Читать книгу L'Amerique - Thierry Sagnier - Страница 12

Chapter 6

Babette Bonjean was two years older and two inches taller than Jeanot, and infinitely wise. In a matter of minutes she pushed Trudy out of his heart and mind.

Dr. Bonjean was a dentist from a well-off family. Mathilde was adamant that Dr. Bonjean had made good money drilling out the cavities of occupying German officers, but both Papa and Maman liked him. He was a genial man who had lost two brothers in the war and donated heavily to the Jewish orphan and widow relief programs. He had bought one of Maman’s paintings and always came bearing large picnic baskets full of butter, cheese, ham, wine, fresh fruit and still-warm breads. Jeanot liked him because he brought Babette.

Babette was worldly. She read aloud from adult books although Jeanot suspected she only pretended to read and just told made-up stories. He noticed she sometimes turned the pages quickly, sometimes lingered. Occasionally, she looked at him while reading. She also told him she read newspapers daily: France-Soir, which Jeanot liked because of the comic strips, and Le Monde, a daunting daily with no pictures at all. Jeanot thought she was lying about the newspapers, but it didn’t matter. She was the most fascinating creature in his world, and to his delight, she was fond of raising her skirt, pulling down her panties, and explaining to him the basic differences between a boy and a girl.

“Tu vois?” She pointed to the small slit five inches beneath her belly button. “C’est par là que je fais pipi…” She undid the three buttons holding his pants up, lowered them and his underwear, took his penis between thumb and forefinger. “Toi, c’est avec ca.”

He knew instantly this could be trouble. He glanced at the door. The parents were finishing dinner two rooms away; Dr. Bonjean’s sonorous laugh echoed down the hall, and Maman’s snorty giggles followed it. Mathilde was in the kitchen aligning wedges of cheese on a flat wooden board and helping herself to slices of Saint Paulin from Brittany, as she usually did. Babette squeezed his penis. Jeanot yelped. She said, “Quoi? Does it hurt? Hubert really likes it when I do this.” Hubert was Babette’s twelve-year-old cousin who was away at boarding school in the Pyrenées. “He likes it a lot!” She curled her hand around him, squeezed rhythmically. Jeanot felt a hint of pleasure rise, hidden among the panic.

Maman liked to check on him every twenty-or-so minutes when she entertained. She could be at the door any moment. He peered at Babette who was now concentrating on squeezing and moving her hand back and forth. She was looking down at her work, biting her lower lip. Jeanot sensed imminent disaster but couldn’t pull away. Then Babette stopped, shook her head. “You’re not old enough. T’es trops petit… Hubert is much bigger and more fun to be with.” She wiped her hands on her skirt, took her panties off and threw them on the bed. Then she raised her skirt to her hips, lay back on the floor. She opened her legs. “Touches-moi.” She took his right hand, placed it over her juncture, pushed his small middle finger down. “Comme ça. Doucement…” Jeanot held his breath, listened for footsteps. She slapped his arm. “Concentre toi!” So he did, moving his finger here and there. Babette’s hand relaxed on his. She smiled slightly, opened her mouth, licked her lips. After an eternity she sat up, pushed him away. “Assez.”

Jeanot removed his finger, disappointment and relief sharing space. She retrieved her panties, he buttoned his pants. A minute later, Maman cracked open the door. Jeanot and Babette were sprawled on the floor looking at an illustrated fairytale book. Maman smiled, closed the door. Jeanot exhaled like a cannon shot.