The Serpent of Stars by Jean Giono Read Free Book Online

it was the end of the world. But I especially remember Pierrinet the horse dealer, when he placed his hand sideways, half on the café table, half off it, and what he said to me, “Mallefougasse is like that. It’s still a little bit attached to the earth. Although. . . ! But, above, below, it’s all sky. It’s like something stuck out into the sky. The sky is all around that land like a sucking mouth. Do you understand?”
    I had understood then. I understood much better now. I understood that finger resting on the flimsy calendar map, Césaire who was borrowing a horse, and everything that was going to carry me, rolled in the grandfather’s coat, toward that land the sky sucked like a mouth.
    At the Chabrillans’, the gates were closed.
    â€œI knew it,” said Césaire, “when you’re in a hurry, it’s always like that.”
    We banged on the gate with our fists and our feet; that set the iron chains clanging. We cried out, “Bartholomé! Bartholomé! Of all the luck! Are you going to wake up or not?”
    The farm went on sleeping, eyes shut tight. But the dogs howled in the yard.

    â€œAll the same, we’re making a hell of a noise,” said the shepherd. “What if they aren’t there?”
    â€œThat can’t be it,” said Césaire, “there’d have to be some disaster. They have a little girl. They wouldn’t have left her alone.”
    He bellowed once more, “Bartholomé!” and then he added hoarsely, “Christ, I’ve done in my vocal chords!”
    But this time, a little line of light shone around a closed shutter. The shutter began to open.
    â€œWho’s there?” demanded a woman’s voice.
    â€œAh!” cried Césaire, relieved. “Is that you, Anaïs? What a lot of sleep for such a little woman! Wake up Bartholomé.”
    â€œWho are you?”
    â€œAh, Anaïs, come on, unplug your ears. It’s Césaire from the pottery. You know who it is, Bartholomé!”
    â€œHe isn’t here.”
    â€œWhere is he?”
    â€œHe went to the village!”
    â€œHe’s crazy!”
    â€œNo, he needed to see Pancrace, and Pancrace is only there in the evening, so he had to stay.”
    â€œWe want you to lend us Bijou,” said Césaire, “and the cart. The three of us have to go that way, and it’s alright with your Bartholomé.”
    Anaïs remained silent for a moment, and then she said, “I don’t open the gate. I’m afraid at night, I don’t open it. Wait for Bartholomé.”
    â€œBut we don’t have time, Anaïs. Are you crazy or what? You know very well that it’s me. You can hear me talking. What, you don’t recognize the way I talk? For goodness sake, it’s me! Once more, it’s me,
Césaire, and Barberousse the shepherd, and someone from town, a friend. Come on, open up, cheese head!”
    She remained, up against her idea there in her window. She leaned with her bare arms on the bar and she answered everything Césaire said with her “yes, but . . . ,” “yes, but. . . .”
    â€œYes, but, you know, there are times . . . it’s like this, it seems like a voice but it isn’t, . . . times at night, it’s the work of the devil. It seems like Césaire, and then you open up, and then. . . .”
    And Césaire was completely out of patience, pacing in circles like a mule on the threshing ground, and Barberousse was swearing into his beard, when Bartholomé arrived, carrying a lantern. The lamp gave him a shadow a kilometer long.
    â€œAh!” he said, “yes.” Then, yes again, but he didn’t have the time to get his bearings. Césaire pushed him through the gate, and from there to the stable, and soon Bijou, all harnessed, arrived.
    â€œClose it, close it!” cried Césaire. “We only have time to leave.”
    Already two rises of land