Read Online Scissors by Stephane Michaka - Free Book Online

stuff inexorably headed for the dump.
    The more he planted and spaded and planted again, the more stones rose up from the depths of the soil.
    One evening, over dessert, he declared, “The movement of things in general is from the earth to the sky.”
    Victor stood up and said, “Math homework.”
    Emma went to the window to have a cigarette. She stared into space, exhaling puffs of smoke. Robert tried to catch his wife’s eye but couldn’t.
    Ever since he’d thrown himself heart and soul into gardening, his family had looked at him as though he were some sort of strange animal. How could he make them understand that the only goal of all that activity was to bring him closer to them?
    For some time, Emma had been coming home later and later. At first Robert hadn’t paid much attention. But one eveningwhen his wife returned flushed and slightly disheveled, he remembered her words:
I don’t want to settle anything. I just want revenge, you bastard
.
    It was after midnight. Emma was asleep upstairs. As for Robert, he couldn’t sleep. He was in the yard, pacing back and forth and considering the hypothesis of his wife’s lover.
    In the darkness, he smelled more than saw the flowers that embellished the lawn. Very early in the spring, he’d seized the opportunity to plant petunias, but he was surprised they’d bloomed so soon. From where he stood, he could inhale their faint but pervasive fragrance.
    An idea came to him. Tomorrow, as early as possible, he’d get his wife involved in the renewal of their garden. They’d plant things together on their scant acre of land and recycle their missteps, their remorse—all the compost accumulated between them.
    “Darling, does our garden have any importance for you?”
    Emma put down her still-steaming cup. “But yes … it always has.”
    “Has it?”
    “When we moved here, we promised we’d replant the garden together.”
    Emma lowered her eyes. Those days were long gone. “I’m sorry,” Robert said.
    Emma looked at him as though she thought he was going to tell her about another flight attendant.
    “I’ve taken the garden too much to heart, I haven’t left you any room. I’d like—”
    “I’m going to be late.”
    She stopped short. Robert had taken her hand. He ran histhumb over her fingers as though brushing petals. He said, “I’d like you to help me replant the garden.”
    Emma gently withdrew her hand. She nodded to him, swallowed a last mouthful, and left.
    A few seconds later, he heard the car start. He felt serene, well on the way to saving his marriage.
    He walked out to the garden. “Those petunias are a mistake,” he thought, inhaling their fragrance.
    A few days later, a Sunday, the yard was drenched in sunlight, and Emma and Victor were stirring the compost. A sudden interest in gardening had seized the teenager. Intent on removing the ivy from a low wall, Robert listened with one ear to the exchange between his wife and son.
    “You have to turn over the compost so the grass won’t stagnate,” she said. “Here, turn it over with this spade.”
    “Like that?”
    “Dig deeper. Really hump it!”
    Victor started laughing. It was the bright laughter that hadn’t been heard from him for years. Emma wet down the compost with the yellow watering can.
    This is my family
, Robert thought.
This is my garden
.
    There was a continuous buzzing of bumblebees and flies. Robert felt like humming, but he was afraid of drowning out the murmur of life that was rising all around him.
    The next day Emma, with a gleam in her eye, shared an idea with him: “I have the solution for your petunias. We’ll mix in some columbine.”
    The overalls she had on were too large for her. One straphad slid down from her bare shoulder. As Robert finished uprooting the ivy, Emma came over to him.
    He had a strong urge to undress her, but Cathy, recently returned from her latest runaway episode, was in her room, listening to some deafening rock music and hopping around