Michele Halberstadt - La Petite

Copyright Editions Albin Michel Paris 2011
Originally published as La petite by Editions Albin Michel
Translation copyright 2012 Linda Coverdale

Production Editor: Yvonne E. Crdenas

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The Library of Congress has cataloged the printed edition as follows:

Halberstadt, Michle.
[Petite. English]
La petite : a memoir / Michle Halberstadt; translated from the French by Linda Coverdale.
p. cm.
Originally published in French: Paris : Albin Michel, c2011.
eISBN: 978-1-59051-532-7
1. Halberstadt, MichleChildhood and youth. 2. Women motion picture producers and directorsFranceBiography. I. Coverdale, Linda. II. Title.
PN1998.3.H31A3 2012
791.430233092dc23

2012000401

v3.1

To Charlotte, my daughter

A little girl in tears
In a city in the rain
CLAUDE NOUGARO

Im twelve years old, and this evening, Ill be dead.

This morning I emptied the bottles of sleeping pills and all the other medicines Maman stores on the top shelf of the cabinet in the bathroom to keep them out of reach. It took me five big glasses of water to swallow everything. Next, I ate some bread and butter, drank my orange juice, and set out for school.

I said nothing to anyone. I am neither depressed nor overexcited. I feel serene, the way one is when doing what one really wants to do. And what I want to do is disappear.

Its five minutes past nine. Im in study hall. My classes dont start until ten, but I decided to leave the house as early as possible. I dont know when it will happen. Probably by midday. Will I fall off my chair, or simply go to sleep? I dont feel tired. By tomorrow everyone will have forgotten that I spent my last study hall on the bench in the fourth row on the left, two tables from the window.

I see latecomers crossing the school grounds at a run, even though its absolutely forbidden to walk on the grass. I never dared. Too late now.

The students around me are diligently doing their homework. I, too, am concentrating on the paper in front of me. But Im not working. I am writing.

I ought to have thrown out all my notebooks. If someone discovers them, will I ever be in trouble! No, thats silly of me. I wont be here anymore. Nothing more will happen to me. As the nurse says at the end of a blood draw, when she loosens the tourniquet: it will soon be over.

I got caught in the middle of science class. Id dozed off, facedown in the crook of my arm. Even though Id carefully stacked some books in front of me, that old bag Gauthier finally noticed that Id fallen asleep.

Amazingly, her voice was calm, almost gentle, when she told the girl next to me to escort me to the infirmary.

Poor Caroline, blushing with embarrassment, was scandalized.

Youre crazy! She could have stuck you with detention for the whole afternoon!

After glancing at me, she lightens up a little.

Actually, the way you look, no one would think of yelling at you. Your face is so white!

My being sent to the infirmary is really annoying. Its only ten past eleven. I certainly dont want anyone calling home; Maman would come get me and nag me with questions. Which isnt at all what Id planned. What I want is for people to let me sleepand die in peace.

Luckily, on Wednesdays theres only one nurse on duty, and after Caroline knocks and opens the frosted-glass door, we see Mlle. Jamin from the back, crouching as she wipes a coarse floor cloth over the ocher tiles, where a sixth-grader has just thrown up her breakfast.

Still with her back to us, Mlle. Jamin asks me about my symptoms. I invent a sleepless night for myself, a migraine, Im simply feeling dizzy, thats all. No, I dont think my parents are home this morning. Yes, when I get home, if I dont feel better, I will call the doctor.

Believing me, because she has no reason not to, she gives me a scratchy rectangular pillow, an itchy brown blanket, a few drops of soothing mint extract on a sugar cube in a little spoon, and decides that its more urgent to reach the parents of the little six-grade girl than to take care of me.

Thank you, mademoiselle: forget me, thats all I ask.

Back to sleep I go.

The door of the infirmary swings open on my mothers square glasses and beige silk dress, and I can tell from her strained look that Maman is still furious with me. After our argument yesterday, shes not about to cut me any slack. That shrillness in her voice gives her away, and the stiff way she moves. Shes here, but distant; efficient, but noticeably curt with me.

She takes my arm brusquely. No doubt she thinks shes on top of the situation. Ordinarily, I detest these black days when she wont look me in the eye, when my questions meet only with silence, when my pitiful peace offerings leave her cold. Today, though, I couldnt care less. Oh, if she only knew! But, thats precisely it: she mustnt.

I let her drag me to the car. I dont even switch on the radio right away as I usually do, but she appears not to notice. Too busy working her way through the traffic jam.

My legs are numb and my mind is woozy. Between the sleeping pills and my determination not to nod off, I feel like the classic alcoholic in the movies who swears hes fine right after hes downed one drink too many.

I have to carry this off. And hang on for another few hours. My worst fear is that theyll pump my stomach and the next day say, She lost her head for a moment but thats over now, lets not discuss it anymore, when thats all everyone will think about from then on.

I did not send out a cry for help, I raised no alarm, sent up no flares. I dont want people to save me and then ask themselves why I did it. Its been too late for that for a long time now.

Fortunately, Maman doesnt seem worried. Shes still too angry with me. She must think that feeling faint is the least you can do after getting on your mothers nerves so much. Maybe she even sees it as the sign of a guilty conscience. Well, let her.

I open the car window, but the May breeze is too mild to give me the bracing shock Id hoped for. Its only a short ride home from school, but Im already drowsy. Getting out of the car, I can hardly feel my legs. My book bag is way too heavy. Feeling Mamans eyes on me, I try to walk to the front door of our building as normally as possible.