Temptation
Papa went to le marché every Thursday, and I always went with him. We went on Thursdays because it was payday, so we could afford groceries for the next week. Papa would walk down the street, his huge rough hand holding my small one. I had to practically run to keep up with his long strides -- Papa was a very tall man. I always looked forward to going to the market because there was a lovely display of sweeties in the front of the shop, on the shelf just below the cash register, and if Papa was in a good enough mood he would let me pick one for after supper.

Papa wasn't in a good mood this Thursday, though. I could tell because he didn't talk much; instead he nearly dragged me down the road, the francs from that week's paycheck crumpled in his free hand. Papa was never really in a good mood anymore. He didn't sing when I played the piano and he would get irritated if I played without him asking. I heard him talking to a neighbor the other day, and he mentioned how things weren't so good at the mill where he was currently employed. This was the start of Papa's work troubles and the start of his descent into severe depression, though I couldn't know that at the time. I was only eight.

Anyway, we went to the market. "Papa," I asked, holding my school hat on my head with my other hand so it didn't fall off onto the muddy road. "Papa, may I get a sweetie at the market?"

"Eh?" He looked down at me as though he didn't even realize I had been clutching onto his hand for the past four blocks. "No."

I felt sad because I thought I was annoying him, so I trotted along in silence next to him until we finally reached the shop. Papa picked up some salted ham, carrots, onions, cheese, and a loaf of day-old bread, but it was less than we normally got. I didn't say anything though -- my eyes were too glued to the glorious display of bon-bons at the front of the store. They were always wrapped so prettily, with brightly colored foil and designs. And they were sweet -- oh, were they sweet! I loved holding them in my mouth, letting the chocolate melt onto my teeth and tongue and throat, making it difficult to speak for all of the thick sugary brown stuff coating everything.

"Papa," I asked again, the desire for the chocolate too much to remind me to keep my mouth shut. "Papa may I please have a sweetie?" He had been busy looking over the items in our basket, counting and adding prices under his breath in a constant muttering. His dark eyes flicked to my face, flashing in anger and annoyance.

"I said no! Be quiet, Victoire!" I complied, again falling silent. Once Papa decided we had enough money for the few items in the basket, he brought them to the cashier. And there they were -- the candies, so close I could make out every design on every wrapper. I really, really wanted a candy, more than I ever had before. I don't know why. Maybe it was because Papa was so adamant in his negative answer. I looked up at him. He was busy with the shopkeeper, counting and laying out the money on the counter. I don't know what possessed me to do what I did next. Quicker than blinking, I stuck out my hand and took a sweet and quickly pulled my arm back inside the cape-like jacket that was part of my school uniform. I looked up nervously at Papa and the shopkeeper again. They had not seemed to notice.

Later that evening, after supper, I went into my bedroom and closed the door. The sweet had been kept safe and hidden in my jacket. I took it out of the pocket and held it in the palm of my hand, anticipation building because I knew the deliciousness that awaited me. I carefully unwrapped it and put it on my tongue. It was wonderful. But as soon as it had melted, I started worrying. What if the shopkeeper knew I took it? What if he found out, and what if he came to our apartment? I knew what happened to thieves. They were arrested and put into jail with the other criminals, and they were only fed stale bread and water. They couldn't go outside and play, and they couldn't play the piano or kiss their papas good night. I was a thief! I had stolen that bon-bon, stolen it after Papa told me that I couldn't have one! I wished I could have taken it out of my stomach and put it back into the pretty paper, brought it back to the store and no one would have known.

I stayed up the entire night with a stomachache, waiting to hear the wail of police sirens.