Lunatics

Lunatics · Chap 022 · Wish upon the Moon

22 · Wish upon the Moon

CLAIRE MONDRIAN entered her husband’s workshop carrying a die-cast floral pattern metallic tray with two ceramic cups, a glass bottle filled with jaborandi juice, a plate with toasts covered with fat and chevraux cheese, a pot with fig jam and a pair of organiplast knives.

“About time to replenish the energy into these petits blagueurs!”

Antoine smiled, thinking the joke had to do with his promise to fix the ceiling in the communal kitchen. The attack planned for the next day was taking his spare time; a set of pistols needed cleaning and some other weapons had to be checked.

Marcus got distracted by his mother’s arrival and his thumb was caught by two moving parts of a rifle he was oiling. The pain made him drop the weapon that fell over a container at his feet. The metallic noise and Marcus’ scream made Claire’s heart jump and the organiplast knives to fall from the tray.

“Merde allors!”

Claire was able to keep the rest of the contents on her flowered tray. She avoided being around while her husband and son were working together. The duo kept locked for hours, examining the entrails of dead machineries, manipulating the core of electronic devices, studying malfunctioning components of many different kinds of weapons, scrutinizing every tiny part of cybernetic organisms. Their impressions were shared in whispers; she was sure she would not understand half of the technical terms used in those top secret talks. She herself used to have her moments with Marcus, commenting on Maria’s absences and bad deeds.

Her third pregnancy ended up in an unfortunate miscarriage that left her depressed for months. But it had been many years before. Claire had a son with feminine manners and a daughter who behaved more manly than most men. Maria used to go around with a band of noisy lads always eager to do wrongs. Marcus tended to stay indoors, seeking answers in the books in their vast library, searching the ultranet and talking to the elders in the community. He also loved aiding Antoine in fixing the trinkets their neighbors were not ready to get rid of, extending their usefulness.

Maria, twelve years old, had brown eyes that gazed with a sparkling inner fire. She looked like a boy, walked like a boy, talked like a boy, acted like a boy, and had only male friends. Marcus, nineteen, needed to shave daily (his only complaint), had eyes as green as the day sky and as mysterious as the dark nights. He often kept a serene mood even while coping with the most stressing chores and troubling moments.

Claire fetched the fugitive knives from under one of the working tables, cleaned them in her apron, and put them back on the tray. The silent had returned to the workshop. Few would believe an accident had just happened and that her son had been injured. She observed the men in her family. They were both calm, although Marcus was bleeding. She decided not to interfere. They would take care of the case properly; she was sure, so she decided to leave them alone.

Antoine cleansed the light wound and pressed it to stop the bleeding. While his father distanced to get the first-aid kit, Marcus licked the wound, more worried with the rifle than with his own finger. The father slapped his son’s shoulder.

“Stop that!”

Marcus calmly looked at his father and bowed his head, silently.

“Claire is right. We need a break.”

He pushed Marcus onto one of the chairs.

“We still have a lot to do.”

With a small piece of gauze which he had previously soaked with a gel, Antoine gestured for his son to let him take care of the wounded thumb.