From Tales From the Heart

Abstract

I must have been thirteen. Yet another stay in the métropole. The third or fourth since the end of the war. I was less and less convinced that Paris was the capital of the universe. I led a life as regular as clockwork, but in spite of that I missed La Pointe and the blue of the harbor and the sky. I missed Yvelise, my classmates, and our rambles under the sandbox trees on the Place de la Victoire until six in the evening, the only distraction we were allowed at home. Six was the hour when darkness fell and when, according to my parents, anything could happen. Looming up from the other side of the Vatable Canal, males hungry for sex might solicit us virgins from respectable families and taunt us with obscene words and gestures. In Paris I also missed the love letters that the boys managed to slip me, despite all the precautions taken to protect me.