The Spark That Makes It TILT (The Child Who Speaks with Animals Book 4) (English Edition)

Someone from the Circle called the boy’s mother to come and pick him up. The child returned home as on other days. His natural composure was disconcerting: after daring to speak with such insolence, one might have thought he would be troubled. But faced with truth, it remains stronger than the lies we tell ourselves. His mother saw him serene, rested, not at all upset, purified by Buddhist meditation. She did not suspect for a moment what had happened.

At home, it was the reunion with Prince, who had missed his human friend so much.
The child and the animal played, trained with the ultrasonic whistle, then it was time to feed the dog and prepare dinner. After the meal, a western full of violence was on television. Thibault returned to his room with Prince and thought about this omnipresent violence:
on TV, in the street, at school, everywhere… It is glorified by good — the superheroes — as well as by evil, the law of the strongest, the most cunning, the one who best deceives authority.

He thought of the repentant boy from Paul Bert school. The young adolescent could have had a meditation session, but there are times when one must reflect on life, with an open mind, with a brain that allows reasoning, finding answers, or at least taking stock. This story truly took on a meaning that did not suit him at all. It is probable that he wanted non‑violence even more than the Circle did, but by nature, not by ignorance or teaching.

— “It is neither possible nor desirable to let anyone assault people, women, and children like this, without doing anything. No, no!

Let us take stock:”
If, like those who want revenge, we fight them, we become like them: barbarians. Not everyone can have the science of self‑defense. And even if that were the case, it is not always what would prevent them from harming. They are sent for a few days in custody, then a lawyer has them released immediately, or they receive a small sentence.

Thibault spoke to himself and gave himself his own answers. This allowed him to reflect better, to memorize, and to remain in his logic without being contradicted by another. Seeing clearly helps to find a solution.

— “The stronger, more powerful, or richer a being feels, the more he wants. He loses the sense of compassion, of respect for others, and lets himself be driven by selfish desires. To reach all that, one needs higher studies, to learn to obey before commanding, to acquire patience and determination. The easy solution is to rob people, or better yet banks, and for that one must convince through violence.”

Thibault thought of the thugs in Mauritius (Volume 1 of our series) who, perhaps because of poverty, let themselves be manipulated by networks. These paid them little compared to the wealth they accumulated thanks to the poaching of the destitute.

The pre‑teen remembered the unruly boy from his primary school, the one who had gotten him punished while he neither listened nor studied, then wanted revenge without knowing why. Poor education? Neglect, renunciation, or foolishness of teachers and parents?

— “The solution would be to better educate children and help parents to take care of them. Why do parents have responsibility for their children if they are not capable of assuming it?

In that case, there is nothing to be done.”

Thibault realized that he would never manage to solve these problems all by himself.

— “Experts in self‑defense must discourage them. The gang leader at the CL felt ridiculed, belittled by his accomplices. The one who ended up with a dislocated finger joint, and the other who took the door in the face at the police entrance — will they remember that they have only themselves to blame? Not sure! Will they want revenge on me? The bikers, at least, were ridiculed in front of their girlfriends. The Masters should have prolonged that ridicule. Yes, that is a solution, provided someone enlightens them, that they are re‑educated. Even if they go to prison, it only serves to make them even more barbaric than they already are.”

Thibault thought that, if one day he became an expert in self‑defense, he would do everything possible to humble those bandits, but also to force them to become aware of their responsibility for the consequences. That was the problem: everyone wants revenge, and things never end, he whispered.

— “Now, what will the Masters of the Circle think? Tomorrow I will not go there, for they too need to become aware of their faults. If they consider me as the one destined one day to become their superior, they will repent of their actions. We shall see.”

Thibault caressed Prince and tried to communicate with him, then fell asleep. The next morning, he explained to his mother that he would not train at the Circle.

— “Why, darling?”
— “It’s an experiment, Mama.”
— “An experiment, my angel?
But what do you mean?”

— “The Masters of wisdom, Mama, feel so much in the skin of sages that they forget what true wisdom is, if it exists. They have rules and believe they are the only good ones, and so they no longer progress since those rules exist. I want to awaken their conscience, their intelligence, as well as their freedom to reflect, like people who vote. What is it, Mama: wise or not wise? Am I wise, Mama? Are you wise, Mama?”

— “But of course, my heart, of course!
What a question!”

— “Oh really! Because was it wise to listen at doors? Is that a good example to give your son, to break a promise.
                                   TILT

Thibault had this gift of shaking the other player’s device without seeming to. He possessed this ability to find the right words, those that hurt the conscience and force reflection.
The mother, vexed, grumbled and turned all red.

— “Memory escapes us all, Mama, doesn’t it? You must not forget your faults!”

— “Forgive me! I have already asked forgiveness.”

— “Do not apologize, Mama. Keep your dignity. But on the other hand, never forget and make sure never again to be a bad example. None of us is perfectly wise. We can, however, improve and reflect. What is wisdom, after all?”

— “You want to show your Masters that they are not perfect, is that it?”

— “You understood everything, Mama, and it is already done. Now I want to see what will happen, and also if they care for the child in whom they believe, if they love him more than their age‑old rules.”

— “Ah, I see! In fact, it’s like my cooking: you want to let it simmer, and for that you must wait. Am I right? So there was a quarrel yesterday?”

— “There is never quarrel. That is not wise. It is only an awakening of conscience that sleeps through the same rules. Time has passed, Mama. Much time. The world has changed, people have changed, and even nature changes. But not them, not their wisdom. I, Thibault, their chosen one they think, I will update them, and their manual.”

Thibault, despite his age and youth, had already developed the art of command. A natural authority emanated from him. His way of saying “I want,” “I will” was new and appeared as a threshold in his personality. From a solitary and reserved child, silent, who could have expected to see emerge this seed of a commander?

Wednesday, Thursday, Friday… Thibault had resumed Prince’s training with his ultrasonic whistle. He seemed to have forgotten the Circle. Not at all. A new leader, a true one, was surfacing.

— “Thibault, you no longer go to the Circle. What are you waiting for, exactly?”
said his mother.

— “Mama, some dishes take a long time to simmer. These rules that I want to overturn — how long have they been there? Years? Centuries? Millennia? These Asian sages have been known for a long time, a very long time… And now Thibault arrives among them and wants to change everything. Put yourself in their place: they too must show humility. To ask forgiveness would be to lose all dignity. They are venerable Masters, and not only mine, but many others. From all over the world? From Asia? From Mauritius or Madagascar? We do not know. Is there a hierarchy?”

— “I don’t know, darling. And what if we went to the Hurlevent site?”

— “Very good idea, if you have the time,” replied Thibault.

The site lived up to its name that day, for the wind whistled very strongly. And who was there? Master Ji Xi Wang and Itja Naïdu, admiring the Allier valley through the telescope.

History was about to repeat itself when bikers appeared, exactly as in the past, but this time with two other girls. They parked carelessly and revved their motorcycles, releasing toxic fumes. Thibault, remembering the past, refused to let them do so. He placed himself facing the black jacket printed with a green dragon spitting fire, arms crossed.

— “Stop! You cannot park your motorcycles here. There is not enough space; it is a surface for cars.”

The jacket with the cobra print tried to pass. Thibault made a lateral pirouette and repeated:
— “No! I said no.”

He blew into his ultrasonic whistle. Prince, not far away, passed behind the car, placed himself next to his mother’s 403, then between the two motorcycles. He found himself a little ahead of the green dragon, baring his teeth like a grey wolf of Tronçais.

Thibault fixed Cobra with his gaze, without blinking. His voice became monotonous, soft, languid:

— “Look at me closely. Get off your motorcycle and let it fall to the ground. Come on! Obey. I possess you, you are at my command. Get off that motorcycle.”

Fire Dragon hesitated, busy watching the threatening dog. Thibault gave a few commands with his silent tool. Jacketed Cobra, trembling hands, dismounted. Thibault then remembered the Crédit Lyonnais: the accomplice whom Prince had attacked during the previous encounter would call out to Cobra and
wake him.

Prince, under command, turned toward him and bared his teeth, which made the thug think twice. Thibault raised his right index finger before his nose:
— “Shhh! Shttt… Shhhhhh!”

Surprised, Cobra fell silent. Thibault had anticipated this time. His “shhhht” was so gentle, so expressive, that the biker dismounted without putting down the kickstand. The machine fell on him, jostling the Dragon, who lost his balance. The surrounding world, astonished by the scene, held its breath. The Masters smiled and exchanged a wink, while Thibault’s mother, now accustomed, dozed off again in her folding chair.

Fire Dragon, jostled by Cobra’s motorcycle which had fallen on him and torn his leather pants, lost his balance. The young man blew another silent ultrasonic command, and the wolf‑dog leapt onto the green Fire Dragon. Prince’s leap was extraordinary: the motorcycle knocked him and made him fall backward, beside the gaping accomplice.

Cobra, because of the noise, regained his senses. But Thibault, once again putting his index finger to his lips which he puffed, replaced the whistle in his mouth. When Cobra awoke and lunged at him, Thibault made a parry, pulled his arm, and executed a pirouette. Caught in his momentum, Cobra found himself in good position for Thibault to make a half‑turn, raise his bent right leg, and launch his sole toward the back of the black jacket. The miscreant rushed forward, stumbled against a stone, and crashed face‑down to the ground.

The girls burst out laughing, and one of them shouted: — “WATCH OUT!”

The leader got up and leapt at him. Thibault spun like a top and avoided the monster of muscles and thick jackets. That was when the fight began. Thibault performed unimaginable parries, ridiculing him. The laughter of his girlfriends, then the cheers of the crowd, resounded and woke Thibault’s mother. Finally, Thibault kicked the right knee, then immediately the left knee.

Thibault remembered the vulnerable joints he had learned about in the Circle’s lessons.
His blows provoked a kind of electric shock that brought his opponent down to his knees.
The young adolescent threw himself upon him, both hands rubbing his cheeks, sliding backward, his fingers seizing each ear of the Green Dragon and pulling hard. The man screamed in pain. His head thrown back, his cheeks pulled, he cried:

— “All right, all right, that’s enough! We understand. Stop and we’ll get out of here, my pals and I.”

Swift as lightning, Thibault removed his left hand from his face and thrust it under his chin. With his right hand, he grabbed his hair and, pulling it, pushed against the chin. He addressed the Green Fire‑Breathing Dragon:

— “Ask for forgiveness! Repeat after me:
I am nothing, I will never again come to the Hurlevent site to disturb anyone. Mercy, I am not a man.”

The leader repeated and asked forgiveness, while his girlfriends, doubled over, burst out laughing. The man was humiliated.

— “Go away, coward, and let me never see you here again. You will lift your bikes and push them a hundred meters from here. Then you may start them and leave. If one day I learn that you have harmed your girlfriends or anyone else, I will find you. Auvergne will not be big enough to hide you from me, I swear it.
Now go, you poor fool who cannot even defeat a thirteen‑and‑a‑half‑year‑old child.
Too pathetic!”

— “Come on, let’s get out of here, guys!”

The bikers lifted their heavy motorcycles and left humiliated, pushing them with difficulty. One could hear them, a hundred and fifty meters away, trying to restart their machines, then leaving unharmed.

It was a clamour of applause. The inhabitants of the houses, alerted by the incidents, had called the police, and sirens could be heard. The bikers revved up and a chase began.
The Masters stepped forward toward Thibault and spoke at the same time:
— “We are so proud of you, the chosen one.”