I was about 7 or 8 years. Our teacher, Mr. approach, we had connected on an exciting project documentation. We had to search for images, photography or drawing, gorillas. I do not know why the gorillas, but that was the idea. The thing is, we rarely think to gorillas. At least not as it should.
The concept was to be original, stand out with something unexpected. The more imaginative would be rewarded with a reference to the specifications of honor.
The challenge was exciting: we do not talk more than gorillas.
Determined to distinguish myself, but not knowing where to direct my research, I put my parents into confidence in the meal evening. Without saying a word and a knowing look, my father - born librarian - rose from the table and went rummaging in a cabinet where he kept vignettes from various sources.
In boxes of chocolate powder "Banania," there were a few years earlier, identical reproductions of radio Tintin albums, including The Black Island . And in The Black Island all appearances in the dungeon of the giant monkey, which announced the Yeti of Tibet Tintin .
was unstoppable. With that, my father told me, Demarche be amazed, delighted, enthralled. Nobody, but nobody, will find the idea to go find the pictures of the gorilla in The Black Island. Show that it was the culture of the imagination. Inevitably, scientifically, I am in golden letters in the book of honor.
We began immediately to work to cut the labels carefully to get rid of the logo that betrayed their original advertising. We Collamer on a beautiful card slip. With my best pen I calligraphy in the header of the document: "The Black Island .
The next morning, all students handed the fruits of their investigations to the master. I inwardly jubilant, casting a sympathetic glance at the photos of zoos and other king-kongades devoid of any originality of my classmates. After collection, Demarche told us that the review and awards program will be the day after.
So beating heart twice after sleep I sat down at my desk.
Demarche made his entry into the class, hailed by a concentrated silence. He expressed the idea - delicious to my ears - just a few notable exceptions, the harvest was disappointing. Everyone or almost had merely agreed to images, stereotypes, without scale. I held my breath. The historic moment was not long.
After commenting a contrite various photographs crumpled and badly cut, it marked a break. He then walked slowly toward me with measured steps, with an impenetrable gaze, full of innuendo that I held enigmatic, Only the key.
"What's that?" He said with an air cutting by placing the sheet on my desk .
"The Black Island is , sir," I replied with a hesitant pride.
"I can see it's black Island, I'm not stupid," he exclaimed, frowning.
"Are not you ashamed to cut out the boxes of Tintin albums with your parents make you gift, and very expensive? Books Collection to keep all his life, and you, thank you abysses these beautiful albums, you cut your collection of Tintin, and imagine that you like that, you'll get to see? But have you nothing in the head, is it such a brainless that here? "
I was flabbergasted, stunned, incredulous. As in some nightmares, my language became huge , monstrous, blocking my mouth.
"I ... I ... I did not cut," I articular with great difficulty, in a squeak which was to evoke the creaking of a pulley evil greased.
"How?" Speak clearly, I see nothing ".
"J-I do not ... dd-cut is ... my father!"
"Aha, that's your father, your father was cut in your album of Tintin. Your father buy you beautiful books cut into small pieces, he has nothing else to do, of course. Not only do you not respect the beautiful albums of Tintin your dad buys you, but in addition you have the nerve to accuse your father, you blatantly lie to me like a rude blackbird ".
Can not "switcher" except in hindsight - it would have probably taken five years to deploy more detailed argument, eloquently and emphatically denounce injustice absolute lyricism that made me there, but no, nothing, I had not words. Just a hot broth of tears that rose to my eyes and I tried to contain with difficulty.
"... It's NOT in an album of Tintin", I replied on a tone that I wanted enlightening, but apparently lacked conviction.
"But of course, now, this is not an album of Tintin. Island black is not an album of Tintin, and I'm not a teacher, I am cosmonaut. Better and better. What are you going to add even ridicule you in front of all your classmates?
Also within the scope of amazement, as if I was talking to myself, I like a ventriloquist PLC:
"... It Banania Banania.
Demarche, round eyes, like hallucinations, and turning to the class, repeated a theatrical tone: "banana. It Banania. You have heard, like me: it Banania " .
"At the corner, Mr. Pericolosospore the corner, he steered me gently grasping the pinna in the sense of verticality, I'll teach you to be impertinent."
Yes, banana. Banania was . The sedan chair, massa, Leopold II, fudge, triple nozzle, mold-to-wafer, the curse of Rascar Capac is on you, bashi-bouzouk, anthropoid, then the YETO-hi, the yeti-lo -ha.
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