MICHEL TOURNIER
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missive" talk, customs have remained , at least in this respect,
deeply traditional. I wish some sociologists would do a survey of
cities on public holidays , and count how many boys and how many
girls are freely roaming the streets. I bet they would find ten boys for
every girl.
I was telling a friend about my young visitors, and the scarcity
of little girls . "That's lucky, you know!" he exclaimed. "Watch
yourself with little girls! Mustn ' t touch, hands om Whatever they
may say in would-be liberated circles . .. you can do what you like
with boys. Little girls! They're traps for fools . They're trouble–
makers , little beasts."
Knowing his ingrained pessimism and his hatred of women, I
was only half convinced. I was to think of him again that day last
summer when I first met Blandine .
I had taken out my 4 x 5 with all its accessories-tripod and
platform , frames, light-meter, range-finder, even an electronic flash
to intensify light and shade in a full-sun shot . I wanted to
photograph a couple of big bumblebees which were impishly buzz–
ing around the tips of a lavender clump . It was the sort of photo that
might interest a glossy semi-scientific magazine that pays well but it
needed the utmost patience, because naturally I could not expect the
least cooperation from my two little insects. No sooner would I get
one of them in my sights and set the focus , than the bumble bee
would decide to swap flowers before I could take the shot. I was con–
centrating, tensed, almost at the end of my tether, when an enor–
mous intruder burst in, virtually between my legs, upsetting my
tripod, and knocking over my box of frames. It was a huge Briard
sheepdog, shaggy , black and boisterous , which without further
ceremony lifted its hind leg over my lavender before getting tangled
up in the cord of my flash .
At that moment there was the sound of shouting and I heard
light voices and laughter and I saw two little girls come rushing in as
well. I have completely forgotten one of them who must have been
colorless, or transparent, or perhaps invisible , because I had eyes
only for the other, she was so pretty and so delicate . The shiny black
aprons trimmed with red braid that schoolchildren used to wear
have disappeared now and I miss them. There is nothing that does
more to highlight the freshness and sweetness of a child than dark
and sober clothing. Blandine was wearing a light-blue smock, very
short , gathered over her golden thighs by a floral belt. She burst out
laughing when she saw her dog frolicking around in my equipment,
