Page 11 of Atlas: The Story of Pa Salt

‘I could loan you a few cents to buy a little gift for everyone, but I know that you would refuse to take it and that the Landowskis may wonder where the money had come from... if you know what I mean,’ she’d said as she rolled her eyes. I think she meant that they might suspect me of stealing, which would not be the right thing to endear me to them at all.

She told me to put on the cocoa while she was thinking about it, and I did so. By the time I placed her mug beside her, I could see she had a plan.

‘You know you spend all that time trying to chisel stones into shapes in the atelier?’

I nodded, but then took my paper and wrote,But I’m very bad at it.

‘Well, who could be good, except a genius like MonsieurLandowski? But you have had practice at making shapes, so I was thinking that maybe you should try an easier form of material like wood, and see if you can carve each of the family a little something for their Christmas present. That would please Monsieur Landowski, for he would feel that the months you have spent watching and learning had given you a useful gift.’

I nodded very eagerly, because even though Evelyn would often say she wasn’t educated, she did sometimes come up with the best ideas.

So, I went off and found myself some wood from the pile in the barn, and each morning before everyone was up, I would sit at the trestle table and practise. Evelyn had also been right about choosing wood instead of rock. It was like learning to play the tin whistle rather than a flute. And besides, I had watched others do it in my old home.

My old home...that was how I was beginning to think about it now.

So, in the three weeks before Christmas, I managed to carve each member of the family what I hoped was a thoughtful thing that they may appreciate. Monsieur Landowski’s took the longest, for I wanted to carve him a wooden replica of his belovedCristostatue. In fact, I spent as much time on that as I did all the other carvings put together.

He had suffered a difficult time in the last few weeks when the architect of theCristohad said that the only way to ship what I called ‘Christ’s overcoat’ (the concrete that would support him and his innards) was to chop it up into bits. From what I had overheard, on the long journey from France to Rio, there would be less chance of a part of him cracking. Monsieur Landowski had fretted terribly because he felt he should go with his precious Christ to watch over him, but it was such a long journey there and back – time he felt hecouldn’t spare because Sun Yat-sen and his eyeballs were still not finished to his satisfaction.

Of course, I had thought of the perfect solution for everyone: Laurent should go as nursemaid to theCristo. Not only would this mean that Monsieur Landowski could stay here, but that Laurent could perhaps see his love in Rio... which might make him happier and stop him spending his nights on the streets of Montparnasse (a place I was desperate to see, even though Monsieur Landowski spent many moments complaining it was full of would-be artists, beggars and thieves). I was about to suggest this, when luckily Laurent managed to find his brain and suggest it himself. Monsieur Landowski was not sure at first, because it was quite true to say that recently, Laurent had not been at his most reliable. But after swearing over and over that he would sleep in the hold with the pieces of theCristoif necessary, and not touch a drop of alcohol whilst theCristowas in his care, everyone decided it was for the best. The look of anticipation in Laurent’s eyes was beautiful to watch and I really hoped that one day I would be lucky enough to experience this love thing that lit him up from inside as he thought of seeing my beautiful angel Bel again.

Pleasure and pain, I thought as I carefully wrapped my own carving of theCristoin the brown paper Evelyn had given me for my presents.

‘You are not perfect, but at least you are whole.’ I smiled at him as I folded the paper over his not exactly symmetrical face.

Once I’d finished wrapping all the carvings, I stowed them in my chest of drawers. Then, seeing that night-time was falling, I walked down the stairs and tiptoed into the drawing room to look at the fir tree that had been brought in earlier, for today it was Christmas Eve. I had watched as every memberof the family had put pine cones hung by ribbon on its branches, and we had all placed a pair of our shoes under the tree for Père Noël to fill with presents. Monsieur Landowski had told me it was a very old French tradition, which the grown-ups enjoyed doing as well. Then they had attached candles to the branches’ ends, and as dusk fell, lit them. It was the prettiest thing I had ever seen, especially now in the dark.

‘Still looking at it, boy?’

The voice of the person I had just been thinking of made me jump and I turned to see Monsieur Landowski, who had not graduated to calling me by my new alias.

‘I always think of Tchaikovsky’s music when I look at the tree on Christmas Eve. Do you know the score fromThe Nutcracker?’

I used my hand to indicate that yes, I did, but not well. Papa had been less of an enthusiast for Tchaikovsky, complaining that he wrote his music to please his audience rather than writing his scores on a more technical level.

‘I bet you didn’t know that it was when Tchaikovsky was in Paris that he had an instrument called the celesta, which is also called a bell piano, because of the sound it makes. That inspired his “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy”, and he returned to Russia with renewed energy for his composition.’

I did not know this and I nodded eagerly, wanting the conversation to continue.

‘Can you play the Overture?’

I gave him another shrug to indicate a maybe – because of course I could play it once upon a time, but I would need to practise.

‘Maybe this will help you remember. I was coming upstairs to find you and give it to you. I thought it might embarrass you if I handed it to you in front of the family,’ he added.

In the dim light of the tree, I saw him produce a violin case from behind his back and offer it to me.

‘My parents gave it to me as a child, but I am afraid I never showed much aptitude for it. Nevertheless I kept it, as one does with presents from one’s parents. Sentimental value... you know.’

I did know, and for an instant I was caught between the sadness of everything I’d been forced to leave behind in my flight and the impending joy of what Monsieur Landowski was offering me.

‘There, it is better in a talented pair of hands like yours than sitting atop my wardrobe, gathering dust.’

I opened my mouth automatically, so completely overwhelmed with his generosity and the possibilities that became open to me with my own violin that I almost spoke. I looked at it resting in the palms of my hands and kissed it, then I went to him and gave him an uncomfortable hug. After a few seconds, he pulled me back from him by the shoulders.

‘Perhaps, boy, one day you will really be able to trust me and say the words of gratitude that hang on your lips. For now, Merry Christmas.’

I nodded eagerly in return and watched him as he left the room.