Noah, for his part, had no character. He had “excuses.”
That morning, however, he had left home with his heart already broken. At 6 a.m., hidden behind the kitchen door, he had heard his mother crying. Inès, an emergency room nurse at Avicenne Hospital, was still wearing her crumpled scrubs after an endless shift. She was trembling with exhaustion as she stood before her husband, a black bag in his hand.
“You’re leaving again?” she had whispered. “He’s presenting his text today. He’s been waiting for you all week.”
Noah’s father, Armand Leclerc, hadn’t shouted. He almost never shouted. It was worse. He kept everything hidden behind his closed face, as if the missions, the secrets, and the absences had finally robbed him of the words.
“I have no choice,” he had murmured.
Inès had laughed joylessly.
“You’ve been saying this for years. You haven’t slept here in two months. Your son is growing up staring at the door. I’m exhausting myself trying to explain to him why his father disappears.”
Noah had tightened the straps of his schoolbag. In his essay, he had written that his father served France, that he often left because he had to protect people, that he was sometimes angry with him, but that he loved him nonetheless. It wasn’t a lie. It was the only way a child had found to transform absence into pride.
Ms. Delmas pointed to the pieces on the floor.
“Pick these up. Then you’ll go to the principal’s office, and you’ll apologize for lying in front of the whole class.”
Noah bent down slowly. His fingers trembled as he picked up the scraps of paper. When he stood up, his eyes were red, but his voice remained steady.
“My father is coming today.”
Madame Delmas burst into a dry laugh.
“Then I can’t wait to meet this imaginary general.”
She grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the door. The children froze. No one dared move. At that very moment, a black army vehicle pulled up in front of the school gate. And the man who got out was anything but imaginary.
PART 2
In the principal’s office, Madame Delmas flung the pieces of essay onto the varnished wood like pieces of evidence.
