The Flood Read Free Page A

screaming. They ran as fast as they could, terrified. They kept looking round nervously, as if chased by a pack of wolves.
    ‘What’s up with them?’ asked Cyprien. ‘See anything, granddad?’
    ‘No. Even the leaves on the trees are perfectly still.’
    It was true. There was nothing to be seen on the sleepy horizon. But I was still speaking when the others cried out; the people were running away from what looked like a pack of grey, yellow-spotted beasts, rushing over the long grass through the poplar trees. They sprang up from all sides, wave upon wave: it was a foaming, earth-shaking stampede of water.
    Now we were the ones screaming.
    ‘The Garonne! The Garonne!’
    The two men and the three women were still running. They heard the terrible rushing sound get closer. The rolling waves massed together and then crashed in like troops on the charge. The first strike smashed three poplars, sweeping away leaves and swallowing up branches. It demolished a wood cabin. A wall crumbled. Unhitched carts flew away as if they were made of straw. But the water seemed to be after people most. It swirled around the steep bend in the road and flooded the plain, cutting off their escape. They kept trying to get away, splashing about, mad with fear. Now nobody screamed. The water was up to their knees. A giant wave flung itself over the woman who carried the child, and everyone disappeared.
    ‘Come on! Come on!’ I shouted. ‘Get inside! The house can take it. There’s nothing to worry about.’
    We ran upstairs, just in case. We sent the girls up first; I insisted on being the last to go. The house was built on a mound up above the road. Though we could hear the faint sound of water creeping into the yard, we weren’t very scared.
    ‘This’ll be nothing,’ Jacques assured us. ‘In ’55, the water came in just like it’s doing now; a foot of it, then it cleared up, remember?’
    ‘Bad news for the crops, all the same,’ Cyprien murmured.
    ‘No, no, it will be nothing,’ I said, seeing the girls and their big pleading eyes.
    Aimée had put her two children to sleep in her bed, staying at their side together with Véronique and Marie. Aunt Agathe talked about heating the wine that she had brought up; it would give us all courage. Jacques and Rose were looking out of the window. I was at another window with Cyprien, Gaspard and my brother.
    Our two maids were wading through the yard. I called down to them. ‘Why aren’t you up here? Don’t stay there getting soaked.’
    ‘But what about the animals? They’re frightened. They’re killing each other in there.’
    ‘We’ll see later. Come up, come on.’
    Saving the livestock would be impossible if things got worse. But there was no point scaring everyone. I made an effort to sound optimistic. Leaning at the window sill I chattered on while observing the flood’s progress. After the first wave of attacks, it occupied even the narrowest lanes. The water wasn’t charging in any more; instead, it was going to strangle us, slowly. The dale on which Saint-Jory stood was turning into a lake. Soon the water in our yard was a metre deep. I watched it rise. But I insisted that it wasn’t rising. I even said that it was receding.
    ‘So there you are, young man.’ I turned to Gaspard. ‘You’ve no choice but to sleep here. Unless the roads clear up soon – it could well happen.’
    He looked back at me, saying nothing. His face was white. I saw his eyes switch to Véronique’s; the idea made him feel awkward.
    It was half past eight, and it was still bright outside. The pale sky looked sad. Before they came upstairs, the servants had thought to fetch a couple of lamps. I lit them in the hope that they’d brighten up the darkening bedroom where we camped out. Aunt Agathe had wheeled out a table into the middle of the room; she wanted to get a round of cards going. She shot me a glance; she knew what she was up to – she was making sure that the children were