The light coming in through the window on the saturday morning at 11 when it's the 25th of june and it's been summer for 4 days, this light, it's the one from a sun that seems to come friendly. It's stupid ? You say that it's stupid ? He says : "Hey, let's dance !"
At 11 a.m. when mum's alone in the living room and that I should still be sleeping because yesterday I learnt my lessons until midnight, when I'm the only one that could be looking at her from the end of the corridor, in the darkness, because no one else is there. When it's 11 in the morning and that dad and mum are already back from shopping, that they've alreday emptied the car from all the supplies, and that dad has already left to go hunting and that mum, finally alone, in a sunbeam going through the living room, says yes let's dance. When mum puts a 33 turns vinyl of the Creole Company and that she makes her dress dance while she sings but that I can't hear what she says because she put the volume very strong and that I smile.
My father is crazy about hunting. Stupid riders with trumpets and guns disguised as matadors who follow in the forest, perched on their horses, a poor roe-deer or a stag, with all their idiot dogs teached to kill. Every saturday afternoon.
As it's summer, mum put the curtains off to put net curtains instead... the sun goes through it. It makes birds laugh and sing the squirrels, it adds colors to the colors of the rainbow. Mum is dancing. God, that's beautiful : mum is dancing.
It will end in a blood bath when one of them puts his knife in the neck of the animal to kill him. With the dogs screaming around pulling on their chains so strong they could break their neck. When the mrs Stuff gets down of her horse and says to begin the cut and that everybody's proud. And my father who will come home and tell us everything. And mum will say for the thousandth time that she will come and see when the mrs Stuff is the animal and that she dies, her stupid. With this serious attitude so she seems to be serious but in fact she doesn't care about all this.
But for the moment it's 11 in the morning.
The door opens and it's Crocheton coming back from the college.
He kids me with a "why are you hiding ?" grimacing with his mouth and I show him, moving my head, the living room. There's a lightening in his eyes. It's not a storm, it's childhood.
Crocheton falls on his knees next to me because his blood runs in my veins. And in the silence of our bodies and of the creole music, our eyes blink and shine two by two. In front of us, in the sun, an angel is dancing in mom's dress.