At primary school I had three girlfriends.
Two of them were cousins; I regarded them as twins.
The third friend was not related to any family or family history in the area.
She was the daughter of a vet.
Now that was something ! A vet in the village.
Some farmers saw this as a terrible insult.
They knew how to lead a calve into life and from there to the slaughterhouse.
Noone ever had needed help from strangers.
Why a vet, damn it !
The new family was ignored and discriminated.
I introduced the daughter to my friends.
Not such a good plan; it didn't work very well.
However, we managed because our parents never allowed us to abandon someone.
And so we stayed together.
One of the 'twins' was a baker's child.
Her brother wanted to marry me when we would be older.
I always rejected his idea firmly.
Their cousin was the daughter of an I still don't know who.
A merchant or something.
Her father was never at home. I've never met him.
He died unexpectedly somewhere on a road, far away.
When I told my mom: 'I don't know who this father is', I was sent to my room and she yelled: 'Don't be so disrespectful, not ever !'
We four. Together always, everywhere.
Silently sneaking around in the bakery, craving for crumbles of cake.
Sometimes succesful in taking away a warm fresh bread.
To the attic... our Private Paradise.
One afternoon, after breaking and eating the bread, a stack of old magazines and papers took my attention.
A small booklet lay beside it.
It had a colored print on the first page: 'Mr.Micawber'.
- Hey ! Watch this book. See this fellow !
- Put it down, it's my mom's.
- But look, it's an important book. It's old !
They went downstairs.
The carefully hidden David Copperfield felt my heart beat.
Since that day, he never was lost or lonely again.