The Night Rainbow A Novel - By Claire King Page 0,18

who ever asked me about it.

Really?

Really.

The problem with a lot of people, says Margot, is that they don’t notice the important things.

Does it hurt? I say.

Not now, no, says Claude.

So how did it get like that?

A tiger bit me, he says.

That’s not true. You don’t get tigers in France, says Margot.

Are there tigers in France? I ask Claude.

It escaped from a zoo, he says.

Wow! we say.

It bit my leg too; I was quite lucky to get away alive.

That’s right, says Margot. You should always beware of tigers. And lions too.

And bears, I add, and snakes.

All excellent advice, says Claude.

I am going to tell him about some more ferocious animals, but my words turn into a big, wide-mouth yawn. I snuggle down on my hay bale, my arm draped over Merlin. Sunlight sloshes through the windows, brightening my thoughts and warming me into sleepiness. I fly up into my head to play with my thoughts.

When I wake up I have another towel on top of me like a blanket. Merlin is still here, but he is lying down on the floor, snoring. Margot has found a thin piece of rope which she is using to skip with. She is completely dry.

Claude has a rag and is standing by the armoire polishing a big knife shaped like a banana, his fingers moving in tiny circles on the metal. He seems to be concentrating hard, rubbing the same spot over and over as though there is a stain on it he can’t get off. But the knife is shiny-clean. A sunbeam slants in through the shutters and glints off the edge of the blade. Summer has come back while I slept.

I’m awake, I say.

Merlin wakes up and barks a friendly sort of bark.

Sixty-six, sixty-seven, sixty-eight, says Margot. She even counts when she is skipping.

Claude looks up at me. Did you have a nice sleep?

I nod, feeling a bit shy. What’s that for? I ask.

Claude swaps the knife into his other hand and swishes it through a dusty sunbeam. It’s for hacking through the jungle when you’re looking for elephants, he says.

Oh, I say.

When I am an elephant, Margot says, you will never catch me. I’m too fast for you.

And when I am a tiger, I say, I won’t bite you.

You won’t? says Claude.

Probably not.

Claude smiles crookedly and says, Listen, I want to tell you a story. He puts the knife back on its nail and his cleaning rag in a drawer. Then he comes over to the hay bales and sits down beside me. He is damp and smells like bath-time. Margot comes over and sits on the floor at his feet, next to Merlin. We like stories.

Once upon a time, says Claude, there was a little boy called Gaston, who liked very much to have adventures. One day, this little boy was out on a hill, when a storm came over, with thunder and lightning. Lots of it.

Just like us, today! I say.

What happened? says Margot.

What do you think he did? Claude asks.

We shake our heads and shrug.

Well, first of all, because he was very scared, he went and sheltered from the storm under a great big oak tree. But then, while he was there he remembered what his papa had once taught him. Claude pauses.

What? I ask.

His papa had said, Gaston, if you are ever caught in a storm you must never, ever shelter under a tree. Claude looks up at me. Never, ever, he says, slowly.

Why? Margot and I ask, both at the same time.

Because the lightning is looking for tall things to hit, says Claude.

I wonder why the lightning doesn’t like tall things, but Claude carries on.

So Gaston plucked up all his courage – that means braveness – and he got out from under the tree and he ran all the way home in the thunder and the lightning and the rain. When he got home he was very wet, but he was safe.

That’s a silly story, says Margot.

I kick her feet and scowl at her. Sometimes she says very rude things, even to grownups. She gets up and goes to skulk around the bikes.

I haven’t finished, says Claude. Do you know what that boy found, when he went up to the hill the next day?

No, I say.

He found the big oak tree had been struck by lightning, and there was nothing left of it but a small black stump. It was still smoking.

I make the surprised O with my mouth, although I am not really that surprised. It