Claire’s house

July 16, 2022

Dear Clara,

Yesterday, I was given an invaluable gift. Yesterday, I entered the house. It was a feeling I will never forget. All those years of passing by, taking photos at the gate, thinking, “If only…” And now, thanks to Claire, its new owner (yes, Claire, Clara…), I was able to realize one of my dreams.

Curiously, I already know that this afternoon changed something within me. It’s a subtle feeling. I was able to visit the house, every room. I found the fireplace where you’re reading your book in that photo I always carry with me, the one I love so much. Now I know it was in your bedroom. I pictured you in your armchair, reading letters from François, mourning his loss, and Léon’s as well. I climbed the staircase, imagining François and Robert running up to their room, which I also visited. For a moment, I thought I heard their laughter, with their cousin Claude, who came to spend holidays with them. I went up to the attic, with the trunk of old books. Were any of them yours? I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter. They’re in their attic. And then, I thought of Suzanne. Suzanne, whom I miss so much. She was with me, as I was wearing her necklace. I pictured her, a young bride, in this beautiful house. Clara, Suzanne, you were surely there with me. And then, there was that small, very intimate space, which, according to its new owner, hasn’t changed. I think that’s where I felt closest to you, Clara. Finally, I got to explore the garden. You know, I stepped into that famous stream I’ve heard so much about. It was hot, and the water was cool. I thought you must have done the same. You, too, must have heard its crystalline song. Once again, I thought of François, Robert, and their cousin Claude. I saw them (yes, I did) splashing each other, laughing, bringing back crayfish for lunch. Maybe even trout—I know there are some. I went into the little house in the garden, and once again, I felt everything (I was going to say, I saw it all again).

So, it’s true, I also pictured you on the day of your arrest. Someone pounds on the door. Of course, you understand immediately. You’re in your room. You bring your hand to your heart, steadying yourself by the small fireplace… For a moment, you think of Robert and Suzanne, thankful they’re in Vasouy. You go down the stairs, take the small hallway. Before opening the door, you look one last time at your kitchen that you loved so much; perhaps you think of Fanfan, who is no longer there, of the snacks you shared at the little table.

And then you opened the door. End of the story.

You see, Clara, as I came, I was a little afraid. Afraid of being overwhelmed, afraid of being haunted by that June 19, by those sudden knocks on your door. But no, it was truly a serene house that I visited. I felt good there. My imaginative mind saw you everywhere, in the gentle warm breeze that touched my arm in the garden. The song of the stream became the laughter of children. And I love the thought that other children will dip their feet there. Your house is alive, peaceful, and that makes me happy.

Of course, as I was leaving, I went to Fanfan’s grave. I, who don’t like cemeteries, who don’t particularly believe in God—I think it’s the only grave I “visit” regularly. Probably for you, Clara, because you couldn’t do it.

Finally, I can’t end this little text without thanking you, Claire, for this priceless gift. I felt how much you love your house, which is also the house of your childhood. You, too, have stepped into the stream’s water, have played in the little house… That afternoon was a pause, a magical moment. Only the stream reminded me that time was passing, inevitably. Because no, it wasn’t the same water that washed over my feet. And that’s a good thing. Thank you as well for introducing me to your granddaughter. A new generation of laughter to come, of songs in the garden, of birthday treats.