Description

The narrator looks back on his earliest years as a dim, almost dream‑like country he once crossed in the night before sunrise. He recalls the tiny, snow‑capped school run by Sister Marthe, the tangled paths beneath the saplings, and the uneasy feeling of being sent away to a brother’s school at seven. Ordinary children play loudly, salute strangers, and obey without question, while he prefers to linger with a book on a winter Thursday, listening to the distant cascade of water. Those moments are tinged with both wonder and an undercurrent of fear, as the surrounding woods seem to hide unseen creatures that haunt his imagination.

From the start, he feels set apart—his mother’s sharp rebukes and the title of “original” echo in his mind, while he dissects his own feelings as if they were specimens. He watches other children from behind a window, noting their clumsy movements and feeling a strange mixture of curiosity and dread. The narrative gently explores how this fragile child negotiates the expectations of family and community, carving out a personal identity amid the murmurs of a small town. As he edges further from the familiar, the story captures the uneasy beauty of growing up different, without yet revealing where his path will ultimately lead.

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