CLAIR DE LUNE'S
The Part 10
And words... well!” and he pointed to the ledger,
his half-open page filled with small and delicate writing, describing his discovery stone, “words cannot reveal everything. Even sometimes, I guess words can't express something truly valuable. Mademoiselle, talk is not important.”
Clair-de-Lune was so disappointed that he smiled
to cover up his feelings. He felt, showed real feelings
to such a person is not a commendable attitude.
“Ah,” Brother Inchmahome said, “but for you that is it
essential.”
Clair-de-Lune was shocked. He looked at Brother
with half-open mouth.
“You want to be able to talk,” muttered Brother happily, partly on himself. “And I want to hear you.”
Still with his mouth open, Clair-de-Lune winked.
“Then,” Brother continued a little faster.
“Will I help you, so I can—talk?”
The hue of Clair-de-Lune's face turned pale, excited.
Brother Inchmahome smiled widely.
Clair-de-Lune nodded once; but the nod was so deep that he almost lost his balance.
Brother Inchmahome laughed.
“Now,” said after Clair-de-Lune quiet
revert. “I'll share a little secret with you. I think you can talk. Ah, Mademoiselle, listen to me!” he said when Clair-de-Lune
shakes to argue. “Look, I think all you need is someone to listen to you; and I'm really happy to be that person. What's the point of talking if no one's listening?
“Mademoiselle—eh, forgive me, what's your name?”
“Clair-de-Lune!” exclaim Bonaventure soon.
“Monthly Shine!” brother Inchmahome. He paused for a moment, his eyes glaring, as if he were remembering something
indah—or sad. Then she sighed, and continued gently, “Your mother is certainly a poetic woman so that she can give you a name as beautiful as that—ah, but she is now in heaven, right?” Again he guessed exactly! “Sweetest. Maybe someday, you can tell me about her.”
“Mademoiselle Clair-de-Lune, it is my duty in this life to listen and observe as much as possible and closely
maybe every detail, because it seems that by doing so I love all of it and love the Creator. Once, a long time ago, I felt alone in this world. Then I understand that by listening we know that we are not alone. I have listened to many silent things, and many of them, have spoken to me. If you want to talk, then,
I'll be ready to listen. But even if you shut up, I can hear you.”
“Now, I suggest you come to this monastery every
morning at a time like this. One short lesson every day, that's all you need. If you want, I'll be here to listen. But, now I need to ask you—does anyone know you're here?”
Clair-de-Lune shakes. Usually, things like this
it would make him anxious half to death. But he was so happy that he did not have time to feel anxious.
“His grandmother,” says Bonaventure. “Or maybe too
his teacher, Monsieur Dupoint.”
“Then, before you come again tomorrow, you
must ask permission from one of these good people.”
“But before you leave, there are questions for you.
Go home, Mademoiselle, and ponder. Why, in your opinion, you can't talk?”
By then Bonaventure had left, and it had
in the middle of the hallway. “See you tomorrow, Brother!” Clair-de-Lune heard him say. All the sudden appearances and departures like this. But, Clair-de-Lune still stood there, reluctant to pass. Suddenly the part of the building outside the stone door became so pitiful to him. And what, he thought in a panic, if all this was just a dream?
“This is not a dream,” Brother Inchmahome said,
teasing him. “I'll be here tomorrow. You seem to be a pessimist, Mademoiselle! Ah, but I'm an optimist, so I said, don't be afraid! This world is not as cruel as you thought—even much more fun!” And his gray eyes were clear, clear as stone, clear as water, smiling at him.
Once again Clair-de-Lune stared around the room
the stone, and the garden outside, and sighed. Then, after looking into the eyes of the monk to show his seriousness, he did a gesture of reverence— salute the most beautiful dancer—, while bowing his head. As if saying with all his heart, thank you. Then he ran after Bonaventure.
So they came back, the mouse and the little girl,
passing through the statue of Our Lady, passing through the doorkeeper friar, and out of the door, crossing the grass, in the sun, passing by the sea, and,
across the flowers and vegetation, under the vast sky led to a dark door, a cave and back to that strange building, stranger than anyone could have imagined, home Clair-de-Lune. Clair-de-Lune was afraid to
go home. But Bonaventure was a mouse. He usually faces danger. Clair-de-Lune took a deep breath and faithfully followed him in the darkness.
The new door slowly closed itself in
behind them, as if in a mysterious wind. Clair-de-Lune stared at the darkness around her.
“Do not worry,” said Bonaventure. “I've already
repeatedly back. Always like this. Now you go home, so do I, and we need to get ready for class. I'll pick you up again tomorrow. Bye!” And he disappeared, rushing on the stairs.
Clair-de-Lune slowly climbed the stairs. What
what would Grandma say? She thought in fear, because of course her grandmother was awake now. He was so confused, that he did not realize how many rows of stairs he had passed. He had already arrived at the bottom of the roof.
Clair-de-Lune stopped walking. How could it be, he thought as he looked back, and did not see anything strange. Then he saw the lamp, because he was standing at the side of the window, and from there he could see the red roofs and chimneys as far as the eye could see—and the rough box that framed the gray dawn sky. Time seems to have not passed at all.
Secretly, Clair-de-Lune crept up into the room under the roof, passed by her sleeping grandmother, changed her clothes quickly, and climbed into her bed. Surely all of that was just a dream.
After all, the entire time he trained in class
with Monsieur Dupoint, he pondered Brother Inchmahome's question.
Why can't he talk?
If he is not thinking about it, with
happy and amazed he thought of Brother Inchmahome, the convent, the cliffs, the sea, and the sky hidden on the top floor—or the bottom floor?—in the same building, where he felt imprisoned.
Seriate…