world. A rare breed of beginner bird, I feared in every doctor the fowler, if not the taxidermist. Wouldn't they commit me to be studied at their leisure, exhibit me at conferences and, why not, even wind up dissecting me to find out more? As for women… I'd just turned twenty. At an age when people still hesitated sometimes to show themselves as nature made them, where would I have found the courage to show myself as it should never have made me?