A cappella

Chapter 11: Roots

The shovel sank with difficulty into the moist soil. " Its not so easy to dig a hole, isn't it, Max?" his grandfather asked a cigarette between his wrinkly fingers.

With one hand, he smoked, with the other, he caught a squirming worm in the area that Max was digging and threw it further away.

They were in the process of planting an apple tree, it was the right time, the tree would have all fall and then winter to adapt to its new environment and take roots before spring.

The two men, the young and the old, worked together early in the morning.

Max wore old boots from his grandfather, and in turn, one dug with the shovel, while the other crushed the clods with the hoe. After a while, Max threw the tool into the grass. "Digging with the hands is so much easier"

"Certainly" agreed his grandfather. "What a wonderful tool this hand! Nothing more practical was invented. Nature does things well, as they say in French, do you know this proverb?"

"In Arabic they say Subhan Allah, could not be helped saying Max."

"Ah yes, Allah! If you want... It's just another way of saying the same thing, isn't it? Bring the tree now, the hole is deep enough, I think... you see it's roots, how pretty they are? Their volume is always about the same as the branch. That means that the tree occupies as much space under the earth as in the sky; beautiful, isn't it?"

Gardening with Grandpa was almost like doing philosophy, but Max liked it, especially since he had decided to cultivate his roots.

Nevertheless, at about 11 o'clock, he was happy to put the rubber boots and tools back in the garage; he had an appointment with Danielle.

"Don't forget that we are climbing the Rhune Mountain later!"

"I'll be there Grandpa, Ill drive with my friends, we'll see you at the foot of the mountain at 1 o'clock, alright?"

She was dancing -black leotards and pantyhose, a silk tulle petticoat- in front of a small group of four or five year old girls who never took their eyes off her and tried to reproduce her gestures.

She did not see him, she had her back turned to him, and for a moment he stood watching her through the window, incredibly upright and energetic, and at the same time, subtle and graceful, her arms undulating like swan necks and her feet tensed, lightly beating the floor.

"Subhan Allah," he said in a whisper for the second time this morning.

She finally noticed his presence, and signalled to him that she'd be finished with her course in ten minutes, that he wait for her at the next door café. He ordered an orange juice and reread, nervously, the text he wanted her to correct.

"You shouldn't worry about it," she would say a little later, looking again like the student of letters he knew her for, in jeans and a black leather jacket, with only her high Chignon still showing the dancer she was.

" Spelling mistakes, they always exist and everyone makes them! What you wrote about your family is beautiful. A house whose walls remain white because it is only open to the world... what matters, is this, to be able to say things... Here you go, I don't think there are anymore mistakes"

"You're not sure?"

"No, I am, don't worry about it. I can teach you if you want..."

"I'ld like that! Do we start right away?"

" Yes, we can start with my corrections on your text."

" Wait, let me order sandwiches, you're probably hungry after your dance lesson, and I worked all morning in the back garden..."

"You're text sucked mom!"

She burst in laughter. It was Max the cruel who spoke, but she took it well, because climbing the mountain and still being able to put in this much physical effort for nearly two and a half hours, was for her already a victory that she took great pleasure in, which nothing/no one could spoil, not even the sharp criticism of her son.

"Did you read through it all?" that makes me happy... it's not an easy text, proves you have a good level...but you didn't like it much? Was it too bitter?

"Bitter, YES! You destroy dreams like that! What's that story about tightrope walkers??! Don't you see that your children speak four languages fluently, that they have friends from all over the world??! We might not really belong to any country, but the whole world is ours!"

She looked at him, smiling for a moment. He was right, of course. He walked by her side effortlessly, young, treading the dead leaves without noticing them.

"You know that nothing is always black and white, Max, every story has a some grey... I, personally, like this text. I could describe impressions that I felt very strongly from time to time without being able to identify them. It has done me a lot of good to write it, to go from I feel better now...she said, laughing. Sorry to displease you Max... I promise to write one day more positively on the subject..."

"You better do that quickly...Or else you'll lose all your readers..."

They had reached the top of the mountain.

It was already the end of the afternoon. Max's grandparents were there, who rode up using the small train, and uncle Jerome's children distributed to each of those who had climbed up bottles of water and biscuits.

Babakar sank into the grass near Max.

As far as the eyes could see, a green and red landscape offered itself to them, the green fields and pines and the red shutters of the houses in the small villages of the Basque country.

Nature in Autumn offered these two colors everywhere, with its conifers and apple trees, the wild horses here and there, the mountain villages and then far away, Spain, another world within sight...

"I always thought that the Senegal was the most beautiful country in the world," joked Babakar.

Max's grandfather laughed. For him, it was certain, that nothing was more beautiful than this undulating landscape that slowly descended towards the ocean. They sat down together, some on the grass, others on benches, and gazing before them the valley and calm, and the milky sky that surrounded them.

"And you, Danielle, are you from the region?" gently asked Max's mother to the girl seated beside her.

"Hair as blonde as yours, we don't see that very often around here".

"To tell you the truth," said Danielle, as she smoothed her hair with a quick gesture, I was adopted at really young age from an orphanage here in eastern France, in Strasbourg, by a couple who could not have kids. My real mother... had abandoned me. I'm not from around here, It's just where I grew up. She had spoken in a monotonous voice, and a silence followed her words."

"The important thing is to be able to say it," thought Max. "Moving from impression to expression, it feels good..."

The silence lasted.

"And what if our roots were all in the sky," finally said Babakar...everyone raised their heads, relieved.

"I like that," said Max, stretching himself in the grass, looking up the endless sky.

Babakar also decided to stretch out, and then Danielle, with her blond hair scattered over the blanket, which lay on top of the grass, and Max's little cousin coiled up beside her, saying:

"If we think we all come from the sky, then we will surely feel lighter! ..."

......

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