The Boy with the Cuckoo-Clock Heart by Mathias Malzieu Read Free Book Online

me on edge and my heart might as well be made of popcorn – I’ll have to learn to travel better. When I panic, my clockwork heart is like a steam engine turning a bend with its wheels coming unstuck. I’m travelling over the rails of my own fear. What am I frightened of? Of you, Madeleine, or rather, of me without you.
    The steam and my own clockwork panic seep under the rails. I want to turn back time, put my old rattletrap of a heart in your arms, Madeleine. Our last hug is still warm, but I’m already as frozen as when I first met you on the coldest day on earth. Oh Madeleine, I hadn’t even left the shadows of Edinburgh behind before drinking all your tears. I promise that at the next stop I’ll consult a clockmaker. You’ll see, I’ll come back to you in fine condition, or rather just out of kilter enough for you to exercise your mending talents over me once more.
    The more time that goes by, the more this train frightens me, its puffing, rattling heart seems as dilapidated as my own. It must be terrifically in love with its engine. Unless, like me, it’s suffering from the sadness of what it’s left behind.
    I feel alone in my compartment. Madeleine’s tears have installed a revolving door inside my head. I’ll be sick if I don’t speak to somebody. I notice a tall man leaning against the window, writing something. From a distance, he looks like Arthur, but that impression disappears the closer I get. Apart from the shadows he casts, there’s nobody near him. Tipsy on loneliness, I launch right in:
    ‘What are you writing, sir?’
    The man gives a start and hides his face under his left arm.
    ‘Did I frighten you?’
    ‘You surprised me, it’s not the same.’
    He continues writing, concentrating as hard as if he was painting a picture. The turnstile in my brain starts to pick up speed.
    ‘What do you want, little one?’
    ‘I want to go and win the heart of a woman in Andalusia, but I don’t know anything about love. The women I knew never wanted to teach me anything on the subject and I’m feeling all alone in this train . . . I thought perhaps you might be able to help me.’
    ‘You’ve landed on the wrong person, my boy. I’m not very gifted when it comes to love . . . not with living people, at any rate. No, it never really worked out for me with living people.’
    I start to shudder. I’m reading over his shoulder, which seems to annoy him.
    ‘That red ink . . .’
    ‘It’s blood! Go away now, little one, go away!’
    He’s copying out the same phrase, methodically, on several pieces of paper: ‘ Your humble servant, Jack the Ripper .’
    ‘We’ve got the same first name, do you think that’s a good sign?’
    He shrugs, vexed I’m not more in awe of him. The engine whistles itself hoarse in the distance, the fog creeps through the windows. I’m shivering.
    ‘Go away, little one!’
    He strikes the floor with his left heel, the way he might scare a cat. Not that I am one, but it does have a certain effect on me. The sound of his boot competes with that of the train. He turns towards me, his features razor sharp.
    ‘Go away now!’
    The fury in his eyes reminds me of Joe. It’s like a remote control that switches my legs to tremble mode. He heads towards me.
    ‘Come on, you mists,’ he drones. ‘Let the doors of haunted trains slam shut! I’ll give you the ghosts of handsome women to carve up in the mist, a twist of blonde or brunette . . .’
    His voice becomes a groan.
    ‘I can rip them open without even frightening them . . . signing off your humble servant, Jack the Ripper! Don’t be afraid, my boy, you’ll soon learn how to survive by frightening others! Don’t be afraid, my boy, you’ll soon learn how to survive by frightening others . . .’
    My heart and body are racing out of control, and this time it’s got nothing to do with love. I tear down the train corridors. Nobody. The Ripper chases after me, smashing all the windows with a dagger. A