Page 9 of Atlas: The Story of Pa Salt

‘I do hope I can afford the fare to get up and see you,Maman. I will save as hard as I can,’ said Louis.

‘I know you will,chéri. Of course,’ Evelyn added, addressing me too, ‘it is the busiest time of my year here. Monsieur Landowski likes to throw parties for his friends, so perhaps it might be better if we leave it until after Christmas when the train fares might be cheaper.’

‘Maybe, but we shall see. Now, I hate to say it but I must be on my way.’

‘Of course,’ Evelyn agreed, even though I could see the sadness in her eyes. ‘Let me pack you some food for the journey.’

‘Maman, stay where you are, please,’ Louis said, indicating she should not rise from her chair. ‘The lunch we ate was enormous, and I am stuffed with enough cake to see me home without starving, I promise.Mamanlikes to feed people, as you may have noticed,’ he said as an aside to me.

I stood up because I did not want to be in the way of what was obviously a sad parting for mother and son. I hugged Evelyn, then shook Louis’s hand.

‘It’s very nice to meet you and thank you for keepingMamancompany. She needs a chick to cluck over, don’t you?’ Louis smiled.

‘You know me too well.’ Evelyn chuckled. ‘Goodbye, young man, see you tomorrow.’

‘And perhaps next time I’m visiting, you will have a name we can call you,’ said Louis as I moved towards the door.

I walked back to the house, thinking about what Louis had said. It was something that I’d considered many times since I had become mute. The fact was that I would never give my real name to anyone again, ever. That meant that I could choose any I wished. Not that it could be better than my real name, but it was interesting to think what I would call myself. The problem was that once youhada name, even if it was the most terrible one in the world, it belonged to you. And often it was the first thing that people would know about you. So to try and unstick yourself from whatever it was was far more difficult than it sounded. I had whispered many to myself over the last few weeks, because I simply didn’t like the fact that people struggled with knowing howto address me. It would help them if I had a name, and it was easy enough to write down. Yet the right name just would not put itself forward, however hard I tried.

Having cut a healthy slice of baguette and layered jam into the centre of it (the family fended for themselves on Sunday evening), I took myself upstairs to my attic room and sat on the bed, watching night fall from my small window. Then I went to my diary to add a couple of lines to my earlier paragraph.

I have just played the violin for the first time in a very long while. It was the most wonderful experience to feel the bow in my hands again and to be able to pull sounds from the instrument...

My pencil hung in mid-air, as I realised that I had just found the perfect name.

‘So, at last the statue is finished.’ Monsieur Landowski thumped his workbench in relief. ‘But now the crazy Brazilian needs me to make a scale model of his Christ’s head and hands. The head will be nearly four metres high, so it will only just fit into the studio. The fingers will almost reach the rafters. All of us here in the atelier will, in the most literal sense, experience Christ’s hand upon us,’ he joked. ‘Then, so da Silva Costa tells me, once I have finished this, he will carve my creations up like joints of beef in order to ship them over to Rio de Janeiro. Never before have I worked liked this. But,’ he sighed, ‘perhaps I should trust to his madness.’

‘Perhaps you have no choice,’ agreed Laurent.

‘Well, it pays the bills, Brouilly, although I can accept no more commissions until Our Lord’s head and hands are gone from my atelier. There would simply be no room. So, we begin. Bring me the casts you made of the two ladies’ hands some months ago. I must have something to work with.’

I watched Laurent go to the storeroom to retrieve the casts, and decided it was time to slip away. I could feel the tension of both men. I went outside the atelier and sat on the stone bench, looking up at what was a beautiful clear night sky. I shivered suddenly, glad for the first time of my woollen jumper. There would be a frost tonight, but I didn’t think snow wouldfollow. And I should know. I turned my head to look at the right place in the sky, knowing that, now it was November, it was the time of year when those who had guided me here to my new home would appear in the Northern Hemisphere. I had seen them a few times already, when they’d been twinkling weakly, and were often obscured by clouds, but tonight...

I jumped as I always did when I heard footsteps approaching, and tried to make out who it was. Laurent’s familiar shape appeared and he sat down next to me as I continued to gaze up into the heavens.

‘You like stars?’ he asked.

I gave him a smile and a nod.

‘There is the belt of Orion.’ Laurent pointed up into the night sky. ‘And close by are the Seven Sisters in a cluster together. With their parents, Atlas and Pleione, watching over them.’

I followed his fingers as he traced the lines between the stars, not daring to look at him or he would see my surprise.

‘My father was interested in astronomy, and kept a telescope in one of the attic rooms on the top floor of our chateau,’ Laurent explained. ‘Sometimes, he would take it up to the roof on clear nights and teach me about the stars. I once saw a shooting star, and thought it the most magical thing I had ever seen.’ He looked down and inspected my face closely. ‘Do you have parents?’

I kept my gaze trained on the stars, pretending not to have heard him.

‘Ah, well, I must be going.’ He patted me on the head. ‘Goodnight.’

I watched him walk off and realised it was the nearest I’d come (after the violin episode at least) to actually speaking. Of all the stars he could have named in all the constellations... I knew they were famous, but somehow I’d alwaysfelt as though they weremysecret, and I wasn’t sure whether I liked the fact that anyone else found them special too.

Just look for the Seven Sisters of the Pleiades, my son. They’ll always be there somewhere, watching over you and protecting you when I cannot...

I knew all of their stories inside out. When I was far smaller than I am now, I would listen to my papa as he told me of their ancient wonder. I knew that they were not just creatures of Greek mythology but of many legends across the world, and in my mind they had been real: seven women, watching over me. Whilst other children learnt of angels that would wrap their downy wings around them, Maia, Alcyone, Asterope, Celaeno, Taygete, Electra and Merope were all like mothers to me. I felt very lucky to have seven of them, because even if one wasn’t shining as brightly on a particular night, others were. Each had different qualities, different strengths. I sometimes thought that if you put them all together, perhaps you’d have the perfect woman, like the Holy Mother. And even if I was – or had to be – grown-up these days, the fantasy of the sisters being real and coming to my rescue when I needed them did not disappear, because I wouldn’t let it. I looked up at them again, then stood up from the bench and ran all the way up to my attic room to peer out of the window. And yes... YES! They were visible from here too.

That night, I think that perhaps I had the best night’s rest I’d had for as long as I could remember, knowing that my guardians were there, shining down on me protectively.

Word had spread throughout the house that I could play the violin.