The Virgin Blue (39 page)

‘You haven't seen the back. No, I'm not going to show it to you. That's another story.’

Jean-Paul zipped the bag shut.

‘I have an idea,’ he said. ‘But it may upset you.’

‘Nothing can upset me more than everything already has.’

‘I want to dig here. By the chimney.’

‘Why?’

‘Just a theory.’ He crouched by the remains of the hearth. There wasn't much left of it. It had been a large slab of granite, like the one in Moutier, but it had cracked down the middle and was crumbling away.

‘Look, I don't want to bury her right there, if that's what you're thinking,’ I said. ‘That's the last place I want to put her.’

‘No, of course not. I just want to look for something.’

I watched him shift bits of stone for a while, then got down on my knees and helped him, avoiding the larger rocks, careful of my abdomen. At one point he glanced at my back, then reached over and traced the outline of blood on the shirt with his finger. I remained hunched over, my arms and legs pricked with goosebumps. Jean-Paul moved his finger up my neck and onto my scalp, where he spread his fingers and pulled them through my hair like a comb.

His hand stopped. ‘You do not want me to touch you,’ he said; it was a statement rather than a question.

‘You won't want to touch me when you've heard everything. I haven't told you everything yet.’

Jean-Paul dropped his hand and picked up the shovel. ‘Tell me later,’ he said, and began to dig.

I wasn't really surprised when he found the teeth. He held them out to me in silence. I took them, opened the gym bag and got out the other set. They were the same size: children's teeth. They felt sharp in my hands.

‘Why?’ I said.

‘In some cultures people bury things in the foundations of houses when they're built. Bodies of animals, sometimes shoes. Sometimes, not often, humans. The idea was that their souls would remain with the house and scare away evil spirits.’

There was a long silence.

‘They were sacrificed, you mean. These children were sacrificed.’ 293

‘Maybe. Probably. It is too much of a coincidence to find bones under the hearths of both houses for it to be accidental.’

‘But – they were Christian. They were supposed to be God-fearing, not superstitious!’

‘Religion has never completely destroyed superstition. Christianity was like a layer over the older beliefs – it covered them but they didn't disappear.’

I looked at the two sets of teeth and shivered. ‘Jesus. What a family. And I'm one of them. I'm a Tournier too.’ I was beginning to shake.

‘Ella. You are far away from them,’ Jean-Paul said gently. ‘You belong to the twentieth century. You are not responsible for their actions. And remember that you are as much a product of your mother's family as your father's.’

‘But I'm still a Tournier.’

‘Yes, but you do not have to pay for their sins.’

I stared at him. ‘I've never heard you use that word before.’

He shrugged. ‘I was brought up Catholic, after all. Some things are impossible to leave behind entirely.’

Sylvie appeared in the distance, running in a zigzag, distracted by flowers or rabbits, so that she looked like a yellow butterfly flitting here and there. When she saw us she made a beeline for us.

‘Jean-Paul!’ she cried. She ran over to stand next to him.

He crouched beside her. ‘
Bonjour, Mademoiselle
,’ he said. Sylvie giggled and patted his shoulder.

‘Have you two been digging already?’ Mathilde picked her way through the rocks in pink slingbacks, swinging a yellow
panier
. ‘
Salut, Jean-Paul
,’ she said, grinning at him. He smiled at her. It occurred to me that if I had any sense I'd bow out and let them be together, give Mathilde some fun and Sylvie a father. It would be my own sacrifice, an atonement for my family's sins.

I stepped back. ‘I'm going to look for a place to bury the bones,’ I announced. I held out my hand. ‘Sylvie, do you want to come with me?’

‘No,’ Sylvie said. ‘I'm going to stay here with Jean-Paul.’

‘But – maybe your mother wants to be alone with Jean-Paul.’

I immediately realized I'd made a mistake. Mathilde began to laugh her high shriek.

‘Really, Ella, you are so stupid sometimes!’

Jean-Paul said nothing, but pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lit it with a smirk on his face.

‘Yeah, I am stupid,’ I muttered in English. ‘Very, very stupid.’

We all agreed on the spot, a grassy patch next to a boulder shaped like a mushroom, not far from the ruins. It would always be easy to find because of the shape of the rock.

Jean-Paul began to dig while we sat nearby and ate lunch. Then I took a turn with the shovel, then Mathilde, until we'd made a hole about two feet deep. I began to lay the bones out. We'd dug room enough for two, and though Jean-Paul had found only the teeth among the ruins, I set them in their place as if the bones of the whole body were there too. The others watched, Sylvie whispering to Mathilde. When I finished I pulled a blue thread from the remains of the dress and put it in my pocket.

As I stood up Sylvie came over. ‘Maman said I should ask you,’ she began. ‘Could I bury something with Marie?’

‘What?’

Sylvie pulled the bar of lavender soap from her pocket.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Take it out of its wrapping first. Do you want me to put it in for you?’

‘No, I want to do it.’ She lay down next to the grave and dropped the soap into place. Then she stood up and brushed the dirt off her front.

I didn't know what to do next: I felt I should say something but didn't know what. I glanced at Jean-Paul; to my amazement he'd bowed his head, closed his eyes and was whispering something. Mathilde was doing the same, and Sylvie imitated them both.

I looked up and saw a bird high above us, fluttering its wings so that it hovered in place.

Jean-Paul and Mathilde crossed themselves and opened their eyes at the same time. ‘Look,’ I said, and pointed upwards. The bird was gone.

‘I saw it,’ Sylvie declared. ‘Don't worry, Ella, I saw the red bird.’

After we filled in the dirt we began piling small rocks on the grave to keep animals from taking away the bones, building it into a rough pyramid about eighteen inches high.

We'd just finished when we heard a whistle and looked around. Monsieur Jourdain was standing at the ruins, a young woman at his side. Even from that distance it was obvious she was about eight months pregnant. Mathilde glanced at me and we grinned. Jean-Paul saw the exchange and gave us a puzzled look.

Oh, God, I thought. I still have to tell him. My stomach tightened.

When they got close the woman stumbled. I stood frozen.

‘
Mon Dieu!
’ Mathilde breathed.

Sylvie clapped her hands. ‘Ella, you didn't tell us your sister was coming!’

She reached me and stopped. We studied each other: the hair, the shape of the face, the brown eyes. Then we stepped together and kissed the other's cheeks: one, two, three times.

She laughed. ‘You Tourniers always kiss three times, as if two were not enough!’

Late in the day we decided to come down from the mountain. We would have a drink at the bar, then go our separate ways: Mathilde and Sylvie to Mende, Elisabeth to her home near Alès, Monsieur Jourdain to his house around the corner from the
mairie
, Jean-Paul to Lisle-sur-Tarn. Only I didn't know where I was going.

Elisabeth and I walked together to the cars.

‘You will come stay with me?’ she asked. ‘Come now if you want.’

‘Soon. I have some – things to sort out. But I'll come in a few days.’

At the cars she and Mathilde looked at me expectantly. Jean-Paul looked off at the horizon.

‘Um, you go ahead,’ I said to them. ‘I'll get a lift with Jean-Paul. We'll see you there.’

‘Ella, you are coming home with us, aren't you?’ Sylvie asked anxiously. She began to pat my arm.

‘Don't worry about me,
chérie
.’

When the cars disappeared down the road Jean-Paul and I found ourselves on either side of his car. ‘Can we take the roof down?’ I asked.

‘
Bien sûr
.’

We unhooked the clasps on each side, rolled the roof back and fastened it. When we were done, I leaned against the side of the car and rested my arms along the top ridge of the window. Jean-Paul leaned against the other side.

‘I have something to tell you,’ I said. I swallowed the lump in my throat.

‘In English, Ella.’

‘Right. OK. In English.’ I stopped again.

‘You know,’ he said, ‘I had no idea I could be so miserable about a woman. It has been almost two weeks you go away. Since then, I can't sleep, I can't play piano, I can't work. The old women tease me at the library. My friends think I am crazy. Claude and I fight over stupid things.’

‘Jean-Paul, I'm pregnant,’ I said.

He looked at me, his whole face a question. ‘But we –’ He stopped.

I thought again about lying, about how much easier it would be to lie. I knew he would see through it.

‘It's Rick's,’ I said softly. ‘I'm sorry.’

Jean-Paul took a deep breath. ‘There is nothing to be sorry about,’ he said in French. ‘You wanted to have a baby, yes?’

‘
Oui, mais
–’

‘Then there is nothing to be sorry about,’ he repeated in English.

‘If it's with the wrong person, there's plenty to be sorry about.’

‘Does Rick know?’

‘Yes. I told him the other night. He wants us to move to Germany.’

Jean-Paul raised his eyebrows.

‘What do
you
want to do?’

‘I don't know. I have to think about what's best for the baby.’

Jean-Paul pushed himself off the car and walked to the other side of the road, where he stood looking out over the fields of broom and granite. He reached over, picked a stalk of broom and squeezed the bitter yellow flowers between his fingers.

‘I know,’ I whispered so he wouldn't hear me. ‘I'm sorry. It's too much, isn't it?’

When he came back to the car he looked resolute, even stoic. This is his finest hour, I thought. Unexpectedly I smiled.

Jean-Paul smiled back at me.

‘What's best for the mother is usually what's best for the baby,’ he said. ‘If you are unhappy the baby will be also.’

‘I know. But I've lost sight of what's best for me. I wish I at least knew where home was. It's not in California anymore. And Lisle – I don't think I can go back there. Not right now. Or Switzerland. Certainly not Germany.’