“Glass between the fingers” by Alix Lerasle, trigger-happy father and broke mother – Libération

In her story, the young poet and novelist recounts a family closed session around a mute child.

There is no longer any trace of him. The photos were thrown away, the clothes too, “no mention” of his name since the day he shot. The cartridge from his hunting rifle lodged in the kitchen ceiling, the wood of the beam split. There is nothing left of him “that the ball /above us every day /this hole /the size of my thumb /that looks at me /every morning /that reminds me /how much distress can hurt”. It was Nathanael, the little brother nicknamed Nati, who was supposed to take it. The absentee – who is believed to be the father – pointed the gun at him to silence him. Because Nati screams, curls up on the ground, bites. His little body struggles in his mother's arms, unable to calm him down. Facing the rifle, the “big big brother”, mute since he raped his sister (the narrator), sings a song, “one of Nati’s favorites”. Nati looks at these two beings trying to protect him from the armed man. He stares at their waving hands. The narrator also observes, “I felt /tiny”, she said. She pulls on her skin, the one at the beginning of the nail which is thin enough to be torn off with a quick movement. She keeps her tongue in her mouth, she doesn't “don’t let it /get agitated /knock against [s] molars /against [s] we palate / fidget to / form words”. The walls of the house guard the neuroses and secrets of its inhabitants, they know everything and prefer to remain silent. She writes: «It is