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Ritual, 1969 [two stories]
83
was there. Or at least if
something did happen, if
the soldiers or a perhaps
a monster came and
stole Amanda away, then
at least the dolls would
know. They wouldn’t think
she had abandoned them.
Thus satisfied, the little
girl turned her attention
to the display in Monsieur
Arbot’s brightly lit window.
The snow had almost
gone; only grey dirty heaps
remained in dark places
hidden from the sun.
She stood looking carefully
at the tall metal buckets
that held the real flowers
as well as the flowers
that had been made from
fabric. The ledge of the
shop, now that she was
at street level, hid from
view the other side of the
counter where Monsieur
Arbot warmed himself
and where he kept brown
paper, string, thin wire and
a wooden cash box.
Amanda pushed open
the door to the shop and
entered. Monsieur Arbot
looked up at the sound
of the door and at first
wore an expression of
bewilderment as he had
expected to see a customer
at eye level with him.
‘
Bonjour Monsieur Arbot
,’
Amanda said politely,
remembering
how
her mama had always
addressed shopkeepers.
‘Oh,’ he said, ‘
Bonjour
Mademoiselle
.’ But he
didn’t smile, merely gazed
at the child blankly.
‘I want to buy some
flowers. For my mama, as
she is sick.’
He grunted miserably in
response and flapped his