Ignorance Read Online Free

undulated, all curves. Dark greenery glistening with wet. Clumps of laurels and bay, the narrow trees crowding between the high stone walls, ivy sprawling along the ground. Tumbledown brick sheds leaned together on one side, a few hens scratching about. A flight of steps led up to a terrace. At the far side of this: the back door to his house. No one visible. His shutters on the ground floor were open. Dark panes of glass.
    From our high perch we watched the black and white feather twist down out of the grey sky.
    Come on, I said: I’ll race you to catch it.
    Marie-Angèle hesitated. Supposing someone sees us?
    I blew out my cheeks at her. Cowardy-custard. I dare you.
    Hands skimming the slippery banister, we sped back down the coils of stairs, we fell down through the great, silent house like two pellets rattling out of a canister. We didn’t stop to change our felt indoor slippers for boots. We unbolted the side door by the kitchen and ran out through the playground into the garden between the leafless rose bushes.
    The feather had vanished. We searched for a while along the gravel walks bordering the espaliered apple trees. We hadn’t bothered with gloves or capes. Our noses ran with cold. The chilblains on my hands began to twitch. I distracted myself by noticing other things: the withered rosehips dangling from black twigs, thorny rosaries; the crusts of frost edging the dark earth of the flowerbeds. A few snowdrops stabbing up.
    A ladder lay on the ground by a tall beech hedge, bronze barrier severely squared-off along its length. One of the lay sisters had obviously been trimming it. She would catch it if anyone found she hadn’t cleared up her mess. Heaps of withered tawny leaves, like cut hair, dotted the ground at intervals. Sawn pieces of plait.
    Rapunzel, I said, pointing.
    Pick up the ladder, Marie-Angèle said: I’ll help you.
    Between us we carried it to the wall. I went first and Marie-Angèle followed. One rung at a time. Don’t look round.
    Marie-Angèle swung her leg over, edged close to me. We sat astride the narrow wall, clinging on with both hands, looking down. On the Mad Hermit’s side a few stones stuck out near enough the top to offer footholds.
    From there we can jump, Marie-Angèle said: go on.
    I didn’t want to move. I felt giddy.
    No, I said: this is enough. I want to go back in.
    The dare’s not over yet, she said.
    Halfway down, when the footholds stopped, we launched ourselves out into the air, thudded on to the ground, bumping sideways almost on top of each other. Ice-tipped grass against my cheek, the tang of earth, my arms around Marie-Angèle, the sour smell of her hair.
    We clambered upright. A changed world. We had crossed over. Now we stood on the other side, the convent and school inaccessible, vanished. Nothing to be done but go forward. Hansel and Gretel, abandoned by their parents, bravely approaching the dark forest.
    We entered the copse of sycamores immediately in front of us. The trees pulled us into their company and surrounded us. Captives. Captivated. The sycamore fiancées marched with us along the narrow twisting path. Their heads drooped over us and nodded. Yes, you should go in.
    We crept towards the house. We reached the bottom of the flight of steps up to the terrace. We paused, glancing at each other. A creak, a scrape. Our eyes shot up.
    The door in the back wall of the house had opened. There he stood. Smiling. He leaned against the doorpost and lifted a hand. Between finger and thumb he twirled a black and white feather.
    Welcome, my dears.
    Afterwards, I didn’t know what to say. A story they wanted me to tell, only I didn’t feel clear which one. I improvised and put two stories together. Marie-Angèle made me do it. She wanted to. He made us do it. He wanted to.
    What happened? they asked me repeatedly: tell us what happened.
    I couldn’t tell them everything I saw when the Hermit showed us around his house. Too much of it. Some bits and pieces I