Oxalide

  • In this book you'll fi nd all kinds of clever tips about nature, wild animals, trees and flowers. You'll learn what to put in your rucksack for a wonderful day out, what kind of games to play outdoors, how to build a teepee, make a wasp trap, keep mosquitoes away, and lots of other things. So what are
    you waiting for? Call your friends and go out and play!  

  • Extrait
    Je m’appelle Kilian Broddy, j’habite une petite ville de France, je suis né d’une mère française un peu excentrique et d’un père anglais, donc forcément très excentrique. Avec une hérédité pareille, comment voulez-vous que je ne sois pas un peu bizarre ? Ma mère est maîtresse d’école. Mon père, je ne sais pas trop. Il est tout le temps parti pour son travail, des fois en Angleterre, des fois ailleurs, mais je ne sais pas vraiment ce qu’il fait pour « gagner l’argent du ménage », comme dit grand-mère. Elle radote toujours des choses sans intérêt, ma grand-mère. Mes parents m’appellent Kiki, y compris devant mes copains. J’aime pas trop. À l’école, les autres m’appellent juste Broddy. Il y en a même qui pensent que c’est mon prénom, ils ne font pas bien la différence. J’aime pas trop non plus. D’une manière générale j’aime pas bien qu’on m’appelle. J’aime mieux qu’on me laisse tranquille. Maman et moi, on est assis tous les deux sur le canapé du salon qui est bien cosy de partout avec tous ses bibelots. On regarde un de mes DVD préférés, un vieux film de Tarzan en noir et blanc. Maman regarde aussi, elle dit que ça lui rappelle quand elle était petite. Elle dit qu’elle aimait bien Tarzan parce qu’elle était un vrai garçon manqué à l’époque, mais j’ai du mal à la croire. Elle est toute menue et elle pleure tout le temps, surtout ces derniers temps. Je pense que c’est parce qu’elle se dispute souvent avec mon père, enfin quand il est là. Tiens, par exemple là, elle pleure.
    My name is Kilian Broddy. I live in France, in a small city. My mother’s French and a bit eccentric, and my father’s English — which means he’s very eccentric. With such heavy heredity, there’s no way I can’t be slightly weird. My mother is a primary school teacher. I’m not sure what my father’s job is. He’s always away on business. Sometimes he goes to England, sometimes elsewhere, but I don’t really know what he does “to earn his daily bread,” as Grandma says. My grandmother is always babbling about boring things. My parents call me Kiki, even when my friends are around. Can’t say that I like it much. At school the other guys just call me Broddy. Some of them even think it’s my first name, they don’t really know which is which. Can’t say that I like it much either. As a rule I don’t like being called. I’d rather be left alone. Mum and I are sitting on the settee in the sitting-room that is nice and cosy with all its ornaments. We are watching one of my favourite DVDs, an old Tarzan in black and white. Mum’s watching it with me because she says it reminds her of the time when she was a little girl. She says she liked Tarzan because she was a real tomboy at the time, but I find that hard to believe: she’s very tiny and she’s always crying — she’s been doing that a lot lately. I think it’s because she often quarrels with my father — that is, when he’s around. Now, for instance, she’s crying.

  • Extrait
    À CHEVAL !
    (les cadences)
    Sur mon cheval Tralala, je vais au pas, au pas.
    Sur mon cheval Allegro, je vais au trot, au trot.
    Sur mon cheval Rapido, je vais au galop, au galop.
    Quant à mon cheval Cavale, au secours, il s’emballe !
    MOUNT UP!
    (cadences)
    On my horse, Rest, Slow walking is best.
    Riding Gavotte, I go at a trot.
    On my horse, Run, Cantering’s fun.
    But riding on Tearaway... Help! He’s a runaway!




  • Table des Matières
    1 : Disparition
    Une centaine de lycéennes sont scolarisées, en externat ou en internat, au lycée Richard de Nancy. Cet établissement a la particularité de n'accueillir que des filles. C’est une grande bâtisse cernée de murs très hauts, un monastère en quelque sorte, les vêpres et les moines en moins. Un magnifique parc aux arbres bicentenaires et un potager lilliputien y font deux taches vertes, l’une vaste et l’autre minuscule.
    Lundi 28 septembre
    Barry était assis, depuis un quart d'heure, sur une chaise étroite en face du proviseur, bien à l'aise dans un fauteuil estampillé Art nouveau.
    Le chef de l'établissement poursuivait d'une voix ferme :
    — Nous appliquons ici une discipline sévère. Comme nos élèves sont internes par choix dans ce lycée expérimental, elles se plient facilement au règlement. Elles reprennent confiance et améliorent leurs résultats dans les matières scientifiques. Hélas, ce projet prendra fin l'année prochaine. Les résultats semblent prouver que la non-mixité n'est profitable qu'aux filles. Nous leur offrons les meilleures conditions de travail. Vous pouvez vérifier. Je vous donne carte blanche pour aller et venir dans les moindres recoins de mon lycée. Nous n'avons rien à cacher !
    1 : Disappearance
    About a hundred girls – some boarders, others non-residents – attend Richard High School in Nancy. What is particular about it is that it’s a girls-only institution. It’s a large building surrounded by very high walls, a kind of monastery – minus vespers and monks. Splendid grounds planted with twohundred- year-old trees and a Lilliputian vegetable garden make two green patches, a huge one and a tiny one.
    Monday, September 28
    Barry had been sitting for fifteen minutes on a narrow chair, facing the headmaster who seemed to be particularly comfortable in his Art Nouveau armchair.
    The latter was saying firmly, “Discipline, here, is very strict. As our students choose to board in our experimental high school, they obey the rules willingly. They regain their self-confidence and improve their grades in the sciences. Unfortunately, the project will come to an end next year. The results seem to prove that single-sex education benefits girls only. We offer them the best working conditions. You can check that. I’m giving you carte blanche to come and go as you please in the whole high school. We have nothing to hide.”




  • Extrait
    BAGELS
    This doughnut-shaped bread can be bought at the baker’s.
    What YOU have to do is prepare them.
    Ingredients :
    - some cream cheese
    - 1 slice of smoked salmon
    - juice of a half lemon
    - dill
    Slice the bagel in half horizontally.
    Spread each slice with cream cheese.
    Place the smoked salmon on one slice.
    Sprinkle with the lemon juice.
    Sprinkle with the dill evenly.
    Cover with the other half of the bagel like a sandwich.
    If you like your bread better when it is a little crunchy, you can toast the two halves of the bagel before filling them.

  • Anglais My fun book t.4

    Collectif

    Des jeux pour s'amuser, dessiner, colorier, écrire tout en se familiarisant avec la langue anglaise, grâce à des thèmes variés : couleurs, nombres, vêtements, animaux...  

  • Extrait
    Daniella, très digne, et toute de noir vêtue, est installée au premier rang de l’assemblée. Elle a atrocement mal aux pieds.
    Le prêtre a été un peu long dans l’éloge de feu son mari, et elle examine depuis un moment, mais fort discrètement, les détails des vitraux de la petite chapelle. L’inévitable Christ en croix, immense, disproportionné, juste au-dessus de l’autel. Les apôtres. Les martyrs. Les saints.
    À sa droite, Jean-Patrick est assis, incroyablement raide, jambes croisées, mâchoire serrée. Il a les yeux secs. À sa gauche, Nina, généralement si maîtresse d’elle-même, est, depuis le début de la cérémonie, secouée de sanglots. Elle était tellement plus proche de Roland que son frère cadet… Père et fille cultivaient une complicité qui avait toujours laissé Daniella pantoise : en compagnie de cette enfant qui lui ressemblait tant, Roland, si formel, si raisonnable, si engoncé dans sa petite vie rangée, devenait un autre homme, détendu et souriant. Il était soudain volubile, enthousiaste même.
    Full of dignity and dressed entirely in black, Daniella was sitting in the front row of the congregation. Her feet were killing her.
    The minister had rather overextended her defunct husband’s eulogy and, for a while, she had been examining intently, albeit discreetly, the details on the chapel’s windows. The inevitable Christ on the Cross, so large and out of proportion, just above the altar. The apostles. The martyrs. The saints.
    Jean-Patrick, sitting bolt upright, with crossed legs, his jaw firmly set was sitting to her right. His eyes were dry. To his left, Nina, who usually had so much self-control, had been sobbing her heart out ever since the ceremony had started. She was so much closer to Roland than her younger brother... Father and daughter had developed a complicity which had always amazed Daniella: when he was with that child who looked so like him, Roland, usually so formal, so reasonable, so wrapped up in that cosy little life of his, would become a different man: relaxed and smiling. Suddenly, he would become very talkative, even enthusiastic.

  • Otages / hostages

    Jean-Claude Baudroux

    • Oxalide
    • 1 Janvier 1970

    Extrait
    Les jours qui suivirent cette mémorable mousse au chocolat furent interminables : j’attendais le vendredi 8 mai où l’ancien ministre, Roger Blanchard, devait me remettre mon premier prix. Et puis, il y eut ce jeudi 7 mai !…
    Je n’oublierai jamais cette journée ! D’abord parce que c’était la veille de mon triomphe. Ensuite, à cause de cette étrange impression que j’ai éprouvée quand je suis sorti du collège.
    J’ai senti qu’il se passait quelque chose de bizarre, comme si le décor avait changé demanière imperceptible. Ce n’était sans doute qu’unminuscule détail,mais j’avais la vague certitude que ce détail était essentiel, vital même.
    The days which followed thatmemorable chocolatemousse were interminable - I couldn't wait for Friday 8thMay when the former minister, Roger Blanchard, was to award me with my first prize. And then there was Thursday 7th May!...
    I'll never forget that day! Firstly, because it was the day before my triumph was to take place and next, because of the strange feeling I had on coming out of school.
    I could sense something bizarre was going on, as if someone had imperceptibly moved the scenery around. It was probably just a tiny detail but I had the vague conviction that this detail was essential, even crucial.




  • Extrait
    Prologue
    La sirène de la police. En pleine nuit. Sur les hauteurs de Nogared.
    Anaïs était effondrée. Qui aurait pu prévoir cela ? Elle devait pourtant affronter la dure réalité. Ses quatre amies aussi. Élise, Lucile, Camille et Leslie. Unies comme les doigts de la main. Et âgées de seize ans.
    On les surnommait les 5. Tout simplement.
    Les 5 allaient devoir être soudées comme jamais. Plus encore que pendant leurs matchs de basket.
    Des phares trouèrent la nuit. C’était la voiture des policiers. Anaïs poussa un profond soupir et se leva, pas certaine de tenir le choc lors de leur interrogatoire.
    Prologue
    The police siren, in the middle of the night, in the hills above Nogared. Anaïs was distraught. Who could ever have foreseen such a thing? Yet she had to face the harsh reality of the situation. So did her four friends, Élise, Lucile, Camille and Leslie.
    They were as close as they come, all of them sixteen. They were known as the 5, simple as that. But now the 5 would have to be more closely-knit than ever – even more than during their basketball matches.
    Headlights lit up the dark night. It was the police car. Anaïs gave a deep sigh and got to her feet, not certain that she would be able to cope with it once they started their questioning.

  • Anglais Bing, bang, boom !

    Brigitte Zaugg

    • Oxalide
    • 1 Janvier 1970

    Extrait
    Giddy’up: that’s precisely what I’m doing. I’m invincible! I skip and dodge and dive in my black rocket. I’m the best pilot ever. Dad is beginning to huff and puff behind me.
    But my tummy reminds me with a rumble that it’s almost time for pasta in candy sauce, so I decide I’ll give Blackwarrior one last chance: we’ll have a lightsaber duel and I’ll fight him to the death. I climb out of my rocket and face my pursuer. I take a step toward him with a deep scowl on my face, to look more frightening.
    I raise my weapon and shout, “Well then, space slug, are you ready to be sliced up in two?”
    “I’ll make you swallow that steel rod of yours!” Dad roars, brandishing his saber.
    The racket of the two plastic swords clanging together is deafening.

  • Extrait
    Cela faisait plus de deux heures que le train roulait.
    Les enfants du fond du wagon s’étaient réveillés de leur sieste et commençaient à s’exciter. Les deux jeunes monitrices s’évertuaient à leur proposer des jeux pour les occuper.
    Ils exploitèrent tout d’abord les mots gigognes : valise - liseron - rond de chapeau - policier - scier du bois… jusqu’à ce que l’un d’eux prétende compléter oiseau par saucisse. On lui fit remarquer que le « seau » de oiseau se prononçait « zeau » et celui de saucisse, « sau », il ne voulut rien entendre et le jeu dégénéra en dispute. Les enfants disaient n’importe quoi et s’excitaient sur les mots de leur invention ou sur des grossièretés. On jugea qu’il fallait arrêter les frais quand on en arriva à sudoku-cul de singe et autre, et on passa à « Jacques a dit », qui lui-même se termina avec des propositions aussi intéressantes que « Jacques a dit : grattez-vous les fesses… ».
    Les pauvres monitrices, dépitées, finirent par les laisser se débrouiller entre eux. Les gamins sortirent alors leurs Game Boys, magazines et jeux de cartes.
    Là encore, le calme ne dura pas très longtemps. Les plus créatifs inventèrent une distraction qui eut un succès immédiat dans le groupe : il consistait à lancer des projectiles faits avec les cartes à jouer pliées en fusées.
    The train had been going for over two hours.
    The children at the end of the compartment had woken up from their nap and were starting to get excited. The two group leaders were doing their best to keep them busy by suggesting some games for them to play.
    They first of all had a go at doing a last-syllable word chain game: picnic - nicotine – teenager – giraffe - after... until one of them reckoned he could complete terrific with thicko. The others pointed out to him that the "fic" of terrific was pronounced "f" and that of thicko "th" but he wasn’t having any of it and the game degenerated into an argument. The children were saying any old thing and were getting carried away with phrases of their own invention or with dirty words. It was decided to call it a day when they went fromadd-ict to dick-head and other words in the same vein, so they passed on to "Simon said" which, in turn, ended up with such interesting propositions as "Simon said: scratch your bum... ".
    Feeling weary, the poor group leaders gave up and left them to their own devices. The boys and girls proceeded to get out their Game Boys, magazines and packs of cards.
    Even then, the peace didn’t last very long. The more creative ones among them came up with a form of entertainment that met with instant success within the group, which consisted in throwing projectiles made with playing cards folded into the shape of a rocket.




  • Table des Matières
    1
    — Je m’appelle Kilian Broddy. J’ai 11 ans. Ma mère est maîtresse d’école et mon père est recherché par toutes les polices de France.
    — Tu vas me saouler longtemps avec ça ? Remets-toi, ça fait trois jours maintenant que ton père s’est évadé.
    Je suis allongé sur le lit, face à un poster de Snoop Dogg, dans la chambre de Tariq, mon meilleur copain. Et je me demande si notre amitié n’est pas en train de partir à nouveau en sucette.
    Enfin, c’est mon seul copain, et vu comme il me parle, c’est dire la vie que j’ai ! Mais bon, il est toujours là quand j’ai des ennuis et ça, ça n’a pas de prix. Quand même, il est bien pénible des fois.
    Comme là, par exemple.
    — Tu m’excuseras, ça fait tout de même un choc : il y a moins d’une semaine j’avais une vie normale, et tout d’un coup je découvre que mon père est trafiquant de drogue et que ma mère est complice de son évasion. Mais c’est pas grave, il faut que je m’y fasse, tout va bien, youpi !
    — Arrête de dramatiser, l’Angliche. Personne n’est mort. De quoi tu te plains ?
    — Oui, tu as peut-être raison. Mais bon, ça me perturbe quand même, et puis figure-toi que ça recommence.
    — Qu’est-ce qui recommence ?
    1
    “My name is Kilian Broddy. I’m 11. My mother’s a primary school teacher, and my father’s being hunted down by all the French police forces.”
    “When are you going to quit repeating that? Get over it! It’s three days now since your father escaped.”
    I’m lying on the bed in Tariq’s room, facing a Snoop Dogg poster. Tariq’s my best friend. Mind you, I’m wondering if our friendship is not going down the drain again. Well, he’s my only friend, and given the way he talks to me, you see the kind of life I have. Anyway, he’s always there when I’m in trouble and that is priceless. All the same, he can be a pretty big nuisance sometimes. Like now, for instance.
    “Well, I’m sorry, but it’s been a bit of a shock. Less than a week ago I was living a normal life, and all of a sudden I discover that my father’s a drug dealer and that my mother helped him to escape. But who cares? All I have to do is get over it, everything’s fine, yippee!”
    “Hey limey, stop making it bigger than it is. Nobody died. So what are you complaining about?”
    “Yes, maybe you’re right. Still, all the same, it bothers me. And let me tell you this: it’s beginning all over again.”
    “What is beginning all over again?”




  • Extrait
    Lundi 14 avril
    Cette semaine d'avril ensoleillée commence bien ! Une visite au village du livre de Fontenoy-la-Joûte, à deux pas de la cité du cristal, Baccarat, et au pied des Vosges, c'est la pub qui le dit et fait rire p'pa qui se moque.
    – Bof ! Faut bien le vendre ce village de Fontenoy-la-Joûte où il ne se passe jamais rien.
    Je ne sais pas s'il a raison, mais il m'énerve.
    Cette visite, c'est une idée de la prof de français qui veut nous montrer toute la chaîne du livre. D'abord la classe s'est divisée en petits groupes de deux ou trois élèves pour écrire un texte, petit roman, nouvelle, forcément, c'est au programme de la troisième, mais en plus, avant d'apprendre à relier nos feuillets dans les règles de l'art, nous allons découvrir la calligraphie, en écrivant le titre de la nouvelle selon cet art, c'est encore ce qu'elle a dit. C'est-à-dire qu'on va s'appliquer, comme autrefois, avec une plume du style sergent-major et un encrier. J'en frémis d'aise autant que de trouille !
    Monday, 14th April
    This sunny week of April was off to a good start! A visit to the book village of Fontenoy-la-Joûte, a stone’s throw away from Baccarat, the homeplace of fine glassware situated in the foothills of the Vosges Mountains – that’s how the advertisers put it, which made Dad laugh scornfully.
    “Come off it! They’ve got to find some way of selling the village, ye old Fontenoy-la-Joûte where nothing ever happens.”
    I didn’t know if he was right but he got on my nerves.
    This visit was the idea of the French Literature teacher who wanted to show us the whole book production process. First, the class had been divided up into small groups of two or three pupils to write a text, a little novel or short story, which was normal, this being in the fourth-year syllabus. But as well as that, before learning how to bind the pages we had written according to the rule book, we were going to discover calligraphy by writing the title of the story in this style or that’s what she told us. That meant we were going to apply ourselves to using a French Sergent-Major steel-nibbed pen and an inkpot like they did in the old days. I quivered with both pleasure and fright at the very thought of it!

  • Anglais Daddy the fly

    Jean-Claude Baudroux

    • Oxalide
    • 1 Janvier 1970

    Extrait
    Vermicella is all ears as Tanguy starts all over again.
    “The teacher and us, we intend to raise spiders in the classroom.”
    “Oh, good” Daddy replies absentmindedly.
    “And, do you know what they eat, spiders?” Tanguy asks.
    “When are we eating?” Daddy calls, without answering his son’s question.
    From the bathroom Mummy answers, “We’ll have lunch as soon as I’ve finished taking care of the baby. And, while you’re at it, make yourselves useful and lay the table!” adds Mummy, sounding the tiniest bit cross.
    “But...” says Daddy.
    “So, you don’t know?” Tanguy presses on.
    “I don’t know what? Help me lay the table.”
    Even though Tanguy is used to his father’s lack of attention, he still feels a bit hurt. He so much wants to tell him about what is going on in class. After all,raising spiders is no ordinary thing!

  • Anglais The fishmonger's son

    Philippe Bajolet

    • Oxalide
    • 1 Septembre 2009




    Extrait
    Once upon a time, on a beautiful island fringed with palm trees, there lived a family called Mullet. They had been fishmongers for generations and generations. There was Father Mullet, Mother Mullet, and little Sebastian.
    Sebastian was a handsome, sturdy boy. He was very young when he began working in the family fish store and he was his parents’ pride and joy. The fishermen who supplied the store with fish and shellfish were very fond of the little Mullet boy. His round, rosy face lit up with a broad smile whenever he saw these men returning from their long days at sea. He asked the sailors hundreds of questions about their life on board ship, about the fish and their habits, about the sea, about the gaily-colored ships.
    Mr. and Mrs. Mullet were delighted with their son. He was their only child and, following a five-generation family tradition, would certainly take over the business when the time came.
    Mrs. Mullet adored her store more than anything else. She loved the beautiful colors of the fish on display.




  • Extrait
    The name of my residence is “The Lilacs.” I’ve been living in this district for six years now. I often get letters in the post. I just love it when our postwoman hands me a letter with my address written by hand—a funny address, people often tell me:
    Capucine Duchêne
    “The Lilacs”
    4 Pinetree Avenue
    Bagshot, Surrey, GU19 5, UK
    It’s called a residence but it looks more like a council estate. There are three buildings. I live in the first one, which overlooks the street. We are the oldest inhabitants in the whole residence, together with our downstairs neighbours, the Noseys. We’ve called them the Noseys for so long that I have to look at what it says on their letterbox to remember what their real name is: Gérard and Germaine Godilloux. It all started when my father came in one day and said, “I took the lift up with the Noseys. Apparently the newcomers in the far-end building are breeding white rats in their bathtub.”

  • Anglais A gang of my own

    Sophie Rigal Goulard

    • Oxalide
    • 1 Septembre 2009




    Extrait
    Marie used to be my Best Friend. One day, she accused me of STEALING her sequin-trimmed raspberry-flavoured fountain pen.
    We had a terrible argument and she decided she would “never speak to me again... ever!” So Marie became my Worst Enemy. She organized a gang with three other girls and three boys in her class. At recess, they would pass by me snickering nastily just to make me feel bad. Then I found a new pal, Charlotte, who sits next to me in class, and I thought I’d organize a gang too.
    So there! Marie wasn’t the only one to have bright ideas!
    “A gang with only two people isn’t very much fun, is it?” Charlotte said when I talked to her about my idea.
    “There’s just two of us for now, but soon there’ll be at least a hundred!” “A hundred is much too much Mathilda,” she protested.
    “What I’m trying to tell you is that our gang is going to be so extraordinary that soon everybody is going to want to join up. We’re not going to just fool around in the school-yard or giggle, like Marie. We’re going to have unbelievable adventures.”

  • Le sang ; blood ties

    Eric Trochon

    • Oxalide
    • 1 Janvier 1970

    Extrait
    Bureau du commandant de police Fourrier. Vendredi 30 septembre, 9h15.
    — Hé, Al ! Tu veux un café tant que je suis debout ?
    — Comment tu m’as appelé, là, Jean-Jacques ?
    — Ben quoi, t’aimes pas ? Al, ça fait américain, Al Capone, tout ça, ça en jette, non ?
    — Sans vouloir t’offenser, mon JJ, on n’a pas grand chose à voir avec l’inspecteur Harry ou l’Arme Fatale, tous les deux. On est juste deux pauvres losers dans un commissariat de banlieue pas franchement glamour.
    — Justement, mon Alex, justement. Le glamour, il faut savoir le créer. Surtout là où il n’y en a pas. Si on se contente d’être Alex Fourrier et Jean-Jacques Aubert, officiers de police judiciaire, on va finir par se pendre comme à France Télécom.
    Police Commander Fourrier’s office. Friday 30 September, 9:15 a.m. “Hey, Al! Want some coffee while I’m still up?”
    “How did you just call me, Jean-Jacques?”
    “What, don’t you like it? ‘Al’, that sounds American. Al Capone and all that, you know. It’s cool stuff, don’t you think?”
    “Well, I wouldn’t want to hurt your feelings, my JJ, but we don’t have much in common with Dirty Harry or Lethal Weapon. We’re just two poor losers in a glamourless suburban police station.”
    “Precisely, my Alex, precisely. You’ve got to create glamour. Especially where there is none. If we’re satisfied with being Alex Fourrier and Jean-Jacques Aubert, judicial police officers, we’ll end up hanging ourselves the way they do at France Télécom.”

  • Par le feu ; end in fire

    Baudroux

    • Oxalide
    • 1 Janvier 1970

    Extrait
    Joseph, le commissaire divisionnaire, aimait bien Guy Dutour, le médecin légiste, homme discret et efficace que son métier avait amené à collectionner les macchabées, comme d’autres les papillons. La fréquentation des morts et des assassinés, la contemplation des crânes défoncés, l’étude des entrailles éparpillées, avaient poli les aspérités de son caractère et il portait sur le monde un regard amusé et désabusé. Éternelle cravate ficelle en cuir sur un col blanc, grosses chaussures, pantalon d’étoffe souple, il avait conservé dans l’allure quelque chose du jeune carabin qui se risque pour la première fois dans la salle de dissection. Le bon docteur n’était jamais à court d’un sourire ou d’une plaisanterie, souvent pour planquer une émotion prête à s’épanouir, comme une fleur de sel. D’ailleurs, il ne rata pas l’occasion :
    — Le suicide ne fait aucun doute…
    Joseph ne sourcilla pas et attendit la suite qui s’annonça très vite :
    — Quand on mange des hamburgers et qu’on boit du coca, c’est qu’on n’aime pas la vie, ou qu’on en est dégoûté.
    Il se pencha sur les cadavres carbonisés.
    Superintendent Joseph was quite fond of Guy Dutour, the medical examiner, a quiet, efficient man whose job had led him to collect stiffs like other people collect butterflies. Close encounters with the merely dead and the murdered, the contemplation of fractured skulls, the study of scattered innards had smoothed the sharp edges of his personality, and he observed the world with an amused and disenchanted gaze.With his eternal narrow leather tie, white shirt, heavy-soled shoes and trousers of light-weight fabric, he still looked like a young med student sidling reluctantly into the dissection room for the first time. The good doctor always had a smile or a joke ready to hand, often as a means to hide an emotion lying just beneath the surface and ready to unfold, like a crystal forming. As expected, he didn't let the opportunity pass.
    “It's a suicide. No doubt about it.”
    Joseph didn't even blink an eye and waited for the punch line, which wasn't long in coming.
    “When you eat hamburgers and drink Coke, itmeans that you don't want to go on living, that you're tired of life.”
    He bent over the charred corpses.

  • Extrait
    La cabane n’est pas très éloignée de notre quartier mais le problème, c’est qu’il y a une petite forêt à traverser. En fait, ce n’est pas vraiment une forêt, c’est plutôt un terrain vague sur lequel ont poussé des arbres. Et au bout du terrain vague, il y a la cité des Jonquilles, les Jonk, comme on dit. C’est là que vivent Raphaël et ses trois copains. On a toujours un peu mal au ventre quand on traverse le petit bois, parce qu’on a la trouille de tomber sur eux.
    Ils sont au collègemais on dirait qu’ils n’ont jamais de devoirs, ils passent leur temps assis au pied des arbres. Quand ils en ont assez de la nature, ils vont sur la place du jet d’eau, à côté de lamairie et ils passent des heures, assis par terre ou debout, adossés contre le mur.
    The den wasn't very far fromour neighbourhood, but the problem was that there was a little forest you had to go through. Actually, it wasn't really a forest, more like a waste ground where some trees had sprouted up. At the far end of the waste land, there was the Daffodils estate, the Daffs, as it was called. That was where Raphael and his three friends lived. We always had the butterflies when we went through the little wood because we were scared to death of bumping into them.
    They were at the middle school but you'd have thought they never ever had any homework – they whiled the time away sitting under the trees. When they'd had enough of nature, they headed for the square with the fountain, near the town hall, and they spent hours sitting down or standing up, leaning against the wall.

  • Anglais Mom's my teacher

    Jean-Marie Mulot

    • Oxalide
    • 1 Juin 2010




    Extrait
    I’m just not lucky. Here it is almost time to go back to school. I’m in 3rd Grade when I’d just as soon repeat summer vacation.
    In addition, I’m far from being one of the smartest kids in the class. Mom says it’s not bad luck, I just don’t work hard enough. As if good luck means working hard. Worst of all, my name’s Christian. Christian! Nobody’s been called Christian since the age of the dinosaurs.
    Anyway, how many dinosaurs do you know named Christian?
    And that’s not all. I’m in a new school so, of course, I don’t know anybody. Talk about bad luck...! To make matters even worse, my Mom’s the teacher. That’s right, my Mom’s my new 3rd Grade teacher.
    Believe me, it’s really horrible. All I want is to be just another kid in the class, have friends who like me for myself and not because it’s cool to be a pal of the teacher’s son. So I decided that nobody in the class would ever find out the truth.

  • Anglais A really weird carnival

    Philippe Barbeau

    • Oxalide
    • 1 Septembre 2009




    Extrait
    Almost all of Lea’s school chums are on time for class.
    Only two are missing - William and Désiré. Lea was half-expecting William to be absent — he often is — but Désiré’s absence is a surprise. He sits next to her in class, does excellent work and everything always turns out right for him.
    Today is Carnival and the pupils are wearing costumes. So are all the teachers.
    Mr. Lombier is dressed like Charlie Chaplin. Mrs. Dumoulin is wearing one of her husband’s suits. Lea’s teacher is a Gypsy with flounces on her dress, her hair done up in a chignon and castanets.
    Lea is scared to move too much because she’s afraid of snagging the veil of her high pointed hat. She’s dressed up as the wife of a medieval knight, the lady of the castle. “Alienor FitzHighcastle” Dad called her.
    The other pupils look super in their costumes. Vincent is Santa Claus, Fatima an astronaut, Sue a ballet dancer.

  • Anglais My friend Mark

    Jo Beaudoin

    • Oxalide
    • 1 Janvier 1970

    Extrait
    But in front of my parents, who have got all the time in the world, she talks about the start of the school year, how the pupils got into the habit of working, moving from one activity to the next, interested and calm.
    She mentions the time that Isoline made me mime, then rehearse a little sketch in the “theatre corner.”
    “Oh, yes, your Antonin was mighty shy!”
    My father throws me a knowing wink. I had never said anything about it to them. That was my business and nobody else’s! I can feel myself going all red.
    Miss Goody carries on: “Oh, yes, they all helped each other in the class... to do their drawings, to do up their laces, to un-do all their little problems... Really, they were such good children!”

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