Read Thérèse and Isabelle for Free Online Page B

changes, it is genuine. When she does not see me and her face does not change that is genuine too.
    â€œYou really want me?” I ask.
    â€œSit down.”
    â€œI can’t.”
    â€œMy sweet.”
    â€œDon’t call me my sweet. I am afraid.”
    â€œSit down, let’s talk.”
    â€œI can’t talk anymore.”
    I sat down near her, I sobbed a soundless sob.
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œI can’t explain.”
    She took my hand beneath the desk.
    â€œIsabelle, Isabelle . . . What shall we do during recreation?”
    â€œWe’ll talk.”
    â€œI don’t want to talk.” I took back my hand.
    â€œTell me what’s wrong,” Isabelle insisted.
    â€œDon’t you understand?”
    â€œWe will be together again. I promise you.”
    Toward seven in the evening, some girls gathered around me, suggested a stroll, some gossip. I faltered, I separated myself from them without acknowledging it. I was not free and no longer their age. I froze: Isabelle was tidying her books, she wasclose. The would-be truants and their temptations went off to another table. One tall girl standing alone before the open window was embroidering a handkerchief, her back to the sky. She raised her eyes, looked at me without seeing, she went on embroidering. I stayed at my desk. Isabelle was tidying her books yet the embroiderer was she.
    My peach skin: the evening light in the playground at seven o’clock. My chervil: arachnean lace in the air. My sacred caskets: the trees’ foliage with their breezy altars. What will we do tonight? The evening shades into the day, I see the evening in royal renaissance costume. The air cossets me but I don’t know what we will do for our next night together. I hear noises, I hear seven-in-the-evening voices that embrace the thoughtful horizon. The glove of infinity has me in its grip.
    â€œWhat are you looking at, Thérèse?”
    â€œThere . . . the geraniums . . .”
    â€œWhat else?”
    â€œThe boulevard, the window—they’re all you.”
    â€œGive me your arm. Don’t you want to?”
    The evening came upon us with its velvet mantle down to our knees.
    â€œWe can’t go arm in arm. People will notice, we’ll be caught.”
    â€œAre you ashamed?” asked Isabelle.
    â€œAshamed of what? Don’t you understand? I am being careful.” Groups of girls were watching us. Isabelle took my arm.
    â€œImagine you were expelled. It would be . . .”
    I could not finish, I could not picture myself dead.
    I tried again:
    â€œYou are the best student in the school. You won’t be expelled. Imagine if I were.”
    â€œIt would be dreadful,” said Isabelle.
    I shivered.
    â€œLet’s run!” she said.
    Girls were waiting for the dinner bell in clusters by the walls and left the yard to us.
    The schoolyard was ours. We ran, arms around each other’s waist, our foreheads tearing through that lace in the air, we listened to the rippling of our hearts in the dust. Tiny white horses rode in our breasts. The girls and monitors laughed and clapped, they encouraged us when we began to slow.
    â€œFaster, faster! Close your eyes. I’m leading,” said Isabelle.
    There was a wall to put behind us. We would be alone.
    â€œYou’re not running fast enough. Yes, yes . . . Close your eyes, close your eyes.”
    I obeyed.
    Her lips brushed my lips.
    â€œI’m afraid of falling over and killing myself,” I said.
    I opened my eyes: we were alive.
    â€œAfraid? I’m guiding you,” she said.
    â€œWe can run more if you want.”
    I was exhausted.
    â€œMy woman, my child,” she said.
    She gave and she withheld words. She could hug them to her while hugging me. I half-released my fingers from around her waist, I counted: my love, my woman, my child. Three fingers for my three engagement rings.
    A girl was ringing the dinner bell.
    â€œKeep on