Things that float (English version)
My name is John. As I speak, I'm wedged between my colleague Mary and Bernadette's belly. 1 year we've been here, in the dark. Often, we catch a glimpse of light in the corridor. And sometimes, but too rarely for Marie's taste, someone comes to see us, shines a light into our hut, looks around and leaves with one or other of us.
For us, transhumance is an annual event. "Except this year!” Mary corrects me. It's true, this year we were taken out 6 months ago. I almost snapped. I'd never experienced such cold! Something as light as a feather crashed into me and melted like a drop of freezing water. It felt like it went on for hours. Was hell breaking loose? Had Jane and Erik lost their minds?
In the end, no. Thanks to Erik's big bonus, he took the whole family on a skiing vacation; we inherited a week of chlorine and noise. Hearing, or should I say enduring, children screaming into a sound box, 4 hours a day, "I'm too old for this crap"! I largely prefer sea holidays. And it’s easier to support children bodies in a salty water.
After that, we headed back to the cellar, even if the youngest daughter insisted on keeping us during all the way home. Passengers in other cars on the freeway could admire a happy, proud little girl in a purple woollen sweater with a puffy armband on each arm. I am the Yellow one by the way. I love this kid! I've loved all Erik and Jane's children, but Margot is different. She takes me out of my comfort zone. If I end up with her, I'll have been proud to be her John; I'll have lived my best life on her left arm.
I've always been on the left, and I was baptized John as soon as Erik brought me home from the store (a squalid place from which everyone tries to put themselves first in order to leave as quickly as possible).
In this house of happiness, every object has had a first name since the birth of Marco, the family's 1st youngster. He named us John and Philip. Erik, on the other hand, names Jane's bags Bernadette. She has lots of Bernadettes in different sizes. It's a nod to Madame Chirac's bag; don't ask me more. I know nothing about her.
Anyway, it's been a while since people came in and out of the cellar. First, the summer clothes went. They were replaced by winter clothes. Margot's sweater told me that, after returning from the mountains, it had seen no more snow. What a relief for me!
Then the summer shoes were brought home. And finally Margot came to pick us up. It was still too early for vacation, but she couldn't wait any longer. First she came to look at the inside of the big summer Bernadette with envy. Then I heard her mom say: "It's too early to take John-Mary out; 5 more sleeps". Every night, she came to wish us a good night.
This morning, it's THE fateful day: the day of the float test. Margot stands on the stool, eagerly watching the warm water fill the basin. Jane gently removes me from the bag. "Today's the day, John, let's see if you're still up to it." She opens my mouthpiece and starts blowing into the can. Margot mimes her.
As she blows, let’s look back at Mary's arrival. She's my 3rd companion. First there was Philip, who died prematurely from a sea urchin thorn. Then Claude, with whom I was lucky enough to spend a little more time. Claude was inflated by Erik. In the end, it was Erik who got him. At first, it was a normal, if already vigorous, inflation. Erik used to pinch the base of his mouthpiece to retain the air between 2 blasts. Then Erik changed jobs over the summer. He quickly took up smoking. Claude hated it. The breath was foul, the taste acidic. And worst of all, Erik started biting the mouthpiece between 2 puffs. My friend was in agony. In the end, Erik's new job got the better of Claude and his understudy Claude2. I was really upset. It was after these sad endings that Mary and her understudy arrived. They're identical, each with a blue and a pink side. Their material doesn't seem very resistant, however.
After John-Philip and Joh-Claude, John-Mary sounded pretty good. For the lining, it was more difficult. Erik suggested Rose because Rose-Mary sounded pretty good. Erik, in a morose mood, was thinking about my succession. But Jane, my sunshine, argued: "The material seems less resistant than John's; John-Rose will be weird. I suggest naming him Rose-Remi, in the meantime. Then the children can choose. Done. This winter, the duo was still John-Mary. It's time to check if I'm still floating.
Erik may have gone electronic and now tastes like bananas or crème brûlé, but he's still gritting his teeth. So it's Jane who's puffing up. She has retained her habit of blocking the air with the tip of her tongue. I confess to looking forward to these moments with a certain relish, even though with age, the floating test is becoming more and more agonizing. I've finally reached my peak condition. Margot kisses me before the big dive and encourages me: "Don't worry, John, even if you can't float anymore, Mum has promised to look after you: we'll put you in a frame in bedroom wall". I'm plunged into the water, pressed to the bottom on all sides. Everyone is holding their breath for the tiny air bubbles that will signal my retirement.... Nothing. Jane releases her grip. I rise to the surface. Margot shouts: it floats!
Yes, Margot, I float, but we're going to have to learn to swim for real this summer.
