NOT SO LONG AGO

5

“Scram!”

Roland picked up a stone at the edge of the path, ignoring the nettles everywhere. He tossed it at the animal who watched the stone bounce fifty inches from him. The boy bit his lower lip, furious at his failure and lack of precision. He bent over again, but Erma interrupted him.

“Stop. He didn’t do anything to you.”

Roland stared at her. A last ray of sunshine could still be seen above the skyline, reticent, knowing it was doomed, ready to surrender. It illuminated the girl’s thick hair showing hazel glints on the strands falling on her neck. She smiled and Roland’s heart soared. Stop smiling, Erma, my legs feel like cotton. Roland apologized with a nod.

“He’s following us,” he explained.

“I know.”

“If we don’t get rid of him right now, we’ll be stuck. What I mean is, after that he’s going to be too far away from home, he won’t find his way back. You see, I’ve already seen episodes of Lassie and Rin Tin Tin, so I’m not exaggerating...”

“He doesn’t have a home. He’s like us. He’s on the road.”

The girl approached the dog. Further down the trail, Adam continued his walk without stopping. She knelt and held out her hand. The beast, at first good-natured, retreated a few feet. Then, slowly, ready to bolt, he advanced until he could be stroked.

“Don’t touch him, he must have fleas.”

“Never mind. You know, Roland, we’re going to sleep under the stars, in the forest, then fleas...”

“I don’t like forests. I hear that there are some you never get out of...”

Roland dug out a cigarette. He lit it and handed it to Erma. Another appeared between his index and middle finger. They would soon be out of tobacco.

The dog didn’t look well. Twenty pounds, no collar. His thick, brown coat was dotted with areas of raw skin. Patches of eczema oozed on his flanks. But in his eyes shone something strong, something that struck Erma in the heart.

“Do you know about dogs, Roland?”

“Yes.”

“And his breed, do you know it?”

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

“A bastard.”

Erma scratched his nose, then her hand went back to the top of his head. The animal bent forward to assist the passage of fingers to his ears.

”What are we going to call him?” asked Erma.

“Scram.”

“Huh?”

Erma darted two furious eyes towards her friend.

“Scram. We’ll call him Scram.”

Roland smiled, unsure of the effect his remark would have. She was used to the boy’s playful gibes, even though she was seldom the target, but when Erma witnessed an injustice, she was unable to turn away and act as if it didn’t matter. She was like that, that’s all, and Roland had eventually come to love this character trait, even if it had already caused some scuffles.

“You want us to keep him, right?”

Erma’s approval. Tell her no. Tell her not right now or we’ll regret it. Erma’s sigh. He’s going to waste our time, that mongrel. We’ve already got the kid to deal with. Erma’s cajoling eyes. He doesn’t have anything to eat, that mutt. And besides, he must stink. Erma’s smile.

“Okay.”

The first drop—huge—fell on Adam’s shoulder. Then a second one.

“It’s not going to rain...”

“Well, yes.”

“But it’s hot.”

“Nothing to do with it. There’s going to be a thunderstorm. It’s always like this when it’s very hot for a long time.”

The first thunderclap made them jump. The dog was the most frightened. Roland climbed an embankment. He took a long look at the surroundings.

“What are you looking for?” Erma asked, settling on the mound.

“A barn. Or shelter. But there’s nothing. We just have to go under a tree.”

“Our father says all the time that in the event of a thunderstorm, particularly, don’t go under the trees.”

“It’s normal. He’s a fisherman, your father. He likes to get wet.”

Lightning fell nearby and suddenly, the rain poured frantically over the meadow. The trio—turned quartet—rushed into the woods next to the rapeseed fields. They sank under the foliage, looking for a place where the branches would be the bushiest. But they were never undercover. Water streamed in every corner. In just three or four minutes, they were soaked. The dog nodded nervously, panicked by the unleashed elements.

“What do we do?” Erma shouted to dominate the din of water ricocheting on the leaves.

“We wait,” replied Roland. “It’ll pass. Let’s have something to eat.”

“Right here?”

“We might as well enjoy it.”

They settled in a circle, sitting on the wet ground, at the foot of a huge tree. Adam put a hand in the mud when he was unbalanced by the weight of his backpack. Grumbling, he got up and went to embrace the trunk of the oak, convulsively rubbing his palm against the bark.

To impress Erma, Roland decided to light a fire. When she saw the little box of matches coming out of the front pocket of his bag, she pointed out to him that his attempt was doomed to failure, even going so far as to use the term “ridiculous,” which Roland pretended not to hear.

“That way, when it rains more, we’ll start drying right away. I just have to go somewhere a little protected.”

But there was no protected place, and after spoiling half a dozen matches, Roland gave up. Hurt, sullen, he shut himself away in sulky silence.

The dog came to cling to the girl’s thigh. And no one moved or uttered a single word during the hellish quarter of an hour that the storm lasted. When at last it ceased after the lightning had struck several times while shaking the earth, a westerly wind, though just a slight breeze, came to slap them sadistically aside. They shuddered together, unable to quell each other’s tremors. Finding that Erma was shivering, Roland removed his old Kabig jacket, worn thin and threadbare, and put it on her shoulders. Adam noticed the manoeuvre and smirked.

“Dog, come here.”

Erma made a small gesture to get the dog’s attention who took advantage of the respite to shake itself a few steps from them. As he didn’t obey, Roland crouched down. By bringing together his thumb, forefinger and middle finger, as if he wanted to sprinkle a pinch of salt over an imaginary plate, he made a gesture in his direction.

“Scram? Come here, Scram...”

The dog trotted cheerfully towards the boy.

“You see, Erma, he likes his new name.”

The last light of this summer evening had given way to starry darkness. It wasn’t cold, but the rain had beaten them to the point where they felt wet to the depths of their being.

Roland didn’t manage to make a fire. Not only was the wood wet, but his box of matches had been damaged by the storm when he had clumsily brought it out, a little earlier.

Erma rummaged through Adam’s bag and found some bread and a jar of salmon paste. She made three stunted sandwiches. Her brother complained about the small quantities, but when it was pointed out to him that in less than twenty-four hours the food stock had been seriously eroded, he became a little quiet and frowned.

Roland tried to recover the egg yolks that had flowed into the front pocket of his bag—a sort of satchel he always had with him. It didn’t work. He dipped a piece of bread into the sticky mixture clinging to the bottom of the bag but gave up after the second attempt.

“And... Scram,” asked Erma. “What are we giving him to eat?”

“The dog? Let him go hunting if he wants to eat.”

“Roland...”

“What? Erma, we’re already low on food, we’re not going to give it away, are we? But then again...”

“What?”

“Maybe I have a solution... that would solve the food problem and the dog problem.”

“Go ahead.”

“We could eat Scram, right?”

Erma lay down. She draped herself in the coat and turned away, snubbing the boy’s apology, who wanted to make amends by assuring her that he was joking. The three of them spent the night like this while dozing, trying to curl up in the dark to keep out the cold.

Adam prayed that the people would catch up with them as soon as possible.