Читать книгу A Little Girl In The Middle Of Nowhere Lost Her Happy Thought - Federico Parra - Страница 8

Meanwhile, in the luxurious Ladurée House.

Little Mary Jane’s Missing family former home, now owned by her mother’s stepsister and now adoptive stepmother... That is: Madame Tussauds,

the Gendarmerie had come,

commanded by Commissioner C. Monet.

 What a something' to happen to me, a few days before Christmas,

Oh my God!

What are the neighbors going to think? What will they say about this absurd story? Damnable!

The wicked and sour Madame Tussauds, was babbling and begging loudly

to be heard by Commissioner Monet

and by Reverend Dumas.

 Do you have any idea, Madame, where the children could've gone to find refuge?

Does Mary Jane have friends or relatives where she might be hiding?

Commissioner C. Monet

asked with a blank look on his face,

as if he were following one of his thoughts.

 No, I have no idea! The little girl has no family or friends in the world!

Nobody’s going to stand that ungrateful little brat! If it weren’t for her poor unfortunate mother!

Madame Tussauds sighed continuing her painful recitation. Then she slowly started to talk again.

  Ah! I’m too kind-hearted... I should have left her at the orphanage!

So she would have learned what

the hand feeding you means.

 Then? Mary Jane is not your daughter; and whose? If I may ask?

the Commissioner inquired, attentively, following the movements of all

in the room around him.

 She is the daughter of my stepsister and her husband, the infamous Count Ladurée.

My sister died of a strange and unknown debilitating illness.

Her beauty faded day by day,

she slowly went out,

as if carried away by the wind.

About the Count, I guess, you well know

the story of his diabolical madness.

The Little Girl was brought to the orphanage.

I still did not live here and when I came back, I immediately had the good heart to take the baby with me.

Madame Tussauds said, while Reverend Dumas nodded with his hands clasped in a monotonous prayer.

 I'm not completely informed about this nasty story, please Madame, would you tell it to me?

And so saying the commissioner C. Monet

moved his chair and sat in wait

to hear this strange story.

- It all began with the slow death

of my adoptive stepsister.

The Count had gone a little mad, he began

doing strange and meaningless things.

He did not want to bury his great love,

he embalmed her, saying that he would keep her close forever.

I remember that in those days the Count was as crazy or invaded, perhaps demeaned or who knows what.

He was studying all day and all nights,

then he wrote; he wrote millions of formulas

which for me have no meaning.

Oh! But me, Commissioner, I am a smart woman and I understand things.

I know what the Count was studying! He was studying

the Magic... The Dark Magic, Commissioner!

More and more the Count Ladurée

lived in a straight-up fantasyland,

an impalpable world made up of visions.

He talked to his wife, as if she was still alive, but she was motionless, embalmed, a stuffed puppet! He talked to plants and animals! He no longer talked to people! He didn’t say any other word! He didn't say a word!

We are one of the wealthiest families in Paris, Mr. Monet, and we cannot afford certain rumors on our behalf.

We can’t! It’s trashy!

Oh! But me... I am a woman of high society, of great nobility and I know well certain things! So, I took my fur and my puppy dressed for the occasion and went to Reverend Dumas to denounce the facts and confess everything to God!

Then I went to the police with Count Ladurée’s documents and denounced him for his magic rituals and his heresies.

Thus, Count Ladurée had to take all of his stuff and run away from Paris, otherwise people would pilloried him as a heretic and / or Satan's follower!

Reading through his things I think he has fled to some distant or exotic country,

bringing the embalmed body of his beloved wife with him.

So he disappeared in a flash leaving their only beautiful daughter

in a shelter for orphans.

My adoption papers are all in the parish of Reverend Dumas.

Anyway,

what Count Ladurée left before escape his properly punishment, is all in his office; you can visit it whenever you want!

I left it as it was to facilitate the course of the investigation and now it is still as it was at the time.

Madame Tussauds said looking at

Dumas with a cunning glance.

 It’s not a great story! ... It’s not a great story at all!

Commissioner Monet mumbled

beneath his long black mustaches,

while he was a long way off from hearing.

Her voice was too irritating for his ears. As a music that does not sound good. A scratched disc that stops the pin and blows up ruining

the melody of things.

 Would you like something to drink?

A brandy or some coffee? Maybe some tea?

The waitress said to all

the guests in the salon.

In that night of shock-white snow

on the windows steamed up.

In this strange story, full of

unsolved mysteries.

It seemed that everyone, listening to the story about Count Ladurée, they had completely forgotten why they were there.

At that late hour in a night

a few days before Christmas.

They had completely forgotten about

Mary Jane and little Jean Baptiste.

They drank and had conversations again, about this and that, they talked about the weather changes and Madame Tussauds was a very good host. Then they drank a toast again,

making wishes each other.

Meanwhile, a few kilometers from there,

the two children slept with the animals in the warmth of the stable, dreaming of a happy Christmas.

Only after all the unnecessary pleasantries Commissioner C. Monet,

seemed to get away from the group, pursuing a quick thought that

it seemed to fly away and be unreachable.

Then, calling his Gendarme, he said:

 Unleashed the dogs and look for the little girl and the baby boy all over Paris!

Arrest anyone who has not reported

the facts and protects the two fugitives!

Madame Tussauds and the Rev. Dumas nodded, as if Commissioner Monet

had addressed directly to them.

Unfortunately for the Gendarmerie and fortunately for the two children,

the next morning it looked like spring and

the snow melting fast,

hid all traces at sniffer dogs.

Sniffer dogs that, under the shining sun

of that morning, they found themselves in rivers

of running water to smell in vain.

Water followed its paths,

made of descents and slopes,

curves or recesses, and then puddles,

small ponds and canals.

Water, as was its mission,

besides the fact of irrigating the ground and

nourishing plants and all living things,

it was hiding with careful parsimony

the smell of the two fugitives.

It seemed that all Nature somehow protected the two children.

As if they were her first children or

a precious gift for everyone.

A miraculous harvest of fields

that had to be nourished with great care.

A fruit ... A red apple

given to all men and women

so that they may also know other truths.

The Sun rose and replaced the Moon.

The same thing happened even in the barn,

but here all the animals

saw it happen.

Not because they had nothing else to look at

but because the birth of a day,

like the growth of a child,

is the most important thing in the world.

A single ray of light passed

through the slit of the stable.

On the side where the children were sleeping, it lit up

Mary Jane’s face; she stretched herself and leaned in unison with Thomas the cat,

which, licking its private parts, soon after her, greeted the Sun with a giant yawning.

 You look like the characters in that small village that humans call nativity scene!

Thomas the cat said pointing at the children,

the cows and the hay all around them.

 Look out! The Farmer is coming! Help! Find some cover!

Bernhard said coming out quickly from his hole and running wildly.

 We should moo all together!

When the farmer arrives... and the sheep bleating, the rooster crowing, not to let him hear

the child's weeping! Ismael the bull said.

 All for one! ... It continued.

 one for all! ... All the animals replied.

And it was a choir! The barn was immense in the daylight and the animals were many, so many.

Mary Jane was well hidden from the view of the farmer and she looked from beneath the udders and listened astonished, as if she was still dreaming ... A cool dreaming!