As far as he was concerned, it was at that moment that they had become as bound together as bricks glued with concrete. Because Manuel had kept his trap shut. Closed his eyes to the greasy, ugly apartment, and to his drowsy, crazy mother. Because after the firefighters had left, accompanied by the aunt, Manuel had picked up a video case from between two cushions on the sofa and suggested, like on any regular Wednesday, “Shall we watch Terminator?”

The Banks of the Durance

The Banks of the Durance

The cold, sticky fluid spread over Céline’s belly has taken her by surprise. With expert gestures, the sonographer has smoothed the gel, pressing at times, insisting on certain areas. A little brusque, a little stiff, unnerved by the young age of her patient and the heavy, silent presence of her grandmother. Séverine has refused to come with her daughter. Work, she said, but Céline understood perfectly well.

They wanted to know and yet neither the old woman nor the young one said anything when the sonographer announced flatly, “It’s a girl.”

Curses come around again and again, it’s the same principle, no way anyone could alter the course of things. In Céline’s head, this life in her belly was only just becoming a reality, so the child’s sex… But her grandmother gritted her teeth.

When they came out of the doctor’s, the old woman went shopping. Céline went to join her sister in a special spot near the Durance, a soft river that runs beside the general lycée where Jo is going in September and Céline will never go. It’s cool there. They say junkies come and shoot up here. You sometimes see prostitutes, the ones who can’t afford to perform in a second-hand Clio on the edge of vineyard paths. You sometimes step on used condoms between the reeds and the gravelly riverbed. Nothing bucolic about it.

“So?”

“So what?”

“Is he in one piece? Not a crooked face like you?”

“She.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. And fuck you.”

There’s not even enough energy for a row.