Read Online Revolution Baby by Alison Anderson, Joanna Gruda - Free Book Online Page B

tougher, because in the general uproar it was hard to make out the words, and Arnold had neglected this very important aspect of our preparation as demonstrators. We managed to join in with the others all the same, on certain refrains, only a few seconds behind them in what was a chaotic choir. I told myself I would ask them to put the revolutionary songs on the program of the choir at L’Avenir Social, which I had joined not long before.
    Right in the middle of all the fun Arnold told us it was time to leave. Some of the kids thought the atmosphere at the demonstration was very exciting and they said his decision was too hasty: they called for a vote. Arnold put on his loud voice (but I am sure I saw a twinkle of amusement flash furtively in his eyes) and declared that this was a good idea, but that if we didn’t want to miss the very last bus for the AS we would have to leave at once, unless we felt like walking all evening long and well into the night. His explanation won over the majority of the insurgents; only Marcel continued to shout, “Out of the question, democracy or death!” Geneviève went up to Arnold and murmured something in his ear. Arnold smiled and said, “Okay, those who want to leave now to catch the last bus, raise your hands.” Everyone except Marcel raised their hand.
    And thus our participation in the demonstration came to a very democratic end.

CHAPTER 11
L’Avenir Social in Bloom
    During my years at L’Avenir Social, there were a number of times when I went over the wall that separated us from the rest of the world. I knew we were not allowed to go out without permission. But if I thought it was for a good cause, and no one noticed my short absence, what possible harm could it do?
    My first escapades were in the spring of 1938, under the reign of Feller, who replaced Henri at the head of L’Avenir Social for a few months. My relations with Henri had always been strained. I had never forgiven him for the extreme punishment I’d received at the beginning of my stay at the orphanage, and no doubt he had never forgiven me for my obvious hostility toward his son, Roland the owl. However, now when I think back on it, I tell myself that it wasn’t simply a war of pride between us: in fact, our personalities were not compatible. Henri was a very serious sort, with very little sense of humor and a narrow, authoritarian vision of his role as director of L’Avenir Social. So I greatly appreciated the “Feller months,” as we later called them among ourselves.
    What I remember about Feller is that he was always badly dressed, his ginger hair was never combed, he had round blue eyes like marbles, and a good-humored communicative nature. I can still see him at his window calling to his wife, who was also his secretary, “Margot, come to the office!” to the tune of Schubert’s
Unfinished Symphony
. (I learned the name of the work and of its composer thanks to Arnold, who was a great music lover and who always tried, generally to no avail, to transmit his passion to the children.)
    One day Feller decided to hold a gardening contest to encourage a love of and respect for nature among the children. There were two gardens on the grounds of the orphanage: the kitchen garden, where Gros Pierre, the gardener, grew the vegetables that ended up in our plate, and another purely decorative garden. Gros Pierre was always pleased when the children showed an interest in his work, and he loved explaining how to choose the seeds, how to fertilize the plants and how to care for them when they were sick. He was delighted when Feller came up with this idea of a contest, where each participant would have a little plot that he or she could plant as they saw fit.
    I was one of the first to sign up. I always loved watching Gros Pierre diligently sowing his seeds, and he would come back every day to see how they grew, and to encourage them. I knew that sometimes you