Le Silence de la Cité
Élisabeth Vonarburg
Excerpt from : Chapter 3, p. 9-13.
It happened shortly after Serena went away. Grandpa was telling Elisa a story. She was sitting on his lap, snuggling against him with her head burrowing into the crook of his neck, and she could feel his voice reverberating on her forehead. Her eyes were closed, and he rocked her gently as he talked. She knew the story by heart: it was about the little girl who lived in an enchanted castle where everyone was asleep. There were only machines in the castle, and even though they did everything the little girl wanted, they were still machines. One day the machines stopped. The 1ittle girl saw a big door open and she went Outside.
Usually, when they got to this part, Grandpa wasn't really telling a story anymore. He asked questions, and if Elisa couldn't answer he would press the controls, and screens would light up, showing pictures of Outside (he also called it the Exterior or the Surface). It was huge, all green and blue, black and white, or else a lot of red and brown - spring, summer, winter, or fall. There were animals everywhere, just like in the park, and there was water. But there were a lot more animals, and the water was rushing, leaping, foaming (and in winter enormous curtains of ice hung round the waterfalls). Sometimes there were clouds in the sky. And there were people too, although always far away. Then Grandpa stopped the picture and said, "But the little girl isn't big enough to go and see the people. When she's big enough she'll go." When he said this Elisa knew, not without a certain thrilling anxiety, that the little girl must be called Elisa and that the story wasn't really a story.
One day Grandpa would explain everything. She was sure he would. In fact Elisa liked that story best, because it was a secret that she and Grandpa shared. "This is our own story," he used to say. That's how it always started off, even before "Once upon a time." "You mustn't tell anyone," went the ritual. "Not even Papa?" And the ritual answer was, "Especially not Papa."
"Speshlynotpapa, speshlynotpapa," Elisa loved to chant when she was very little, and Grandpa would say it in her ear so as to tickle her with his mustache, which had a funny way of moving when he said the words. One day she asked, "Why not Papa?"
"Because it's a surprise!" he whispered, and Elisa was satisfied. It would be fun to surprise Papa for a change. Papa didn't come often; once a month he spent the whole day with her. Elisa learned to count the days so that she would know when to expect him, but he never came on the same day. It was always a surprise, although the day began with the same strange game. Papa would put a sort of wire hat on Elisa and then cut into the end of her finger. It hurt, but not for long. Anyway, the idea of the game was to stop it hurting and make it get better as quickly as possible. All you had to do was stop the blood and close the cut. He explained it to her, and said she could do it if she wanted to. And she did it. As time went on the cuts became deeper, right to the bone. Papa would now put Elisa's finger to sleep so it wouldn't hurt too much ("Anesthesia" - she'd given that name to the doll with the eyes that closed). But the game was still the same: close the cut as soon as possible. When it was over, Papa congratulated her and was very kind the rest of the day, taking her to the playground in the park and giving her rides on the merry-go-round. He told her stories about fairies and princesses that were like Grandpa's, but somehow different.
After all, it wouldn't have been much fun if the two people she loved most did the same thing all the time. There was Grandpa's world, and Papa's world. For her, Grandpa was everyday life with its familiar activities - washing, dressing, eating - the real world, functioning smoothly, safely. Papa was fantasy, the unexpected, the dream, in spite of the harsh, regulated brilliance of his laboratory where the first game of the day took place. Each day she waited for the surprise and greeted Papa with delighted excitement and gratitude when he appeared, even though he wasn't often there the way Grandpa was, even though she couldn't sense (as she could from the smell of Grandpa's tobacco or the warmth of his presence) Papa's pleasure in being with her, his love for her.That day (yes, Serena had gone away three days before), there were no questions, no screens, Grandpa didn't even seem to want to tell the story. When he said "Speshlynotpapa" his voice sounded funny, as if he were very cross. Whatever it was, he wasn't really there. Elisa was drowsy and only half listened to him. The whole world slept, the machines stopped, and the little girl was going to the Outside. But the tone of Grandpa's voice was different. Angry. The castle-city was no longer an enchanted place. It was empty, immobile, silent. Frightening. And the people who slept there were never going to wake up. Never.
At that moment Grandpa made a strange sound, as if he were strangling. His arms tightened around Elisa, roughly pulling her against his chest. Then he stopped moving, stopped talking. Elisa tried to look up at his face, but one of Grandpa's hands was caught in her hair, and she couldn't turn her head.
"Grandpa?"
No answer. Grandpa's chest was absolutely still. Elisa laughed uneasily. What a strange game. It must be a game, mustn't it? She twisted in an effort to get out of Grandpa's arms, but he was squeezing her too tight. It was almost impossible to breathe, and the hand on her head kept pulling her hair each time she tried to move.
"Grandpa, stop it!"
No answer. Elisa decided she definitely did not like this game. "Grandpa, stop it!" she said again, in the plaintive tone that usually heralded tears. But this time the familiar signal didn't seem to work. Grandpa remained perfectly silent, perfectly still.
Elisa panicked, thrashing about violently, vainly. The rigid arms locked her against the hard chest. She screamed.
After a long while Papa came to her. He touched Grandpa's shoulder. "Richard?" he said. Then, without trying to free Elisa, he walked over to the nearest communication pillar and touched some switches. The screens began to shimmer with pictures that Elisa couldn't see very clearly. Papa came back and she began to cry again. Papa really was there, but he was so angry, so sad. And at the moment he didn't love her very much either. He took hold of Grandpa's arms, vainly trying to wrench them apart. Then he muttered something under his breath and disappeared from her field of vision. He came back with a kind of stick in his hand, and made a cold, blue flame come out of one end. He began slicing through Grandpa's right arm.
Papa was doing this dreadful thing so calmly, and the smell coming from Grandpa was so different, so horrible, that Elisa stopped crying. It smelled like stuff burning, not at all like Grandpa's tobacco. Papa sliced through the whole arm, disentangled the hand clenched in Elisa's hair, and took her in his arms. But all she could see was the thing on the ground and Grandpa's gaping shoulder stump, full of wires and melted blobs.
Papa was very angry, or perhaps he was upset. As Elisa passed by the pillar with its screens still lit up, she saw a thin, brown old man, with white hair and a yellow mustache. The screens showed him full face, in profile, and from the back. He was motionless, tipped back in a reclining chair, and on his head was a hat with wires on it. His eyes were staring and his lips drawn back on yellow teeth. She didn't recognize him at first...
© 1998 Éditions Alire & Élisabeth Vonarburg
To find out what happens next...
