Lovely mummy

by

Jean-Baptiste Baronian
Translated by Sue Neale, Oxford Brookes University

 

 

1.

Claudine had already been at the Woluwé shopping centre for a while and she still hadn’t decided what to buy for her lovely mummy. Whatever she chose it wouldn’t be something too pricey – around 15 euros at the most. Just what she had managed to save out of her pocket money in the last six months. Having recently turned fourteen she hadn’t been able to save more. Besides she knew only too well that her parents had problems “making ends meet” – an expression that her dad often used and which, every time she heard it, made her squirm. Like the word “sex”; or the word “psychiatrist” which she associated, though she wasn’t sure why, with some mysterious and appalling illness. Was there a wonder cure to prevent you catching a “psychosis”?

What could she buy here for 15 Euros?

What would her mum really like for her 34th birthday? What little thing would make her happiest?

Claudine kept turning these questions over in her mind.

Having trailed around the shopping mall three times in both directions, she thought that her mum would not be unhappy to receive something that she might wear everyday. It would be better than buying sweets or chocolates and more suitable than a cookbook given that she already had lots of those. Better even than a CD even though the latest Moby that she had spotted a moment ago was on offer at a tempting discount from Video Club.

She went into C&A and aimed for the stand with pashminas, scarves and shawls. There were so many to choose from that she felt overwhelmed. It was especially difficult in terms of prices, as the most beautiful and the most desirable were also, unfortunately, the most expensive.

For a moment she was really taken by pearl grey wool scarf, turning it over and over her hands but eventually putting it back on the display stand she had taken it from. And then she rather liked a pretty checked shawl with Madonna’s smiling face reproduced many times all over it. It only cost 7 Euros and she could see it on her mum whose face, according to her best friend from school, looked a bit like the singer. No, it wasn’t a good idea. And God knows how her dad would react as he thought Madonna slightly odd, vulgar and dreadfully coquettish.

Sighing, Claudine wandered around the displays and was soon attracted by a metal display full of belts in the middle of the vast shop. There were loads and loads of them, all shapes, sizes and styles, beautiful and ugly, expensive and cheap. But which one should she choose? Long or short? Narrow or wide? Light or dark? Leather or material?

She spent ages before deciding on a classic blue leather belt, of average length but still, it seemed to her, both supple and sturdy. Exactly 15 Euros. Her eyes sparkled with delight.

She ran to the till and asked for it to be gift wrapped.

 

2.

Claudine was crying and shaking all over. She was sitting cross-legged on her bed and could hear her mum and dad both shouting in the dining room and they were squabbling like they had never, ever done before.

Who had started the argument?

She didn’t know. At some point, just when her dad was carving the leg of lamb and her mum was tossing the salad, they had suddenly raised their voices and very quickly they had started hurling abuse at each other. Terrible things that were both hurtful and obnoxious. Things whose exact meaning she never fully understood but which had seemed so shocking and so terrifying that she had burst out sobbing and quickly taken refuge in her bedroom.

It just went on and on. The more it did, the more her eyes filled with tears and she felt drained by an infinite sadness.

And to think that when she had given the beautiful blue belt to her mum, just before they sat down to eat, her parents had kissed each other smiling with pleasure and her dad had wrapped his arms around them both and given them a hug.

When she couldn’t stand it any more, she slid quickly under the duvet and blocked the sound out by putting her hands over her ears.

It was odd not to be able to hear the shouts and cries of her parents any longer. Instead all she could hear was her heart beating. Above this she was also aware of a sort of continuous groaning, a bit like the haunting sound of the wind in a large seashell. Just like the plaintive cry of a dying animal.

 

3.

Had she fallen asleep?

Undoubtedly, but she wasn’t certain. What was sure was that now she could no longer hear either her dad or her mum. Actually she could hear nothing at all. Not the slightest noise. Not the least murmur. Not even the muffled sound of the TV set in the neighbouring apartment, like it was almost every evening and often late into the night. Perhaps her parents, having finished their violent fight had gone out. And maybe the people next door, the Alonsos, had gone to bed for once much earlier than normal.

What time was it?

Claudine rubbed her eyes and looked at the Swatch on her wrist that had been the beautiful present she had been given by her mum and dad for her 14th birthday.

One Twenty in the morning.

She got up and went to open the door of her bedroom. She was again struck by the silence that enveloped the apartment as she walked towards the living room.

A familiar and reassuring scene greeted her: her mum and dad were both curled up together on the sofa sleeping. It was something that she had experienced many times (over the years) since she was a young child. It was just that every other time, for as long as she could remember, there was always the sound of the TV.

Whereas as now …

She froze.

The wailing of a police siren had just started ringing out in the distance. Or it might be an ambulance or a fire engine. She couldn’t tell, she always mixed them up.

When she went into the living room where the lights were still on she saw from close quarters that it was just her mum, stretched out along on the sofa, her head thrown back, her jet-black hair all tousled, looking like she was deeply asleep. After a few seconds she suddenly realised that something was amiss.

It was the way her mum was laying, it was as peculiar and funny as it was unusual. You might have said …

But what might you have said?

Claudine moved forwards, her arms by her sides, rather cautiously.

The next moment she let out a horrified cry.

Her lovely mummy was not moving, not breathing. Her twisted lips were frozen into a monstrous grimace; her eyes wide open and turned towards the ceiling were terrifying to behold.

The blue belt that had been used to strangle her resembled nothing more than a dog’s collar.