Melodie Read Free Page A

it.’
    She tries to resist but very quickly gives in. It really is heavy. The puppy would be happy to skip along, but it isn’t allowed to walk for the moment; any contact with the ground has to be avoided, as it is swarming with hundreds of different kinds of microbes that are harmful to new puppies not yet vaccinated.
    We get to the house. I put the puppy in the hall on the wooden floor. It moves shyly towards the living room. The radio is on; the puppy is greeted by a passage from Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 9, known as
Jeunehomme
. It stops for a moment. It looks all around. The scenery is new, made up of indoor plants, some prints and a number of wooden shelves on which are placed, vertically or horizontally, numerous bound sheets of paper. It squats for a moment and continues on.
    A little pool of yellowish liquid has formed.

    The puppy continues this first exploration of its new environment. It goes into a smaller room where it looks up at a big oval-shaped board held up by four posts. It passes through some wooden uprights—not as tall as the four posts—which, grouped in fours, hold up a little wicker square placed across them. When it has emerged from this makeshift shelter it notices a big mattress covered with a brand-new orange towel. It gets onto it and lies down. It seems to have understood instinctively that this was to be its spot. It rests its muzzle on its front paws and gives a sigh.

    Night comes. The lights go on in the city. The throbbing of the old air conditioners stops. The schoolgirl, who had consulted several books about dog training when she dreamt of having a dog, has placed the little animal on an absorbent napkin three times in the space of two hours, and each time it has produced a few drops. It seems to have understood that it wasn’t to go just anywhere, but only on this white nappy, which, with its three yellow stains, now looks like an old, faded map of the world.
    It is sleeping now, its body in a state of complete and utter relaxation; it breathes as peacefully as can be, far from the noise of cars and far from men’s shouting, but far, too, from its mother’s warm breath, silent and comforting.
    â€˜We’ll leave her like that. You go to bed now too.’
    â€˜Yes, thank you, Dad, thank you, Mum.’
    â€˜Don’t worry about her, my darling. Good night then.’
    We are all whispering.
    We are present, in a state of wonder, at a birth.

4
    THE PAIN OF THE FIRST NIGHT
    I CLOSE MY EYES . Behind my eyelids images of the day that has just passed follow one after the other. But, little by little, they recede like the waves of a calm sea, drawing me down into the silence and oblivion of my night, just beginning. Just when my consciousness flickers and begins to sink fully into the dark depths, a weak little moan crosses the length of the living room, which separates me from the room occupied by the new inhabitant. I get up and go towards the moans, which are becoming more frequent and intensifying. I turn on the little lamp on the writing desk.
    â€˜What’s the matter, little one? You’re sad to be separated from your mum and your brothers and sisters? Is that it? Yes, that’s quite normal. It’s your first big night alone. You really have to get used to it …’
    She is sitting up and looks at me imploringly. My eyelids are heavy with sleep, and I just want to close them again.I crouch down: my eyes are exactly level with hers. We look at each other. She lifts her right paw—it’s so small—and waves it in the air, but she isn’t able to put it anywhere.
    â€˜You have to go to sleep now. It’s getting late. Everyone’s in bed. And you need to go to bed too. Tomorrow, everything will be OK. Don’t you think?’
    While I’m talking to her I almost fall asleep again. I take the little golden-coated dog in my arms; I feel some resistance, as if she doesn’t want to be held prisoner