CLAIR DE LUNE'S
The Part 26

The brother patted him affectionately.

“True, I'm the teacher. Dance Teacher! That's not all, sir,

but I—as new I know—also Choreographer! And soon to be a director! And I am so grateful with all my heart to you, for your advice and support. Rats are good at dancing! Oh, I have so much

plan!”

“Congratulations yes, Brother Rat,” Brother Inchmahome said warmly. “You deserve success. Goodwork. God's Might

bless your efforts.”

Bonaventure, who was leaning comfortably against Brother Inchmahome's neck, opened his mouth to say something, yawned, then suddenly fell asleep.

“Definitely fatigue,” says Brother Inchmahome. “Let him sleep for a moment. Good for him. But now,” he said as he turned to Clair-de-Lune, “what will you tell me, little girl? I see you're tired. There's a dark circle under your eyes! But you look happy, I guess.”.

Clair-de-Lune stared, her eyes glistening with tears. Suddenly he was compelled to communicate, to tell everything, to let Brother Inchmahome know and understand.

He opened his mouth, and began with the voice of the child

birds:: the:

Brother Inchmahome…

But so much to say, about

love, speaking, and clinking, about his mother, his heartbreak, choosing love, and whether people should choose; and even when he thinks of one of these, or tries, to, feels like

each had to do with so many other things that his mind was like a flock of birds flying away from him, and only leaving behind his wind and warmth. And all that time he was eager to say everything: holding each bird in his arms and showing one by one to Brother Inchmahome who then stroked the feather around his neck and fed him.

But, there's something else. Behind it all is a pain, and this pain it wants to convey more than anything else. But what

that it? Whahuh? Even if he knew that the pain was there, somewhere, under a thousand other things, he could not find it; and this was the heaviest.

Oh, Brother Inchmahome! He said desperate. There are thousands of things I want to say to you—even lifetime I won't have time to talk about it, even if I can talk! And I want to say something, something special, the most important thing. But I can't find him!

Brother Inchmahome smiled softly, his smile even looking rather sad.

“Ah, Clair-de-Lune!” said. “No, you won't

ever say everything you want to say, even if you talk your whole life, because time is not enough. That, I think, you have to learn and deal with yourself; and it may feel very sad for someone who is so eager to talk like you. But this is no reason not to talk at all. It may be more useful for you to turn your attention to something very important: because you know, there are things that are very important. And we come to the second part of what you said.”

“Clair-de-Lune, you have given me the answer that

last one! So—because you've told me all the reasons why you can't talk— I have to change my question.” He leaned over to the stone table, his arms folded, and his face was very serious. “What do you want to say?”

Clair-de-Lune stared at him from across the table. It

seeing the calmness and vigilance on Brother Inchmahome's face; great interest in his eyes. And for some reason his kindness was burning and painful to Clair-de-Lune and he knew this feeling was what he wanted to convey. But, even though he felt this was so familiar to him, it also felt so strange that he would not find it, even if for example he went to the Moon.

Whatisit? Whatisit?

He looked at the Brother helplessly and shook his head.

“Ah,” says Brother Inchmahome, “but you know,

Clair-de-Lune! Don't be afraid.” And suddenly he felt Brother Inchmahome was listening to something, something less obvious. “Now, finally,” he said gently, “we have arrived at the heart of the problem. Or the question has come to us!”

“Do you, my dear—if I may proceed

lang?—even if you think your difficulty is your state of being unable to speak, I myself am not sure. I've never been sure. I thought your problem was you didn't know how to listen.”

Clair-de-Lune looked at him, disappointed.

Listening to? Said. But listen to what?

“First of all,” said Brother Inchmahome, “hatimu

by oneself. And after that, anything and anyone who talks to you.”

Clair-de-Lune's heart is pounding. Something about what Brother Inchmahome said felt really scary. He also felt a kind of despair. What if he can't do it?

“But I see you're scared—you can't be scared!

You know, Clair-de-Lune, there's one thing you listen to all the time. A fear. Don't listen to fear..”

But again Clair-de-Lune saw Brother

listening to something not so obvious; and in his clear eyes there was lethargy.

“If only we could protect our loved ones,” murmured, so slowly that Clair-de-Lune barely heard him; and suddenly he felt himself embarking on a long journey. He was just about to ask another question, when suddenly, as he looked into Brother Inchmahome's eyes, he saw, in a moment, a remarkable thing: a young man, peering over something, looking over something, he looked at her shyly, almost talking. Just as he saw it, the young man disappeared.

Brother Inchmahome—ia getting started.

“Ah, enough of this idle chat!” said Bonaventure suddenly, when he woke up. “I'll be late! Mademoiselle will be late! Thank you once again, Brother Inchmahome, with all my heart. Bye!”

“Thank you again, Brother Rat,” Brother

Inchmahome was gentle; for the rat knew it had passed. “Goodbye, Clair-de-Lune!”

Clair-de-Lune follows Bonaventure

along the long corridor, passing through the doorman, through the garden with the sea to his right and the blue sky above him, and through the black door and back into his other life. Then, as usual, he went up to the basement of the roof to change his clothes and go to his class; and Bonaventure went downstairs to prepare his own class.

While dressed, Clair-de-Lune's face was serious.

One more step, it has reached its destination.

But even if he knew the move was big, he couldn't possibly know what adventures were still going on

will experience.

Seriate...