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

black swarm of birds dives into the compartment, clustering around him. He’s making faster progress by walking than I am running.
    New compartment. No one around. The racket of his footsteps gets louder. The birds multiply, emerging from his jacket, coming out of his eyes, hurling themselves at me. I jump up on to the seats to put some distance between us; I turn around, and Jack’s eyes light up the whole train. The birds are catching up, the shadow of Jack the Ripper looms and I’m aiming for the driver’s door at the end of the carriage. Jack’s about to rip out my guts. Oh Madeleine! I can’t even hear my own clock ticking any more, though it’s stinging in my chest. The Ripper grabs my shoulder. He’s going to kill me, he’s going to kill me and I won’t have had time to fall in love.
    The train slows down. It’s pulling into the station.
    ‘Don’t be afraid, my boy. You’ll soon learn how to survive by frightening others!’ Jack the Ripper repeats for a last time, as he stows his weapon away.
    I’m trembling with terror. Then he steps off the train and disappears into the crowd of passengers waiting on the platform.
    Sitting on a bench at King’s Cross station, I begin to come to. The tick-tock of my heart is slowing down, but my clock’s wooden casing is still scorching hot. Falling in love can’t be as terrifying as finding yourself alone on some ghost train with Jack the Ripper. I thought he was going to kill me. How could a songbird of a girl damage my clock any more than a Ripper? With the tantalising mischief of her eyes? Her army of extra-long eyelashes? The formidable curve of her breasts? Impossible. It can’t be as dangerous as what I’ve just lived through.
    A sparrow lands on my minute hand, and I’m startled. Little idiot, he scared me! His feathers gently caress my dial. I’ll just wait for him to fly off, then I’ll set about leaving Great Britain.
    The cross-Channel ferry is less full of nasty surprises than the train to London. Apart from a few elderly ladies who look like faded flowers, nobody seems particularly scary. That said, it takes a while for the mists of melancholy to dissolve. I wind up my heart again with the key, and I feel like I’m turning back time. Or at least turning back my memories. It’s the first time in my life I’ve leant on memories in this way. I only left the house yesterday, but I feel as if I’ve been away for ages.
    In Paris, I have lunch by the Seine, in a restaurant steaming with the kind of vegetable soups I always love the smell of but hate eating. Plump waitresses smile at me the way people do at babies. Charming old folks chat in hushed voices. I listen to the clatter of saucepan lids and forks. This warm atmosphere reminds me of Dr Madeleine’s old house. I wonder what she’s doing on top of the mountain. I decide to write to her:
    Dear Madeleine,
    Everything is going well, I’m in Paris at the moment. I hope Joe and the police have left you in peace. Don’t forget to put the flowers on my grave while you’re waiting for me to come back!
    I miss you, and the house too.
    I’m taking good care of my clock. I’m going to find a clockmaker to help me recover from all these emotions, just as you told me to. Kiss Arthur, Luna and Anna for me.
    ‘Little Jack’
    I keep my letter deliberately short, so Luna’s pigeon can travel light. I’d like to have some news back as quickly as possible. I roll up my words around the bird’s claw and throw him into the Paris sky. He sets off skew-whiff. Luna probably tried to give him an original ‘feather-cut’ for when he was courting. She also shaved the sides of his head and, as a result, he looks like a lavatory brush with wings. Perhaps I should have used the conventional postal system.
    Before going any further, I need to find a good clockmaker. Since I left home, my heart has been grating louder than ever. I’d like it to be fixed before I find the little singer again. I owe Madeleine that