The reason Gilbert and I ran off to hide in Grandma Hélène’s yard was because there was another belief that when a female twin got angry she could block up your ears for an hour or more.
So what about Gilbert? What powers did he have? No one knew, he had probably passed them to his sister as was said to happen between non-identical twins, opposition of the sexes always being, it was said, to the advantage of the girl.
Anyway, Bienvenüe was pleased to see me, and to show me her photos, but her brother had omitted to tell me that he would be taking her to the hospital the next day. While I was there he just stood by and watched his sister’s display of euphoria as she wallowed in nostalgia, her eyes shining bright.
‘What you been doing these twenty-three years abroad, then? I’d even forgotten you were a bit taller than Gilbert!’
As though she didn’t believe the photos I had seen would be enough to remind me how beautiful she’d been, she asked her brother to go and take down from the wall another of her favourite photos.
‘I want to be photographed with that photo!’
She sat down in the green armchair in the living room, with the photo placed in clear view on her knees, allowing herself to be photographed with the circumspect smile that convinced me she did still have sufficient energy to battle with the illness, which was getting worse by the day.
I looked her straight in the eyes:
‘You’re going to be OK, I promise you…’
She batted off the flies that had tried to settle on her swollen feet, and began to offer excuses:
‘It’s my blood… it’s stopped circulating properly and my kidneys are a bit blocked… The flies like that…’
I looked up at the living room ceiling, showing the marks of rainwater, of imminent collapse, perhaps.
‘I need to do some repairs,’ Gilbert murmured, a little embarrassed by my inspection.
The light was beginning to fade. I kissed Bienvenüe and the children. Gilbert wanted to come with me as far as the Avenue of Independence, where I would pick up a taxi. Bienvenüe stood at the entrance to the plot with her daughter, her nephews, her nieces, and watched us grow smaller, and no doubt thought to herself that this was the last time we would see each other…
A crow has just come to settle on the roof of the hospital. I don’t think it brings bad news. Because something tells me Bienvenüe will recover from her illness. And yet the bird is looking over this way and is spreading its wings, as though preparing to come over to me. The road past the Institut Français is empty of traffic now. I suddenly feel terribly anxious. I drink my coffee in one gulp, and come back into the living room, to read through the notes I’ve taken so far, and continue writing this book…
Children of paradise
I have a lot of ‘nieces’ and ‘nephews’ now. A small group gathers round me in Uncle Albert’s yard, devouring me with their huge eyes, pulling at my shirt with their little hands. If I move, the whole buzzing little cluster follows me; I stop, and they stop too, afraid, I think, that I might disappear. For these kids I’m like an apparition, a shadow that will vanish with the setting sun. In their minds I’m just a character, artfully constructed by their parents, to the point where the poor kids actually think I can heal the lame and restore sight to the blind. One of them — the tallest — sniffs at me like a dog trying to identify his master after a long absence. They all want to be the first to speak. One wants sandals, and embarks on a series of elaborate explanations:
‘’Cause you know, Uncle, if you don’t have new sandals, you can’t get to school on time, you have to spend two hours in the street mending them and when you tell the teacher he won’t listen, he just says “little liar”, but it’s not true, I’m not a liar! Don’t you believe me, Uncle?’
‘I believe you, Antoine.’
He’s happy now, and starts jumping about, while behind me I hear a shy little girl’s voice:
‘Uncle, I want a dress like Ursula’s!’
‘Who’s Ursula?’
‘I can’t tell you. There are too many people here, they’ll tease me…’
‘Whisper it in my ear, then…’
I signal to the others to move off a bit, and I bend forward till I’m down at little Julie’s height. She puts her mouth right next to my ear and hisses:
‘Ursula’s a bad girl! She’s my enemy…’
‘Your enemy?’
‘Yeah, she pinched my boyfriend because her father bought her a red dress with yellow flowers on. I want the same dress so my boyfriend will love me too…’
As she’s speaking right into my ear, I answer right back into hers. This game makes the others jealous, I can tell from the frowns on most of their faces. They reckon Julie’s getting special treatment, and they all want to talk to me like this, but I straighten up again.
They shout out a litany of lists. Each time I say yes, the lists get longer. Some requests are quite reasonable, like Célestin’s:
‘I want some Kojak sweets.’
Another has more contemporary tastes:
‘I want a video game I saw on the TV yesterday!’
One of the cocky ones pushes the group aside:
‘Uncle, I’m the brainiest here! You have to get me a laptop computer!..’
Another contradicts him:
‘He’s lying, Uncle, he never listens, he had to repeat his last two years of primary! I’m the brainiest, and I want to go to France and America with you!’
I don’t know exactly how many of them there are, and I’ve no idea when they were all born. They aren’t all here. Some are only a year apart, or even a few months. Every day new ones are added to the long list I was given when I arrived in town.
The mother of a nephew I don’t recognise pushes her son towards me:
‘His name’s Jaden, you’d better not leave him out!’
This nephew is hiding behind his mother, I can just see the gleam of his eyes.
‘Go on, Jaden, tell Uncle what you want him to buy you!’
Jaden is overwhelmed now, he sucks on his thumb and whines:
‘A car…’
‘OK, I’ll get you a toy tomorrow when I go into town,’ I tell him.
At this his eyes widen and he takes his thumb out of his mouth.
‘No, I want a car like grown-ups have, with a real horn, otherwise I’ll make an accident, and someone will die!’
His mother strokes his head:
‘Jaden, you’re too little to drive a big person’s car…’
‘Doesn’t matter if I’m little! I still want a car, I can keep it till I’m big…’
Cornered, the mother says:
‘Uncle will buy you one and put it in a garage in France for you. They look after cars in France, they never get stolen there. And when you’re grown up you can go and fetch it yourself. In a real plane!’
But he’s a cunning one, and shakes his head in disbelief:
‘No, when he leaves he won’t come back again!’
‘Why do you say that?’ his mother says.
‘You told me, you said when this uncle goes travelling he stays with the whites for twenty years and doesn’t come back, and I’ll be as old as Papa in twenty years. And Papa’s old already, and he doesn’t have a car…’
Even when it’s not clear how we are related, they all call me tonton, uncle, and no one seems to mind, especially not the parents. Since I never had a brother or a sister, this gives me an unaccountable sense of pride. I don’t know them, and I will forget most of their faces once I get back in the plane. Little Jaden is probably right: how many have left, and never returned, or returned only twenty years later? Every household in the town can probably claim one.