The Season of Migration Read Online Free Page B

different-colored aprons by the door, and a fire burning in the hearth on the other side of the room. Outside the kitchen, we went through a hallway and climbed a short set of stairs to a room that she declared was mine, a small space under the eaves with a drastically slanted ceiling. I entered the room so timidly, I was almost on my toes; I could not have imagined anything more suitable. It reminded me immediately of the room where our sisters used to sleep in the house in Zundert, their neatly made beds under the slanting ceiling, and I thought of the giggles we used to hear coming from there at night when we lay in our bed, do you remember? In the room at the Denis house that was to be mine, there were also two beds pushed into either corner of the room, which had no door, only the stairs leading back down to the kitchen. Small wooden tables sat next to each bed, and wooden chests at the base of each bed. Against the wall there was a handsome chest of drawers. The wallpaper that lined the walls was a floral pattern, but it was tasteful and not oppressive.
    â€œI hope it’s all right,” said Madame Denis, behind me, watching me take in the room. “You will be sharing this room with our son Alard. That’s his bed there”—she gestured to the bed in the far corner, neatly made. “He is eight, and he’s a good boy. Very quiet and thoughtful, he’s the wisest man in the house.” She smiled and winked at me. “Or perhaps he was , now that you are here.” She added, “He will be no trouble to you, I am sure, none at all.”
    Alard’s bed had a blue bedspread pulled across it, quilted in panels of differing shades—the bed that was to be mine had one in red of the same pattern. Everything was so neat and tidy, so perfectly presentable, I could suddenly feel the dust on my clothes from the long journey, and thought I would sully the bed if I were to lie on it. “Of course that is fine,” I told her. “I look forward to meeting him.”
    â€œYes,” she said, “he is out playing now with some friends, I think—I have trouble keeping track of where they go.” She leaned against the door frame, watching me put my suitcase down next to the bed—I wanted to put it on top but feared that the valise would made a mark on the spread. “Most of the boys his age,” she began, and then seemed to hesitate. She looked at me, as if surprised—she had started her statement too soon and now wished she could take it back. “Well,” she said, looking down, wiping her hands on her apron, as if that were to be her last word on the subject. Then she must have decided to continue. “Most of them have started to go down into the mines to work. Alard doesn’t have to because his father is not a miner, but it means he has a lot more time to himself these days.”
    I was silent, watching her, wondering if she would say more. For a moment she seemed strained, unsure what to say next, and then she recovered. She smiled at me again. “But that’s enough talk for now,” she said. “I’m sure you must be tired from your journey. Why don’t you settle in and have a rest before supper, which will be in just a couple of hours. The bathroom is just next door, and you should feel free to use anything you see. This is your home now.”
    She turned to go, and I felt a flash of panic to be in that room alone. Of course I should bathe, have a rest, be presentable for supper, but I was too restless. The thought of lying in that bed with the red quilt in my present frenzy of excitement was unthinkable. I needed to see what surrounded us, what kind of place I was standing inside.
    I called Madame Denis back. I asked her if it might be all right for me go out and explore the landscape a bit, rather than rest. “I am eager to see this place,” I explained. “I have been wanting to come here for so