Сандрин Коллетт - Just After the Wave

“And Adele, is she your daughter? She helps you?”

This time Lucette seems momentarily taken aback—Louie kicked his brother, but too late, he can see very well that the two old ladies are the same age, so he cries out to apologize for his brother:

“He doesn’t know about… he doesn’t understand—”

“Adele’s my neighbor,” says Lucette slowly. “She can be difficult but she’s a good person at heart. I used to live in that house over there, you see?”

“No,” says Perrine.

“Yes,” says Noah.

Louie looks at the house that is no more than a roof.

“The water went all the way upstairs and flooded everything,” explains Lucette, for Perrine’s sake. “So I came to live with Adele. But even here… we’re starting to have water around our ankles.”

“And the other house?” asks Noah.

“Oh, that one. It was our third neighbor, Valerie-Rose. We don’t know what happened. Since the sea rose all of a sudden, we think she must have gotten stuck there at night and drowned. We haven’t seen her in six days… she must have died.”

The little boy opens his eyes wide.

“Is that why you’re sick? Are you sad?”

Lucette thinks for a moment.

“Oh, no. She wasn’t a good neighbor, she was always fussing. But maybe if there were three of us we’d have more fun. It’s a bit boring around here.”

Louie raises his hand the way he does at school when he wants to say something, then lowers it abruptly when he realizes.

“Why are you here the two of you? Isn’t there anyone else?”

“The people who lived here and who survived the great tidal wave decided to leave—I suppose it was the same where you’re from. But we didn’t want to leave. You know, I was born here, and I’m eighty-three years old. Adele is eighty-six. We didn’t want to go anywhere else. It’s too late for us to start a new life.”

“But you’re going to be drowned, too.”

Like us.

Lucette’s gaze mists over, thoughtful and sad, yes, that’s it, thinks Louie, there’s a sadness about her.

“That could be,” murmurs the old lady.

“For sure,” insists Noah.

“Anyway, we don’t have a boat.”

“But we do. We can take you.”

Lucette smiles: That’s kind of you— and Adele’s voice suddenly, behind them, makes them turn their heads.

“It’s ready.”

Perrine starts to cry.

“No, no, it won’t burn, or sting, at all. It’s just a bit warm at first.”

Louie has to take Perrine’s hand and squeeze it, quietly reassuring her, Come on , but even so it does not stop her from struggling when she senses the poultice, first of all the smell in her nose, and she protests, No, no , and then the heat on her eye, she doesn’t even know if it hurts but, instinctively, she lashes out behind her and hits Louie in the jaw; he cries out. A moment later Adele is winding a bandage around her head, and it’s over. Perrine is still crying, one hand on the bandage.

“Tomorrow,” says the old lady, “when I take off the bandage, I bet you’ll be able to open your eye and you’ll start seeing again. They’re so pretty, your blue eyes, even the white part; it would be a pity not to use them anymore.”

During the night, Louie tosses and turns. A strange restlessness prevents him from sleeping, a restlessness that followed the relief of knowing they are safe—for a few days, a few hours, just so long as there is some respite. But in spite of himself he wonders which one of the three of them is bringing them bad luck, causing the days to go by with neither sweetness nor light, never leaving them the time to regain hope between two tragedies, or even catch their breath, just a little gasp, an intake that is too short and too fearful.

Because there is an evil spell on them, on them or on one of them—which one? And how long before their mere presence will make Adele’s house sink to the bottom of the sea?

The house will not capsize.

Because of Perrine and her blind eye—there used to be an old woman in the village who, whenever she saw her go by, would cry out and cross herself: The eye of the devil! It used to make them laugh. But now?

No, no.

Noah, who forgot to grow up?

The house is strong, resisting the onslaught of the waves, the way you cling to a rock, it’s the world around that’s moving, not the house, the house is standing, the house doesn’t tremble.

Or he himself, Louie, with his game leg.

The waves smashing to bits against the walls.

Or all three of them together, because that’s a heap of deformities if you put them side by side, it’s enough to make you laugh, if it weren’t so sad, you’d hardly notice, maybe someday someone would say, yes, there’s something weird about those three, nature or fate needn’t have bothered—isn’t that the reason why they were left behind on the island and not the others, not Liam or Matteo, not Emily or Sidonie, not Lotte or Marion, just those three, the gimp, the dwarf, and the one-eyed wonder?

Three runty little pigs.

I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house down.

The next morning Adele and Lucette open their shutters onto a sea of glass. The children slept on mattresses on the floor, exhausted. It rained during the night, and the wind had been gusting, Adele tells them, but the children didn’t see or hear a thing, not even the lightning that usually wakes them with a start. Louie, who thought he’d been awake from nightfall to dawn, can’t get over it, and yet, the puddles of water on the terrace and the steam here and there on the windows and walls indicate the passage of the storm. Louie runs his palm over the sea: so smooth and silent, contemplative, the wind is calm, the sky as blue as Perrine’s eye. So he sighs, as if he had been keeping the waves at arm’s length all night long, watching the gray line of the horizon and the vanished waves.

And that next day, as Adele had predicted, beneath the poultice there was a surprise waiting: Perrine’s eye, almost normal, still a bit swollen, her eyelid torn, but clean, with a red circle below it like a strange bruise. It’s looking good , whispers the old lady, pleased. The fever has gone down, too; Perrine’s forehead is dry and warm, but still too warm for Lucette’s liking, and saying nothing she goes to fetch a second aspirin in the bathroom and hands it to Adele. Once again, Adele frowns and hesitates.

“How many left?”

“A dozen or so.”

They exchange glances and they both know that Lucette is lying, but the ailing old lady tosses the tablet into a glass of water and gives a shrug:

“Now she’ll have to drink it.”

Adele slowly cleans Perrine’s face, even though the girl cries out. Bit by bit the wounded eye blinks, flickers, finally opens not completely but halfway, sitting nearby Louie and Noah can see the blue of her iris. So Perrine gives a start and recoils suddenly, and Adele leans over, then smiles as she straightens up.

“So there you are, you can see me today, can’t you?”

Perrine nods without speaking, her lips trembling.

“I’m the one who looked after you yesterday,” says Adele. “I’m an old lady. Didn’t your brothers tell you? In a few years I’ll be a hundred. Don’t be afraid, they’re right here.” She takes Noah by the arm and stands him in front of Perrine: You see? Everyone’s here.

She changes the bandage, while Lucette hums. They share their food among the five of them, the hens’ eggs and potatoes from the children, and canned food and smoked fish from the old ladies. Hmm , exclaims Noah, this is good .