The Long Summer of Monsieur Loiseau

For the next few days, Harry was left adrift unattended.Martha brought him some crayons and drawing paper, and was never seen again.The kitchen fireplace was never extinguished, and although Harry had never seen anyone add wood and charcoal to the fire, it was probably leprechauns who did it, and Mr. Meeks, who taught history, said leprechauns were not real, Harry hadn't decided whether to trust him or not; there was always food on the long table, and no one cared if he ate or not, and when.The occasional gardener or maid, ignored Harry as if a strange nine-year-old boy was eating prosciutto here every day.

Harry wandered the mansion like some kind of extraordinarily quiet miniature ghost, expanding his field of exploration little by little.The study was on the east side. In Harry's opinion, it should be called a library.Everything smelled of old wood and leather, and the clock was ticking.Between the walnut bookcases were tall narrow glass windows, whittled the sunlight into dull, dusty streaks.The carpet is very thick and very old, with no pattern visible, it is a soft swamp, and it seems that it can sink forever when stepped on.A wild boar flees across the tapestry, frozen in a howling pose, a spear pierces its ribcage, a hound bites its hind leg, another bites its neck, the faded wool weaves splashes of blood .The boy took two steps back and bumped into a high-backed chair. The hunter on the black horse raised his barbed-ended spear at him and the boar, and the shadows that gathered near the ceiling covered his face.

The desk was a vast oak wilderness, and the stacked books were towering towers. Harry flipped through the top few books, but they were filled with densely packed words, without any pictures, which did not arouse his interest.A pen was submerged in a creamy sea of ​​unopened letters, its ink frozen and unused.A bulky, brass-edged photo frame stands next to an inkwell and shows a family of five, with the father standing behind left with his hands on the shoulders of his son and daughter, and the mother sitting with a baby in her arms, skirt Like melted wax, dripping from the chair to the floor.Harry's father had always wanted to do a similar photoshoot, but was always put off by one thing or another, there was always something in the bank.Father had joined the Army six months ago, or maybe a year ago, since school had closed and Harry no longer remembered the exact time.

The drawers were all locked, and Harry tried each of them once and gave up.The clock rang suddenly, a loud nine, and a maid with a broom walked in humming. She was startled by the boy, and then chased him out like a stray cat.The study has since locked the door.

But Harry had a better place to go, the sunroom.Tropical orchids with teeth and claws form a virgin forest there, and mottled shadows fall on the round tea table and two wicker chairs.An elaborate parrot perch hangs by the glass window, but there are no parrots.No one kicked him out, in fact no one came here but him.Harry brought down the crayons and paper, and painted the grass outside and the growing day, and after the green and yellow had worn off quickly he moved on to London, the red and grey, the fire and the rubble.

Later, when he got tired of these corridors and dark rooms, Harry's path of exploration extended outside.At the end of the meadow stood a huge oak tree, a sullen brown giant to which the coming summer had splashed a few drops of green.Farther to the east, passing between two rows of empty rose stands, you will see a stone fountain, the water should have spouted from the mouth of a tusk fish, but now it is dry, piled with rotting dead wood. leaf.There were not enough gardeners ("They're all in the army, and fighting, my dear, like our poor George," said Martha), and the shrubs and grass beyond the fountain were uncut, and the weeds were almost Harry's shoulders were still high, and once he walked in, he could only see the sky and the occasional wild bee flying by.Harry found a lark's nest in it, and a chick whose eyes hadn't opened was wriggling in it, hogging two brown-spotted eggs beside it.

Days pass easily, daylight dispelling shadows, even on rainy days.Night is another story.The radio in the kitchen was turned on promptly every evening, and a serious male voice accompanied the rustle of the radio announcing the casualties of last night's bombing, describing burning streets and buildings, new rationing restrictions, shortages of cotton yarn, shortages of tobacco, alcohol and flour too.The voice on the radio picked up the dregs of fear in Harry's mind: the screeching air raid sirens, the distant hum of bombers and the crackling of fires eating wooden beams.Once, his mother woke him up in the middle of the night and dragged him out of the house.The sound of sirens echoed in the dark streets, everyone was a shadow with blurred faces, and all the shadows flocked to the air-raid shelter in horror.The boy tripped over a brick and hit his chin. His mother picked him up and ran forward. They fell at the end of the crowd. The drone of the bomber could be clearly heard. The police at the entrance of the air-raid shelter waved at them and urged them hurry up.Mother ran down one flight of stairs, and then another.The heavy iron door slammed shut, a lone lamp was lit, and people huddled together, too nervous to speak.The ground trembled with one explosion after another, the lights went out, and ash rained down.Somewhere in the dark, the baby howled loudly, and the light came on again, swaying gently from side to side, and the shadow swayed with it.Only then did Harry realize that the blood was dripping from his chin onto the skirt of his shirt, and his mother whispered "Oh, Harry", reached out for a handkerchief, and pressed it to his cut.

Mother's handkerchief pressed under the pillow smelled faintly of roses from her favorite soap.Harry took out his handkerchief, spread it on the pillow, buried his face in it, and curled up, waiting for daylight.

He was woken by Martha, who gave him a pressed shirt and a fresh towel and told him to wash up right away.The shirt was the one he used to wear to school, light blue. His mother sewed a thin "HEP" with white thread on the side of the pocket. It should have been stuffed in the bottom of the backpack. Harry didn't know when Martha put it A piece of clothing turned out.Harry hated the dress, its texture and smell reminded Harry of ink pens and moth-ridden desks, but Martha, not wanting to hear his reasons, pushed him into the cramped bathroom and closed the door.

Ten minutes later he was taken downstairs, dressed as if he was going to meet the prime minister.There were about twenty people gathered in the lobby, more than Harry had seen in the past few days combined.The sound of a car engine came from the front yard, a maid sneezed, someone talked outside the door and laughed.The door opened and in came a bearded man with a cane whom Harry recognized as his father in the photograph in the study.Martha held Harry by the shoulders and pushed him in front of the bearded man.

"Is this the boy?"

"Yes, sir."

The Baron Loiseau turned to Harry, said "good morning" to him, and held out his hand as if Harry, too, was a respectable adult.Harry shook his hand hesitantly, and whispered "Good morning, sir".

"Have any of his relatives been found?" the baron asked Martha.

"No, sir."

"We'll keep looking, young Mr. Prudence, don't worry. Until then, I'm afraid you'll have to get stuck with us Cornish savages." The baron patted Harry on the shoulder, " Meet my son, the youngest, the same age as you. Come here, Alex."

It was only then that Harry noticed another boy, about Harry's height, with the same dusky blond hair and green eyes as his father, a camel woolen vest over a white shirt, shorts, and Harry could see the boy on his left knee. Unhealed abrasions.At his father's request, Alex came over and gave Harry a nod and a half prim smile.

The baron's attention was no longer on them, and the gardener accompanied him upstairs, explaining that his youngest son had just turned [-] and insisted on enlisting in the RAF like George, and wondered if the baron could help instill a little into his wooden head reason.The others left one by one, like bees returning to their nest, back to the kitchen, back to the stable, back to the garden.The two nine-year-old boys were left standing in the lobby, looking at each other.

"What's HEP?" Alex asked, looking at Harry's shirt.

"This is." Harry glanced down at his clothes as if he had never seen it before, "My full name is Harry Edward Prudence."

"Would you like to go and see Mercury with me?"

"Mercury?"

"My horse, now he is the only one left, and the others have been requisitioned by the army."

There is no reason to say no.

The boys went into the kitchen to grab some apples, walked across the sunroom and out on the porch, squinting in the harsh sunlight.Summer seemed to have arrived early, with tiny wildflowers bursting out of the lawn like shattered stained glass.The fountain had been cleaned, and clear streams gushed from between the marble tusks of the fish's mouths into the glistening pool.

"It's quicker this way." Alex stuffed the apple into his trouser pocket and stooped under a bush, Harry following.There was a gap in the towering wall of shrubs, probably a dead one, pulled out by the gardener, but a new one was not planted, and the gap was slowly covered by the neighboring plants.

On the other side of the bushes was a fenced-in sandy field, neglected, with weeds creeping in over the edge.The stables were quiet and smelled of hay and sawdust.The compartments are mostly empty and still bear name tags, "Soot," "Nicky," "Phoebe," "Apollo," and more.

"Mercury." Alex opened the door to the last compartment and smiled dimpled at the grey-white colt.The horse shook his head, cupped his palms, and then lowered his head to sniff his trouser pockets.Alex fed it the two shriveled apples, looked up at Harry, and beckoned him to come closer.

Taller than he was, the Arabian had silver-gray spots on its white fur.The foal bent its curvaceous neck to study Harry.Alex took his hand and put it lightly on Mercury's nose. Warm breath came into his palm, and Mercury twitched his ear and pressed against his palm.

"He's beautiful," whispered Harry, stroking the pony's smooth fur.

"George promised to teach me how to play polo." Alex unhooked a canvas bag, pulled out a long-handled comb, and started combing the light-colored fur of the foal. "Both he and Dad loved it. So is Laila, that's my sister, Apollo is her horse, and Phoebe is George's." The blond boy pointed out at the sandy field with the end of his comb, "They used to practice here, and I could only watch because Mercury is still very young."

"Your brother joined the army?"

"Air Force." Alex nodded. "Lila's in London."

"What are you doing there?"

"I don't know." Alex put the comb back in place. "Dad never told me about it."

"My dad joined the army too."

"where is it?"

"I don't know." Maybe he was dead, and he couldn't say the latter sentence.

The horse snorted and shook its ears.Harry took a step back.The draft brought the smell of earth and grass stalks, a skylark twittered, and Mercury's ears pricked up.Alex patted the pony's mane-covered neck and smiled back at Harry. "How about we take him for a walk?"

-

"We crossed the fields to the sea." Prudence closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. "That's what he wrote, didn't he? Which book was it?"

"Short stories, sir," answered the reporter, "The White Poppy, if I remember correctly, 'they crossed the fields to the sea, and the sea couldn't stop making noise, and the boys were silent. Though they couldn't understand the country yet scars, but can feel pain'."

"We can't actually 'reach the sea', Mr Rivers, the coast of Cornwall is full of turrets and lookouts with machine guns, and the sand is mined. We can only get as far as a hill with barbed wire From there, Yau, you can often see fighter jets take off, and the air force base is not far away. Sometimes," Prudence paused, frowning at the rain-shrouded sea outside the window, "sometimes you can see them crash. .”

The reporter reached out and touched the teapot, but it was still warm.He poured Prudence a cup of tea.

"And then," continued Prudence, completely oblivious to the reporter's movements, "the very day we found the body, the German planes arrived."

tbc.