Read Fire in the Blood for Free Online

pulling out sheets they could use to wrap up the body when it was found. The farmhands were in the kitchen having a bite to eat while waiting for daylight, when they could search the reed beds further down the river; they thought the drowned man must have floated downstream and got trapped there.
    I saw Colette only briefly: she was surrounded by women who evidently weren't going to leave soon. Countrywomen are never ones to miss a free show, the kind you get with a birth or sudden death. They were buzzing about, giving their advice and opinions, taking drinks to the men who were waist-high in water. I wandered around the mill, through the living quarters, so spacious and comfortable, with their large fireplaces, their pretty antique furniture, lovingly chosen by Helene, their deep alcoves, their flowers, their floral curtains of heavy cotton; the mill itself was to the left, the domain of the absent young man. I imagined his body imprisoned in the water. But if even a small part of his soul returned to earth, it would surely come back to this humble setting, this machinery, these sacks of grain, these weighing scales. He'd been so very proud when he'd showed me this wing of the mill , restored by his father. I almost thought I could see him standing next to me. I knocked into a piece of machinery as I passed by and suddenly it creaked, in a way that sounded so plaintive, so unexpected, so strange, that I couldn't help but whisper, "Are you here, my poor boy?"
    Everything suddenly fell silent. I went back down into the living area to wait for Francois and Helene; I'd had someone go and fetch them. When they arrived, their very presence restored peace almost immediately. The noise and confusion were replaced by a sort of mournful, respectful whisper. The neighbours were sent home with kind words. The windows and shutters were closed, the lights dimmed; flowers were placed in the room where the body would lie. Towards dawn, the men had found him caught in the reeds, just as they had thought; the silent little group came into the mill carrying a stretcher, and on it a body wrapped in a sheet.
    J EAN DORIN WAS BURIED the day before yesterday. It was a very long service on a cold and rainy afternoon. The mill is up for sale. Colette is keeping only the land; he r f ather will look after it and she will go home to live with her parents.
    A MASS was SAID TODAY for the repose of Jean Dorin's soul. The whole family was there, filling the church-
    a crowd of indifferent, silent people dressed in black. Colette has been very ill. This was her first day out of bed and during the service she fainted. I was sitting quite close to her. I saw her suddenly raise her veil and stare intently above her at the large Christ nailed to the Cross; then she let out a low moan and fell forward, her head resting on her arms. I had lunch at her parents' house after the service; she didn't come down to the dining room. I asked if I could see her; she was in her room, on the bed, her child sleeping beside her. We were alone. When she saw me she started to cry, but she refused to answer any of my questions. She just turned away with a look of shame and despair.
    I finally left her alone. Francois and Helene were walking slowly around the garden, waiting for me. They have aged a lot, and have lost that look of serenity that I liked so much and found so touching. I don't know whether people mak e t heir own lives, but what is certain is that the life you live ends up transforming you: a calm, happy existence gives the face a gentleness and dignity, a warm, soft look that is almost a kind of sheen, like the varnish on a painting. But now the smoothness and decorum of their features had vanished and you could see their sad, anxious souls peering through the surface. Those poor people! In nature, there is a moment of perfection when every hope is realised, when the luscious fruits finally fall, a crowning moment towards the end of summer. But it quickly passes