CLAIR DE LUNE'S
The Part 31

He had found the musicians—even if forced to walk two highways to find them—and other rats were designing costumes and stage backgrounds.

However, he still had to find a suitable place.

One night, while busy revising the dance

his creation, he suddenly raised his head, his eyes brilliant by an inspiration.

“Of course!” said. “Why never

thought of by me before?”

Stars appeared in the sky outside the window.

But, Bonaventure was not at the window to witness it.

# # #

That same night, Clair-de-Lune's grandmother had her granddaughter go up to the table and pick up a round box high above the closet, near a newspaper clipping.

His grandmother's face hardened. Clair-de-Lune had no idea what was stored in the box; but now, upon seeing his grandmother's expression, he knew; he knew.

“Open that box, son, and remove the contents,” says

her grandmother.

Clair-de-Lune opened it; and found, as he had expected, a white tutu, folded upside down. But even though he knew what he was going to find, when the lid of the box opened and he saw the contents for the first time, he felt surprised; for under the dim light of the candle, the tutu looks similar to a dead goose.

“Take it out and wear it,” said her grandmother.

Clair-de-Lune took it out carefully. Beautiful, certainly—but make her nervous, because there is something else in that thing that reminds her of something, I don't know what. Clair-de-Lune took off her clothes and put on the tutu, pulled her up beyond her stockings and put her hand into the sleeve.

The taste of the clothes on his body—layered by layer of tulle

and gosa— feathers made him suddenly aware.

The tutu reminded him of the material that always

muffling that voice— a scary voice that wanted to tell her something about her mother's death.

It was strange how much the sound should be buried under an object as beautiful as a tutu!

“Play, Son,” said her grandmother, and the old woman

tighten the dress on the back, hooking the buttons.

“Try me.”

And Clair-de-Lune turned and stood before him. The tutu was too big for him, of course; but not too big; for Clair-de-Lune's mother was only eighteen when she died, and thin. In the light of the candle, Clair-de-Lune does not look like a child wearing adult clothes. The tutu only makes Clair-de-Lune seem larger than age

indeed.

Grandma Clair-de-Lune stared at him for a moment without

remarked. Then he opened his sewing basket and began to put a needle here and there, so that the tutu just fell on the body of Clair-de-Lune.

Because like other clothes, this tutu pun— that La Lune wore when she died— must be changed to fit the body of her grandson.

Clair-de-Lune sits with Brother Inchmahome in a marine garden. The night of the staging was not until another week, and Bonaventure was away

“Clair-de-Lune,” said Brother Inchmahome, in the tone of someone who was sure to say what, “you are getting pale, getting thinner, and not telling me anything else. I was worried, just in case something I said— a few weeks ago, about listening—more

harming yourself rather than bringing good. I'm afraid I've ruined your confidence. Because you know, listening can't be a burden. Really, Clair-de-Lune, listening is liberating! Possibly

I didn't explain it to you..”

But, Clair-de-Lune shook his head repeatedly.

Not that, he said in the voice of a starving chick but feared the mother would not

back to the nest. The thing is dear Brother Inchmahome, I got to something I can't listen to. And now it seems that I'm going to fail—I won't be able to listen, and therefore can't talk. Because now I know the danger

listen—I know when I listen, I'll die.

“But, Clair-de-Lune!” brother Inchmahome said sincerely.

“Listening does not mean death. Listening means life!”

Listening is scary, Clair-de-Lune said, and for the first time she denied Brother.

“Listening is love,” Brother Inchmahome said; and suddenly his voice contained tears. “And love sometimes

frightful. But love is always good, Clair-de-Lune. And love is more important than anything. We must open ourselves to love. We can't shut the heart of—whatever the consequences. You're fighting something, my dear. Don't struggle. Just listen.”

When Clair-de-Lune looked at him with tears

flowing down her cheeks, this little girl finally knew what to do.

# # #

Late at night that day, Clair-de-Lune slept in

his bed was in the basement of the roof, and, through the window grille, the moon shone upon his calm face, the long fingers of the moon stroked the cool of his forehead, his cheeks, and tidied his hair. Clair-de-Lune's eyes were shaking, open. For a moment he lay still. Slowly, he rose from

her bed. He pulled out a blanket and covered his body. Then, with bare feet, he inched towards the table.

There, folded upside down and barked stiffly, stiffly,

there is a goose tutu of his mother, which has been modified according to the size of Clair-de-Lune. A pair of pink pointe ballet shoes was located on his side. Clair-de-Lune

lift up the dress, and put the shoes on it. He hesitated for a moment, glanced at his grandmother, then moved outside.

He went down the stairs, all twelve rows, and finally out into the street. The night air was cold, and of course there was no market: only the shadow of the shops was empty. Clair-de-Lune did not stop walking. He crossed the street, and upon arrival at the back of the theater, he entered through the stage door. He got the keys from Monsieur Dupoint that afternoon; for indeed all the administrators had the keys. But, Clair-de-Lune needs it to be used specifically.

After closing the door, he was inside

total darkness. But, Clair-de-Lune already knows the way. And he's not afraid. Hugging his tutu and shoes with one arm, the blanket draped like a scarf on his shoulder, he walked across the small lobby and climbed up the stairs.

If he wants to go to the dressing room, he has to turn left, and walk straight down the aisle. But, he went up to the second ladder. And it's not so dark here

any more. For a moment Clair-de-Lune felt anxious, just in case she was not alone, even though the night was already very late. But when he reached the top of the stairs and crept into the wings—now he was backstage—ia saw something that

freaky.

Seriate...