A swarm of bees melting on the hair of the screaming mother, Anchise slaps her thighs, as if for a good joke, without moving her little finger, go, go, it's not so bad, the storm frightened, that's all, the mother screaming: run away, run away!
It's about the only memory that Anchise's grand-nephew keeps of the old beekeeper, old fool, old crazy.
An original who lives alone on the heights with his beehives, in a ruined building, never recovered from the death of Blanche, his young wife, and, one day unable to bear any more of this sadness, for sixty years he drags, he immolates himself in his car on a road on the white hill.
End of Anchises in flames, end of beehives, childhood and honey.
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Aubin is 5 years old.
In his great-uncle's house, four crumbling walls surrounded by Aleppo pines, so high, so worthy to sway in the wind, Aubin played.
Sometimes he slept on an old rotten mattress, in the middle of a jumble of abandoned things, newspapers,
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