And Then Came Paulette

by Barbara Constantine

  She didn’t want to miss the practical session on injections, drips, taking blood, and administering medication. She had been waiting too long for this moment.

  41

  After School

  At five to four the phone started to ring but Simone didn’t pick up. She was watching a movie on TV, wearing her headphones. So she didn’t hear a thing and Marceline had to run for it instead. It was Mireille, wanting to speak to Guy or to Ferdinand. Weren’t they back yet? Too bad, she would tell Marceline then. She and Roland had been fighting. This time it was serious, much worse than all the others. So she would like it if someone could come over and pick up the two Lulus from school at four-thirty and take them to the farm for the weekend. That way they wouldn’t have to see them fighting and end up traumatized. But there was another reason too. They had been asked at short notice to do a birthday dinner for about sixty people the following night. It was going to finish late and the little ones would be much better off with them. She would have to stay for work, of course, it was a damn pain . . . Oh, sorry! Marceline reassured her. She had planned to go into town. She was going to dash and get ready and would then drop by to pick up the children.

  She did her debriefing at the end of the shift. Hortense had eventually taken her medication, drunk her tisane, and done her inhalation without too many complaints. She had even allowed her legs to be massaged to prevent bedsores. Her temperature had gone down a bit, which was a good sign. Now she was asleep. Simone would be able to watch the end of the episode in peace—but no headphones, eh? Then perhaps she would have time to tackle the crossword or a Sudoku level 6, to revive her poor old brain cells after all that schmaltz. Simone chuckled, but kept her eyes glued on the screen.

  She’d better get a move on. Marceline wrapped up warmly and put on her oilskin coat and boots. Cornelius was down at the bottom of the garden. When he heard her calling he galloped over, trampling his way across Ferdinand’s remaining leeks. She harnessed him to the cart, muttering that she did not agree at all with this sort of behavior. It was shameful, really, to spoil all those beautiful vegetables. He nodded, but she didn’t find it funny. So he rubbed his head against her shoulder and that did produce a smile. As soon as he was ready, Berthe got up beside her and off they went, like a bat out of hell.

  Mireille was waiting for her outside the school with the children. She had filled a wheeled shopping bag with clothes, toys, books and enough food to withstand a siege. Ludo and Little Lu were very excited. They gave Cornelius the apple core left over from their tea, and the donkey, without even waiting for their questions, started to nod his head in agreement. That worried Little Lu. But Ludo didn’t seem to find it weird, so he swept aside his doubts.

  “You look like you really love apples, eh, Cornelius? You pleased to see us? Do you want to take us for a ride in the cart? But see, we’ve got a big bag, our backpacks, and there’s us too. Won’t it be a bit heavy for you?”

  The answer came like a bombshell.

  “Sugar. Ludo, see, he says we’re too heavy.”

  “No, look. Cornelius, you’re joking aren’t you? See.”

  And Little Lu sighed with relief.

  Mireille gave them a kiss and then listed her demands: they must do their homework, brush their teeth morning and night, no swearing, oh and by the way no sweets all weekend, OK? Ask Marceline for a music theory lesson—I’m sorry I forgot to talk to you about it, do you mind? That’s so kind—Mireille rushed off, she had a load of things to organize at the restaurant. Marceline set off too. But she didn’t take the road to the farm. She stopped by a large building and explained to the children that she had to speak to someone; she didn’t know who exactly, but she was going to find out, they wouldn’t have to wait long.

  It was Little Lu who first spotted the car parked further away with Guy and Ferdinand inside. It really made them laugh to see the two men jump when they knocked on the windows and shouted: Boo! But they didn’t have time to explain why they were there because very soon the doors of the nearby building opened and a horde of students emerged, shouting and running onto the road. Ludo immediately recognized Muriel and Louise, the girls who had come to work in the restaurant the day of the big dinner. They were very kind and pretty and he loved their perfume, he just had to go up and say hello.

  Marceline and Ferdinand followed behind.

  When she saw him coming Louise started to laugh.

  “Look, Muriel, it’s that boy. His mother’s the owner of the restaurant. What are you up to? Hanging around the college, trying to get yourself a girlfriend? Sneaky little devil!”

  Ludo bowed his head and muttered: “Slut.”

  Muriel intervened. “Don’t take any notice, the lights are on but nobody’s home. It’s not her fault, she’s down for a brain transplant. Top of the waiting list!”

  They both were in stitches. Ludo, upset, ran off to the car, leaving Marceline and Ferdinand stranded in the middle of the crowd of students. Privately each of them was thinking that maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea after all. No point in talking to the others for the time being: they might have to find another way. As they went back to Guy and the children, Muriel stopped close by them to answer her cell phone. And they overheard her conversation: yeah, it was really tough this year, but yeah, her work was going OK. No, she hadn’t moved yet, it was beginning to stress her out, she was afraid she wouldn’t find anything, if that happened she’d have to leave, change colleges, drop out . . . her voice cracked. But she soon recovered. One nice thing, they’d called her about a job at a restaurant, it was just the one day, but it was something, she could eat as much as she liked and then . . . she was going to find some solution, she just had to—right, her battery was running low, she had to go, speak some other time, big kiss, Granny, and don’t worry, it’ll be OK, I promise. She hung up, sat down on the curb, hung her head and started to cry. Berthe came up whining, buried her muzzle in her hair and neck and nibbled at her ear. Muriel glanced up, surprised to see the dog in front of her. And Ludo and Little Lu, holding out sweets and looking really sad. And behind them the three old people staring at her and smiling.

  So that was how they met Muriel.

  When asked if she knew how to give injections, she replied that she did, but of course neglected to say that she had never done it before. To test her out they described old Hortense, just as she was. They talked about the state of her health, the type of care required, her fear of needles, her mood swings and memory lapses. Muriel listened without flinching. They had the impression she was not frightened by any of it. That’s what they were looking for: someone fearless. She’d won them over. So they explained the plan that each of them had worked out on their own, without any joint discussion: in return for one or two hours of care each day, as needed, they were offering board and lodging and laundry. Her eyes opened wide. If it had just been up to them they would have sealed the deal on the spot. But first she had to get through her interview with Hortense, which was far from a formality. Muriel agreed to give it a try, and they got her in the car.

  42

  The First Injection

  After preparing the syringe, Muriel carefully washed her hands. Then she put on some gloves. Next she took a pad, soaked it in antiseptic, and cleaned the skin around the upper part of the patient’s buttock with a circular motion: moving outward from the center, to remove the germs from the point of entry. So far, so good. In spite of her hands shaking slightly. She focused, took a deep breath and leaned over Hortense. With a mysterious air she whispered in her ear that she could feel something strange hovering in the house. It’s like the walls are talking softly, don’t you think, Madame Lumière? Hortense stared at her and shouted that she was completely nuts; the poor girl needed treatment herself. Simone! Don’t leave me alone with this raving lunatic! She thinks she’s Joan of Arc, she keeps hearing voices! But Muriel kept her cool and went closer still. But listen, I promise you, it’s almost like the walls are singing. And with tremulous voices:


  Do you hear the singing

  Sweet and charming

  Boats with flowers

  Where the couples dancing

  Make vows of love . . .

  Hortense’s expression lit up. And quite spontaneously she finished off the verse:

  Chinese nights

  Lovers’ nights

  Sweet caress

  Enchanted nights

  Of tenderness . . .

  She remembered all the words, from start to finish. While she sang Muriel took the opportunity to give her the injection. Her very first. A baptism of fire. Hortense didn’t stop singing, even when the needle entered the skin. No crying or tears or bruises on her thigh, this time around. Perfect. And when it was all over Simone applauded. A real triumph.

  Soon afterward Ludo and Little Lu went with Muriel to take a look around the farm.

  Without hesitation she chose a room in the other wing of the house, which had remained unoccupied since the death of Ferdinand’s parents twenty years before. It was small and had seen better days, but it reminded her of her great grandparents’ house, where she used to stay on vacation when she was little. It had the same atmosphere, the same smell: a mixture of damp, dust, old papers and mouse pee. The children giggled at this, but Ferdinand and Marceline found it hard to see the funny side. They knew what that meant. A little exasperated, they sniffed the air and their eyes met. Without a doubt they would have to call upon Mo-je and Chamalo’s help, and then wash the floors with soft soap, followed by a rinse with white vinegar, and a touch of bicarbonate. And just hope that would do the trick . . . Muriel resumed her tour. She opened one of the dresser drawers and found: an assortment of key rings; corks, some of which were pierced with needles for eating little sausages; old half-used birthday candles; and some very small, yellowing, black and white photos with serrated edges. What astonished her most were the souvenir postcards stuck on the glass panes of the dresser doors. She had a sense of déjà vu. Weren’t they just like the ones at her great-grandparents’ house? Photos of places where, she was quite certain, they had never set foot in their lives. And yet they would have loved to see Biarritz, with its bathing beauties posing on the Plage de la Milady; Mont Saint-Michel in the mist; the châteaux in the Loire valley; or the Promenade des Anglais in Nice, with its carnival, palm trees and the deep blue sea.

  Round the kitchen table they discussed the next step.

  Muriel was going to try to convince her landlord to let her move out of her room earlier than planned and pay back the final week’s rent. If he agreed, she could move in as early as the following day, Saturday. If, as was more likely, he said no, well then it would be in a week’s time. Either way, in the meantime she could arrange things so she came in the morning and evening to give Hortense her injections.

  It was really exciting; Muriel found it hard to take in. But suddenly she panicked: there was a problem with Saturday. She had to work in the restaurant until after midnight, she wouldn’t be able to make the evening injection. Guy quipped that he knew her boss well enough; he would sort things out. He picked up the telephone, called Mireille and explained the situation to her. She objected a bit; hesitated on principle. But after working out that it would only take just over half an hour there and back and knowing there was no chance of any guests arriving before eight o’clock, she finally said it would be all right this time. Muriel was relieved.

  Before leaving she told them she could manage to fit all her belongings in a single suitcase, a knapsack and two cardboard boxes. It wouldn’t take long. Guy was disappointed. No need for his tractor and trailer this time. He would miss the jolting on the road, the hard metal seats, and the smell of diesel . . . Shame, he would have enjoyed that.

  43

  Naming of Cats

  After dinner, Guy put the children to bed. Little Lu asked him to read his favorite book, but after just a few pages he was out like a light. Ludo knew the story off by heart; he didn’t want to hear it again. Anyway, he didn’t need people to read him stories; he was big enough to read all by himself. He didn’t need to be cuddled at bedtime. Just as Guy was about to close the door, he asked whether he could go with him to the cemetery the following morning. Guy was taken aback. Generally he went there at about seven o’clock, when it was still dark, not an ideal time to take a child. So he replied that of course he would take him, word of honor, but some other time. Ludo wouldn’t take no for an answer, explaining that it was really important, he simply had to go there. It was like a promise he had to keep. A little anxiously and without really stopping to think, Guy agreed to take him on Sunday.

  As it looked like it wouldn’t rain that evening, Ferdinand, Marceline and Simone went outside to have their coffee and tisane on the bench. When Guy joined them they talked about the repairs needed on Muriel’s future apartment. They would have to replace the mattress, it was too old; put in a new gas cylinder for the stove and boiler; repair the bedside light and change the neon light in the kitchen; seal the edges around the shower tub and the sink, and wash the curtains. That was a lot. They would need to be very organized to get it all done. Particularly if the young girl was to move in the next day, as they hoped. They all sighed at once: Simone relieved that Hortense had taken to the girl; and the others happy to have had the same idea. Perhaps it was a sign? At any rate Muriel seemed like a very nice, competent young woman. They would have to see how things turned out, but there was no reason why it shouldn’t work. More weary than the younger three, Simone stood up. She announced that she would oversee all the electrical work. That was her department—at least it had been for the last seventy years, and don’t you forget it, kids! Mademoiselle Simone Lumière, with a name like that no one could forget, they replied in a chorus. She was pleased by this and went off to bed with a smile on her face.

  Next it was Guy’s turn to get up from the bench. Not, in his case, to go to bed, but to spend part of the night in the workshop. He had another bike to fix and that evening it occurred to him that he would give it to the girl as a present. It would be convenient for her traveling back and forth to college. The other two agreed. Of course, it would be perfect if she could be independent. He went to fetch some coals from the stove for his brazier, waved to his friends on his way back and then quickly crossed the yard. Lying with her head on Marceline’s knee, Berthe kept her eye on Guy and then, just as he was about to shut the barn door behind him, bounded over to join him.

  Marceline and Ferdinand remained on the bench, without saying a word. Relishing the pleasure of being alone together. But it didn’t last long. Suddenly they leaped to their feet, having remembered something urgent: the mice! Marceline went to look for Mo-je and Ferdinand for little Chamalo. And each holding a cat under their arms they went into the old apartment. The smell of mouse pee filled their nostrils. The two cats clearly understood what was expected of them. No need to spell things out. They each jumped down and set to work right away.

  As well as the smell, they were also struck by the cold. Twenty winters with no fire, it was hardly surprising it felt so icy in there. In spite of the late hour they decided to sweep the chimney and start up the wood-burning stove. It would take at least three days to take the chill off the walls. Might as well get going at once.

  At about midnight with these small jobs completed they went back to the kitchen to wash their hands. Over the sink it took a lot of rubbing to remove all the engrained soot. To tell the truth, they were taking their time, so they could remain together, side by side. They still felt like chatting, talking about this and that—tomorrow’s menu or the names of their cats.

  “So, come on then, why Chamalo?”

  “That wasn’t me. It was the two Lulus who decided that. They thought the cat was so soft and squidgy they named it after a marshmallow!”

  “That’s sweet. Chamalo’s a proper little tomcat—but that’s what’s funny.”

  “What’s funny?”

  “Sham-alo? She’s more tomboy than tomcat.”
/>   “I don’t get it.”

  “It’s true, Ferdinand, I promise.”

  “But . . .”

  His first reaction was to think she must be mistaken. Because surely he would have noticed if the kitten didn’t have any . . . But now the seeds of doubt had been sown. In vain he tried to remember, but he couldn’t picture the small testicles on the cat’s hindquarters. Oh dear. What was he going to tell the children? He started to think hard. How was he going to justify this error of judgment? He had never had cats before, so that might explain it. Seeing his expression, Marceline started to laugh. He relaxed. She’s more tomboy than tomcat. Yes, it was funny. And it was true: he wasn’t very good at telling the gender of cats. Nor of dogs either, for that matter. He laughed at himself, thinking of the time he had encountered Berthe in the road, on the day of the famous gas leak, and had talked to her as though she was male. He could still remember clearly how he had shouted at her: “Where are you off to then, boy? Looking to get laid, I’ll bet.” It was true, there was no getting away from it, he couldn’t see for looking. She couldn’t help but agree with him there.