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228 pages, Paperback
First published August 18, 2016
Where do these stories come from? They emanate from Louise, in a continual flood, without her even thinking about it, without her making the slightest effort of memory or imagination. But in what black lake, in what deep forest has she found these cruel tales where the heroes die at the end, after first saving the world?
And that was when she heard it. Most people live their whole lives without ever hearing a scream like that. It is the kind of scream heard during war, in the trenches, in other worlds, on other continents. It is not a scream from here.
She drinks and the discomfort of living, the shyness of breathing, all this anguish dissolves in the liquid sips.
Louise does not respond—or hardly—and the nannies understand this silence. They all have shameful secrets. they hide awful memories of bent knees, humiliations, lies. Memories of barely audible voices on the other end of the line, of conversations, cut off, of people who die and are never seen again, of money needed day after day for a sick child who no longer recognizes you and who has forgotten the sound of your voice. Some of them, Louise knows, have stolen—just little thing, almost nothing at all—like a tax levied on the happiness of others. Some conceal their real names.
Louise is a soldier. She keeps going, come what may, like a mule, like a dog with its legs broken by cruel children.
Children are just like adults. There’s nothing to understand.