The Ninth Life of Louis Drax (14 page)

     That little voice, asking for his papa. That just isn’t the way things happen with coma. Never in twenty years had I–

     My thoughts whirled.

     Meanwhile Natalie’s reaction to her son’s seizure had been just as bizarre, in its way. She behaved, I thought afterwards, as if she’d seen a ghost. And perhaps she thought she had.

     —You can come back when you are prepared to be quiet, I told her as I fixed his drip. —But for now, please just go home.

     —I’m staying with my son.

     —No, I said firmly, as Jacqueline patted her arm. I noticed that again Natalie Drax pulled away from the physical contact, as though she had been flayed raw. —Believe me, it’s for the best, I said. —You have to trust us. Now try to relax.

     —Relax? Natalie’s voice was a hoarse, cracked whisper. —My son nearly comes alive for the second time, and you want me to relax?

     Her face, just like her son’s, had turned an unearthly white. Against her pallor, her lipsticked mouth was a wound, a bloody gash in her face.

     —Come with me now, said Jacqueline. She spoke kindly, but with a firmness that brooked no argument. —We’re going to the cafeteria for a coffee. We’ll talk about Louis there, and I’ll introduce you to some of the other relatives. It’s time you talked to them, Madame. And listened. They’ve seen it all. And so have I. I haven’t told you about Paul yet, have I? I think it’s time for me to tell you about my son Paul.

     And she steered the poor broken creature off.

     Appalled though I had been by Natalie Drax’s reaction, I could understand it on some level. The mind is delicate. Hers had been assaulted again and again by the unimaginable, the unexpected, the inexplicable and the unfair. And at this point I will confess there was a surreality to the episode that made me want to scream too. It was almost, I thought, as though Louis were a puppet, his body operated by a stranger.

     As though the voice that came from those dry lips were not his own.

If you wanted to hide, this would be a good place for it.

     —My name’s Gustave, says the scary man. —What’s yours?

     But I can’t remember anything except Wacko Boy. —None of your business, I tell him.

     —I’ve been waiting for you, he says. —I was hoping you’d come. It can get lonely here. And he reaches out his hand for me to shake but I stay still.
Don’t move don’t move don’t move, don’t say anything don’t say anything don’t say anything
. You shouldn’t touch a stranger, or let him touch you, because he could easily be a pervert or a paedophile, plus he looks like a mummy that’s a pickled human being and he stinks of the water when she empties a vase out. The bit of mouth I can see is smiling or maybe he’s just hungry.

     —What shall we call you then? says Gustave. —Everyone here has to have a name. If you can’t remember your name, they give you one, or you find one for yourself. Do you think Gustave suits me? I’ve grown quite fond of it.

     He’s riddled with germs and bacteria, you can tell. Maman would scream if she saw him. She would scream and say he is a disgusting sick pervert,
get away from my son, don’t you touch him, don’t you come near him. He’s not yours, just get off him, you bastard
.

     —Bruno? he goes.

     —You must be joking, I say. —You know what I’d rather be, mister, than be called Bruno? I’d rather be dead.

     So he tries out more stupid names like Jean-Baptiste and Charles and Max and Ludovic and – this is the worst one – Louis.

     —Louis sucks! No way am I ever going to be called that! I’d rather be called Wacko Boy.

     —Calm down, Young Sir, he says. —It’s just a name. I like it. I think it’s a good name. I can see you as a Louis.

     And that’s when I remember something.
The Strange Mystery of Louis Drax, the Amazing Accident-Prone Boy
. It must be a book I once read.

     —Louis Drax, I say. —There used to be a boy called Louis Drax.

Things are different in your ninth life. Your ninth life’s much further away than your eighth one, it’s a whole new place. It isn’t the place Maman’s in,
a beautiful place
, she says,
lovely and sunny and hot
and blah blah blah.
Too hot sometimes, they have forest fires nearly every year. People light them. Arsonists
. She keeps whispering stuff in my ear.
Come back, Lou-Lou, come back
. But I’m too far away.
I love you darling. Maman’s here for you, my sweet boy
blah blah blah.
And there’s a nice doctor called Pascal Dannachet who’s looking after you
blah blah blah. She’s always whispering, like it’s a secret, and me and her are the only people in the world, and singing me baby songs that suck.
Ainsi font, font, font les petites marionnettes. Ainsi font, font, font trois petits tours et puis s’en vont
.

     —You don’t have to listen, says Gustave. —You can switch her off.

     —I’d like to meet an arsonist, I tell him. —I’d like to watch him do it, and maybe help.

     She says we can go out in the garden later. They’ll strap me into a wheelchair and she’ll push me along, just like when I was a baby in a pram. It’s a beautiful garden, and all the others are going out too, because there’s a breeze today and you can smell the sea and the pine from the forest.
And Pascal Dannachet’s a good doctor, one of the best, and he knows what he’s doing and he’s very hopeful about you, sweetheart, he knows you’ll come back, and so do I,
blah blah blah.

   
And the best thing is, we’re safe here. No one knows where we are, no one can find us ... It’s just you and me again, like the old days
.

     What old days? Blah blah blah.

     —Don’t listen, says Gustave. —Talk to me instead. Tell me stories.

     So I tell him what happened with Fat Perez. How in Fat Perez’s room there’s a big glass bowl with water and seashells in. It’s sitting on the table in front of you. You can look inside it and pretend you’re drowning. If you went very small you could be like a hermit crab and go inside one of the shells with just your legs coming out when you needed to go somewhere, like from one side of the bowl to the other.

     —So what do you say, Louis? says Fat Perez.

     But I’m not answering because I’m too busy stuffing my whole body into one of the shells, a small yellow one, where I can concentrate on the last episode of the Power Puff Girls. The bit after the robot shark attack, before they realise that Buttercup hasn’t been swallowed up, because she was in the lab all the time, making a potion to reverse the Laws of Time and give the land back to the animals. I can hear his voice but I can’t hear the words. I’m in my shell now. I’m safe here and I can think about Buttercup all I want, and forget about the stuff he is saying.

     He is afraid it hasn’t worked out between us.

     —It’s no one’s fault. But it’s been a pleasure working with you, Louis. I have learned a lot. I think you have learned a few things too. But your mother thinks we should call it a day. I’m sorry, Louis. I’m used to making progress and your mother feels that I haven’t. Or at least, not the progress she was hoping I would make with you. The honest thing for me to do at this point is to tell you that your mother feels I have nothing more to offer you.

     You wouldn’t think I would cry when he says that, would you? You’d think I would be pleased to get rid of this stupid fat man instead of being a stupid weedy crybaby and shouting over and over again, —NO! Please, Monsieur Perez! No!

     But he says he’s sorry. —It’s your maman’s decision. It’s over, Louis. No more visits. You don’t need me any more.

     —Yes I do!

     —You’ll see.

     —No, you’re the one who’s going to see.

     That’s what I said to him, before I climbed into the shell with Buttercup the Power Puff Girl.

     The next day I wrote Fat Perez a letter and I put some of Mohammed’s poo-droppings in. Eight droppings, because I was still eight then, plus some sawdust. I got an envelope and a stamp from Papa’s desk and wrote his name, Marcel Perez, and his address, 8 rue Malesherbes, Gratte-Ciel, Lyon, and on the way to school next morning when we were going past the postbox, I said —Maman, look over there. See that dog?

     And I pointed to the other side of the road and while she was looking for the dog, I took the letter out of my pocket and put it in the postbox.

     —Did you see the dog?

     —Yes, he was lovely.

     —You really saw him?

     —But I couldn’t work out what breed he was. A husky, maybe?

     —Or a Dobermann. I think he was probably a Dobermann.

     But here’s the funny thing about Maman. She can see dogs even when there aren’t any. Even when you’ve made them up.

You are a big fat liar, Fat Perez. You told her you didn’t want to see me any more. You told her I was too much for you. That’s what she told me. Plus you said nothing would leave the room and that wasn’t true either. So you suck. I hope you die soon or catch a gross disease.

   
Louis Drax

     All the time I can feel Gustave’s eyes staring through a little slit in the bandages. If someone’s staring at you but their face is covered in bandages, you don’t know if he wants to be your friend or kill you. He won’t stop looking at me like I’m his enemy or his son or like I’m living in his head just like he’s living in mine.

     —Hi, Louis, says Dr Dannachet. —It’s a lovely day outside, there’s a bit of wind at last. I know you can hear me, Louis. I want you to try and reach us all again. You were trying, weren’t you? I know you were. I could feel it.

   
Don’t say anything don’t say anything don’t say anything
.

     —Your mother’s waiting for you. Have you been listening to the cassettes she’s made you? I hope so. I’m looking forward to you waking up. My wife got a book out of her library for you,
Les Animaux: leur vie extraordinaire
. I was just reading about bats. I know you like them. I guess you know the bat bit by heart, don’t you? But I was fascinated.

     And he starts reading from the bat bit.

     —
Did you know that bats are the only mammals that fly? Other kinds of mammals can glide from tree to tree, but bats use their wings in much the same way as birds. These wings are actually flaps of skin called membranes, and they are supported by fingers, front and back limbs and a tail. Bats are to be found all over the world, except in the North and South Pole, but most species are
  ...

     But his voice is getting further and further away, and it’s hard to listen to.
Tropical or sub-tropical. There are about 1,000 known species. About thirty of these – all insect eaters – are to be found in Europe
  ...

     People come along and then they go. You don’t know who you’ll see and who’s going to suddenly disappear. There’s a clock on the wall but the time jumps around. Sometimes it’s night for too long, and day lasts just a minute, and other times it’s for ever and ever.

     —What were you doing before? I ask Gustave. He still scares me but I know he can’t hurt me. Not by touching me anyway, because he isn’t properly real.

     —I can’t remember. Not completely. None of us can. I had a wife. Her name was ... Sometimes I remember it. But not today. I just remember being in a dark place. A cave.

     —Do you get visitors?

     —No. I’m alone. I must have done something bad. Maybe something evil. And you?

     —My maman’s here but my papa’s a pilot. When he comes he’ll bring me Lego models and stuff. He’s coming soon. He’s on his way.

     If it was Fat Perez, he’d have asked me a question then. I liked it that Gustave didn’t. I wondered what he did to his wife. Maybe he’s a rapist. Maybe he forced her to do things she didn’t want to do that made a baby she hated who’d be better off dead. Rape is a terrible thing, you can look it up in the dictionary. It lets you down very badly.

     And then it’s suddenly night-time and there’s a thunderstorm and the clock says three.

   
Adults do stupid things sometimes, you have to believe me, sweetheart. Your father loves you really. He didn’t mean to do what he did. Mothers are always there for their children. And one day we’ll be free. He’ll be out of our lives and we can live together happily ever after
.

     I wonder if Gustave can hear the same voices as me. Or maybe he hears other ones.

     —What happened to you? What happened to your face?

     —I don’t know, he says. —I don’t even remember what I looked like.

     —My papa, he has hairy arms like you. Are you tall when you stand up?

     —Quite tall, I think.

     —So’s Papa.

     —And your maman? says Gustave. —What’s your maman like?