The little bell continued to peal in the distance, calling as loudly as it could for its tiny baby. Children climbed on the hedgerows, people came out to their gates and dairy maids set down their yoked pails of milk to watch the procession pass by. The nurse, carrying her living burden in triumph, stepped carefully to avoid the puddles in the rutted path between banks planted with trees. The old folk walked ceremoniously and a little crookedly on account of the aches and pains of their old age. The young men, in dancing mood, eyed the girls who had come out to see them pass. The father and mother walked with grave and solemn steps following the child who would eventually take their place and himself bring back into the community again the well-known name of Dentu.

They came out into the open plain and, leaving the long way round by road, took a short cut across the fields. Now the church with its pointed steeple came into view. An opening just above its slate roof showed something moving quickly to and fro inside, appearing and reappearing behind the narrow window. It was the bell still ringing and calling the newborn child to come for the first time into the house of God. A dog had begun to follow. Sugared almonds were thrown at it as it gambolled around. The church door was open. The priest, a tall red-headed fellow, lean and powerful, was himself a Dentu, one of the father’s brothers and therefore uncle to the baby. He was waiting at the altar. According to the rites of the Church he christened his nephew Prosper-César. On tasting the holy salt, the baby began to cry.

Once the ceremony was over the family waited in the porch while the priest divested himself of his surplice. They then set off again. This time, with the prospect of the feast to come, they walked quickly. All the children from the neighbourhood followed behind. Each time they were flung a handful of sugared almonds there was a wild scramble to pick them up. They fought and pulled each other’s hair while the dog, piling in and even more determined than they were, was tugged by the tail, the ears and the paws. The nurse, tiring a little by now, said to the priest, who was walking beside her: ‘Here, Father, if you don’t mind, carry your nephew a bit for me, will you, so’s I can have a bit of a stretch. Nearly got cramp holding him, I have.’

The priest took the child, whose white gown looked dazzling against the black of his cassock. He kissed him, then, all elbows, carried the little bundle awkwardly ahead. Everyone started to laugh. One of the grandmothers said: ‘Crying shame isn’t it, Father, you never going to have none of your own.’