40

There was only one way to escape. He locked himself away above the oven. It was vacation time again; he’d just taken his end-of-school exam, which he’d only just passed: he could, if he wanted, stay there all day. He had started reading books, with the lives of famous men. After the stories of savages and Redskins in America, and the novels of Jules Verne, it had brought him here, instinctively seeking to find himself in this; and, among these great men, there were painters. They were hardback books, stained green and strong-smelling, with the Library’s seal on the first page; every week, you could change them.

Aimé Pache, peintre vaudois, 1911