Jean-Claude Mourlevat - Winter's End

Under the covers, Helen looked at the luminous hands of her watch; it was after ten, and Miss Zesch wasn’t snoring yet. She still wasn’t snoring at eleven. That was very strange. The light was on in her cubicle, but no other sign of life came from it. Was she determined to stay awake through the night now, of all times, and imitate Miss Merlute by prowling around the beds looking like a bird of prey? Helen strained her ears desperately. In the absence of the usual roaring sounds, a gentle little snore would have been enough for her, but even that didn’t come.

At quarter to midnight, her patience exhausted, she decided to try her luck and go out anyway. She glanced at the next bed. Vera was sleeping peacefully with her mouth half open. Reassured, Helen ventured to sit up. She was going to get out of bed to go to her closet and get her clothes when Miss Zesch opened her cubicle door. Helen first froze like a statue and then lay down again, eyes wide.

Miss Zesch was obviously not in her normal state of mind. Taking care to make no noise, she slipped out of her cubicle as slowly and surreptitiously as an assassin. What was more, although Helen felt she must be dreaming this part, she was wearing high-heeled shoes and an evening dress! Never, ever had she been seen with anything but clodhoppers on her feet, wearing huge pants or, on her good days, a thick woolly skirt. She closed the door behind her and tiptoed away. Helen waited for her to disappear entirely, restrained herself for a few more minutes, just in case the supervisor came back, although that seemed unlikely, and then, since nothing was moving, she dressed and made for the dormitory door in her own turn.

It was a clear, cool night. Several long clouds were drifting in shreds across the full moon. Clutching her coat around her, Helen skirted the east building, going around by the back of it. The perimeter wall rose on her left, dark and threatening. She followed it. A gray outline stood there at the corner. Milos! She waved and hurried toward him. He moved forward himself, smiling, and kissed her on both cheeks.

“Helen! You had me scared. You’re late.”

She was surprised to find him so much taller than she remembered. Bartolomeo must be extremely tall for his friend to seem short by comparison.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t get out. Our supervisor wasn’t asleep. And now she’s gone out herself — can you believe that? She left the dormitory just before midnight.”

“Did she really? Then I know where she’s gone, and I’m going to show you. If you’re good at gymnastics.”

“I’m great at gymnastics.”

“Excellent. Can you climb a rope?”

“Like a squirrel!”

She wasn’t sure whether squirrels climbed ropes or not, but she felt like saying yes to everything tonight. She’d have jumped into a fire with Milos if he’d asked her to.

“Wait for me here, then. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”

“Can’t you explain a bit first?”

“Later!”

Milos was already stuffing his cap in his pocket and beginning to climb. Helen was amazed by his strength and agility. Clinging to the gutter, he climbed as easily as a monkey. His fingers, hands, arms, and legs were moving all the time, and he didn’t stop except to get his breath back with his foot on a second-floor windowsill.

“Be careful!” begged Helen down below.

But in reply he just kept on climbing, and next moment he was just below the roof. He stayed hanging from the gutter for a few seconds, then swung from side to side a couple of times and threw his right leg over it. As he recovered his balance, something slipped out of his pocket and fell at Helen’s feet.

“My knife!” he called down. “Can you pick up my knife?”

She bent down, and retrieved a heavy pocket knife that must have at least six blades.

Then there was a long silence. Milos had disappeared. She felt the cold seeping in under her coat. What was she doing here with this acrobatic boy who had something serious to tell her?

She was still looking up at the roof in vain when a slight rustling noise attracted her attention. A little way off, a rope was passing over the gutter and dropping straight down the wall. She quickly unbuttoned her coat so that it wouldn’t hamper her, wedged the rope between her ankles as she had often done before, and began climbing. When she was level with the third story, she glanced down and was overcome by vertigo. She’d never climbed this high in gym lessons. And there was no mat here to soften the impact if she fell. Weird kind of first date, she thought. Is it always like this? She took a deep breath and went on. When she reached the gutter, she had no time to wonder how she was going to get up on the roof. Milos was already reaching a hand out to her.

“Give me your right hand and take hold of my wrist. Not my hand, my wrist!”

She took his wrist, and he took hers. Next moment Helen felt herself being lifted into the air. She hardly had to help herself at all with her knees and elbows before she was sitting beside Milos, who seemed as relaxed forty feet from the ground on top of this roof as he would have been on a sitting-room sofa.

“That’s called a cross hold. It doubles your strength,” he explained.

“I thought I was going to die,” breathed Helen.

“Rest for a minute. We’ve done the toughest part.”

“I should hope so.”

They clambered over the damp slates of the roof and reached a skylight to which Milos had fastened the rope. He hauled it up now, coiled it, and fixed it to his belt. Then he opened the skylight far enough for them to slip in. It was easy to hang from the edge and then let yourself drop to the floor inside. Milos went first and landed silently, bending his knees to break his drop. Helen copied him with ease and felt that she had just impressed him twice in a short time: first by climbing the rope so well, then by jumping down into this loft. When Milos caught her, she felt light as a feather in his strong hands. He took a flashlight out of his pocket, switched it on, and swept the beam over the space around them.

The loft was empty and dusty. There was nothing between the massive roof structure and the oak floorboards. They could stand upright in the middle of it but had to bend as they moved closer to the sides.

“What are we doing here?” Helen asked.

Milos put his forefinger to his lips and pointed down. “Shh! Listen!”

The confused, muted sound of conversation came from the story below. There was even a sudden burst of laughter.

“What’s going on?” Helen whispered.

All Milos said was, “Got my knife there?”

She handed it to him. He worked his way cautiously forward, eyes lowered, as if looking for something. When he reached the other side of the loft, he knelt down and signaled to Helen that he had found it and she could join him.

“Give me a light,” he said, handing her the flashlight, and with the point of his knife he made an incision about four inches long where one of the floorboards looked weaker than the others.

“Are you allowed knives in the boys’ school?” Helen marveled, crouching down beside him.

“If we did only what’s allowed,” said Milos with a smile, “I wouldn’t have a rope or a knife, and I certainly wouldn’t be here with you in the middle of the night.”

“When are you going to explain? I’ve earned the right to know, haven’t I?”

“Hang on a little longer. I’m nearly finished. If you like surprises, you won’t be disappointed.”

He worked away for several more minutes, removing tiny wood shavings. Then he opened another blade of his knife and used it as a lever. The floorboard groaned slightly and resisted, but then it gave way. Milos signaled to Helen to switch off the flashlight, and he slowly raised the oak board. At once the voices, barely audible a moment ago, could be heard clearly.