Read Online The Stone Boy by Sophie Loubière - Free Book Online Page A

his sister’s whipping boy. Chance had smiled.
    She pointed to the child in the photograph.
    “Oh! I know this little face.”
    “Kévin Desmoulins? His big sister is with Mr. Di Pesa, with the older children.”
    Madame Préau was delighted. She hadn’t managed to hear the name of the child screamed by his sister in the garden. The little girl, however, was frequently told off by her parents.
    “Little Laurie, no?” she said, with feigned affection.
    “Yes. Laurie is a good enough student. Kévin is more average. He finds it hard to concentrate. But they both seem to keep up.”
    “And the elder brother? Is he also at Blaise Pascal?”
    The headmistress raised her eyebrows, dubious. “The elder brother? There are only two Desmoulins children, to my knowledge.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “I can check their registration file, but I think so.”
    Madame Préau felt her heart rate rise. She removed her glasses clumsily. A cowlick appeared in her fringe. The headmistress glanced at her watch.
    “Would you like to see Laurie’s class? I have five more minutes.”
    The old lady stammered a reply. “I wouldn’t want to be a bother; I know how exhausting a school day can be for a teacher and a headmistress…”
    “You’re not wrong there! But I can certainly give you a few minutes. It must be emotional for you, no?”
    “Pardon?”
    “To come back here, to your school.”
    “Yes, very moving.”
    “It’s this way; we have to take the stairs.”
    Mr. Di Pesa’s classroom was less fun but equally cheering and covered with photos. An alphabet of letters corresponding to animals ran around the walls. Boards on learning to count with fruits and vegetables were pinned above the blackboard. One entire wall was studded with drawings.
    “Earlier this year,” the headmistress explained, “this teacher asked his students to draw their families. Each child drew his house, his parents and siblings. It’s a good exercise. It allows us to place the child in relation to his perception of things and make a preliminary assessment of his capabilities. Some are still struggling to hold a pencil…”
    Madame Préau took off her glasses. She could see the amazing works of young artists: scrawny dads, chubby mums, giant dogs on leashes, houses in the form of suppositories—there was plenty of imagination on display. Some drawings were sloppy; others decorated down to the smallest details. One student had gone so far as to draw a frame along the edge of the page. A future gallery curator at work…
    And that was when she saw it.
    Taped above the light switch.
    Little Laurie’s drawing.

21
     
    She didn’t need to read the first name written on the bottom of the page. Madame Préau recognized the tree with fat tears falling from its branches: the birch. The little girl had made her house look much bigger than it actually was. The windows were ridiculously small, the door askew. A chimney spewed curls of black smoke. The garden was bristling with blades of grass as stiff as sticks. In the left-hand corner of the page, a big orange sun beamed its rays like a hairy belly. But most interesting was how she represented her family: the father and mother were the same size. He was smoking a stick (a cigarette, no doubt), she wore a skirt and a kind of egg-yolk yellow cloche on her head (her hair). Laurie had drawn them in the garden, near where the swing would be. She stood by their side, as big as her mother, holding a pink flower. As for Kévin, he was next to her, symbolized by a circle with two holes (head) and five sticks corresponding to the arms, legs, and trunk. Suffice to say that her little brother was of no interest. But what made Madame Préau shudder appeared in the other part of the garden. Something made up of five sticks and an empty circle.
    “You’re sure there isn’t a third child at the Desmoulins’ house? Have a look here…”
    The headmistress in turn looked closely at the drawing.
    “That’s strange, yes. I