Amandine by Marlena de Blasi

short-term investment of sorts, I understand that.”
    “Do you?”
    “I think I do. I understand it quite enough.”
    “Just what do you propose to do should this child, should she—”
    “Grow up? Is that what you’re asking? Not so difficult to contemplate. Once her schooling here is complete, I shall help her to find her way, to proceed with a higher education if,
should
that seem indicated or to take the veil if she’s inclined, to find good work out in the world. I would help her, guide her as best I can. Surely you would help her, too, Mater.”
    “She is not my charge.”
    “No. Not your charge. Your mortification. That’s how you treat her, Mater, yet you see, you
know
how she’s drawn to you, how she longs for your affection. And you speak to me of cruelty?”
    Head bowed to her papers, the strokes of her pen sepulchral whispers, Paul says nothing.
    “Was it a woman who brought Amandine here? A foreign woman. Beautiful.”
    “I know nothing of a
foreign woman
.”
    “You can tell me, Mater. I met her, you know. Saw her once. Shecame to our home to speak with my grandmother. I handed her tea and she pulled down her kerchief and I saw her. Amandine’s eyes are like her eyes, don’t you think, Mater?”
    Paul stands, her fists cudgels upon the desk. She screams, “How dare you? Inventions, fool inventions, which can only leave the child in greater pain than her birthright has already dictated. How dare you? Follow your instructions, Solange. Should you choose not to, count on His Eminence to support my promise, the promise that I make to you now. You will be humiliated and sent away.”
    “And I make two promises to you, Mater. It is I who shall decide what to tell Amandine about her life. And should I be sent away, I will take Amandine with me.”
    Solange curtsies, turns, walks slowly to the door. Over her shoulder, she looks back at Paul, nods her head as though to say,
Count on it
. Softly, she closes the door behind her.

CHAPTER XII

    “A MANDINE, YESTERDAY WHEN I ASKED YOU WHO YOUR MOTHER was, you thought I was joking, didn’t you?”
    Red leaves fluttering to the ground, Amandine rushes among them, trying to catch them as they fall. She makes a pile of those she’s captured, reaches up for another as the wind scatters the gathered ones, which she then chases, retrieves. Solange stands a few meters distant from the leaping and screeching.
    “Amandine, Paul is not your mother, she’s not the mother of any of us. Not mine, not Josephine’s or Marie-Albert’s or Suzette’s or … She is our spiritual mother, the person who is responsible for the well-being of all of us who live here in the convent. Can you understand that?”
    Clutching leaves to her breast, Amandine walks closer to Solange. “Do you mean that she’s a spirit? Is Paul a ghost?”
    “No. Not a ghost. She is very real, and she cares for all of us as a mother would care, but she is not our
real
mother.”
    The two move to sit under the tree then, inside the red whirring of the leaves.
    “Is she our fake mother?”
    “No. It’s only that each one of us has our
birth
mother. Our
own
mother. And Paul is not that kind of mother to any of us.”
    “Not to any of us?”
    “No.”
    “Do you have your
own
mother?”
    “Yes. I have a mother. And a father. I have two sisters and a grandmother, aunts and uncles and, last time I counted, eighteen cousins.”
    “Where are they? Why don’t you live with them?”
    “They live in another part of France. In the north. And I don’t live with them because I chose to live with you.”
    “But why?”
    “Because I wanted to. My choice to come here to be with you does not mean that I don’t love my family. I love them and I love you. You are also my family.”
    “But I’m not your ‘own’ family. Am I?”
    “No.”
    “Do I have my
own
mother? Who is she? Who is my
own
mother?”
    “I don’t know, darling. I don’t know exactly who she is, but I do know that she loves you