And Then Came Paulette

by Barbara Constantine

  “So, Muriel, are you happy with your new house?”

  “Totally.”

  “Ferdinand, do you like plum wine?”

  “Sure.”

  “Uncle Guy, do you sleep much at night?”

  “Not much.”

  “Marceline, do you think Ferdinand is kind?”

  “Very.”

  “Simone, are you a bit very old?”

  “Er, very.”

  “Hortense, do you like eating what we cook?”

  “Yes, of course I do.”

  “Yes! You said yes!” The children were in stitches, Hortense in a rage.

  “It’s so stupid this game. Can’t you ask some more intelligent questions? You seem to enjoy making me lose. Unbelievable!”

  53

  The Walking Stick (Part Two)

  Ferdinand was planning to walk over to the restaurant to say hello to Roland. It was a while since he’d had any news. Roland wasn’t answering his phone and never returned calls, even if you left messages on the machine. When he asked Mireille if he was all right, she was evasive: I think so, I don’t know, give him a call, he can tell you himself. That worried him.

  He pushed open the door and the bell rang. Nothing. Not a sound from the kitchen. At the foot of the stairs leading to the apartment, he called out, but there was no reply. He told himself he would go and have a drink in the café across the square and wait for his son to return. He couldn’t have gone far, he wouldn’t have left the door open otherwise. And indeed, there was Roland, sitting on the terrace of the other café smoking a cigarette. Ferdinand stared. The idiot had been on at him for years about smoking his pipe once a day and now here he was, cigarette in hand and a full ashtray on the table! A glass of white wine beside it. Plunk, no doubt: it was the only white he had, the guy from the other café. That was something else! He crossed the square to join him. Roland didn’t see him coming, he was too busy eyeing up a young woman in high heels who was tottering over toward his table. As she passed, she stumbled and fell. He went to help her up but she sent him packing and stormed off swearing like a trooper. Get your hands off me, you big bastard, or I’ll smash your face in!

  Ferdinand sat down beside him.

  “Nice stick. But you know if you carry on like that, you’re going to cause an accident.”

  “Ha ha. But what brings you here, P’pa? I didn’t see you arrive.”

  “I came to say hello.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “You haven’t answered your phone for days, I was starting to get worried.”

  “Nice of you to be concerned.”

  “It’s only natural, son.”

  He cleared his throat.

  “Everything OK, otherwise?”

  “Yes, why do you ask?”

  “No reason. So, you’ve decided to try out the opposition?”

  “That’s right.”

  “That white’s horrible, isn’t it?”

  “No, it’s disgusting.”

  “Yeah, just as I thought.”

  Nevertheless they ordered another couple of glasses each, just to keep on good terms with the neighbors. Then after a quick “See you, Paulo,” in the direction of the owner, they returned to the restaurant. And there Roland went to fetch a bottle of Chablis, invited Ferdinand to sit down at a table, and filled two glasses. They both gave a big sigh: finally, a good one, this was much more like it, for Christ’s sake!

  Ferdinand informed Roland that he planned to make a codicil to his will. In the event of anything happening to him he wanted Guy, Marceline, Simone and Hortense to be able to carry on living happily at the farm. In short he wanted them to have a life interest. Seems right, don’t you think? Roland agreed, he thought so too. In any case he reckoned he’d already had his share of the inheritance with the restaurant when Henriette died. As for the farm, he preferred not to say so in front of his father so as not to hurt his feelings, but he didn’t give a shit. On the other hand it might cause problems with Lionel? No, Ferdinand had already talked on the phone with him and the boy from down under had no objection. He had suspected as much, but Lionel had been very honest and said that he didn’t give a shit about the farm. Oh right, Lionel had said that, had he? “Foc ze farm” was the expression he used. So it was perfect, all settled. Now they could talk about other things.

  Not easy at first. It started with a few sighs and suppose sos. But finally it came out.

  Not easy being all on your own, hey? Sure wasn’t. He knew a little about that, did Ferdinand. You wake up with nobody there. You go to bed at night and there’s no one. You ask yourself some days whether there’s any point in carrying on slaving away like a fool. And yeah . . . he sighed. Silence. Another swig of wine. Another sigh. Ferdinand thought it was time to give him some advice. The usual stuff: children, work and all that. Roland counted the flies on the ceiling. As they finished the bottle Ferdinand’s tone changed; he became animated, excited, and suggested winning Mireille back. But Roland snickered bitterly and shook his head, looking totally disillusioned. So, Ferdinand went on, if it was all over this time around, too bad, he had to move on, do something. He didn’t need to be on his own. He could go out in the evening, go dancing or clubbing; shit, it didn’t have to all stop there. There were plenty more fish in the sea. Roland got up. Speak for yourself, P’pa, he shot back, before going down to the cellar to fetch another bottle.

  “What a damn idiot!” muttered Ferdinand, who couldn’t see what his son was talking about.

  After the second bottle, Roland felt hungry. He asked Ferdinand to have dinner with him. The restaurant was closed that day: they were free to do as they wanted. So for a starter . . . he opened the fridge door and glanced inside. How about a cassolette of snails with nettle butter, do you like that? Followed by a small haunch of wild boar, marinated in champagne, roasted in the oven and served with a panful of mushrooms? At this Ferdinand made a face. “Where do you get your mushrooms from?” he asked suspiciously.

  “From a friend,” Roland replied.

  “Someone from around here?”

  “Yep.”

  “The bastard. It must be him who stole my spot.”

  They had a really nice time. A bit too much to drink, of course, but lots of laughter and a few tears too—alcohol encourages excess. On reflection they realized it was the first time the two of them had spent a whole evening alone together, without anyone else around. They were taken aback. Crap. It was certainly the first one-on-one meeting between a father of seventy and his 45-year-old son. They remained silent for a while, faced with this uncomfortable picture. In an attempt to be positive Roland resorted to cliché: better late than never. Ferdinand shrugged and made a face. He thought it didn’t matter which way you looked at it: so much time had been lost and that was sad. Only now did Ferdinand understand that his son wasn’t just a little idiot; and Roland see that his father wasn’t simply an old fart.

  54

  Marceline’s Tale

  I was floating on air. It’s always like that at the end of a recital, it’s like my feet don’t touch the ground. A really nice feeling and I want it to last, not to come back down to earth too quickly, especially when . . . I went back to my dressing room and sat in front of the mirror. My cell phone beeped, I’d received a message during the concert. I didn’t recognize the number and decided to listen later. First I had to take off my make-up and change. I think it was then that everything started to go into slow motion. Or rather no, I know that’s not true, but it’s the feeling that stays with me. My memory has definitely distorted everything, stretching time out. So I picked up the phone and listened to the message. The voice asked me to call a number. Suddenly I went very cold. I was irritated. I thought someone must have left the door to the tradesmen’s entrance open again. The one on the street behind the theater. But it turned out it wasn’t that. I dialed the number incorrectly a few times before I finally got through. A curt voice asked me my name, asked me to hold, then a woman’s voice came on the
line, much gentler and calmer: Something has happened, Madame. I didn’t want to hear any more, I wanted to put a stop to all the nonsense, but I didn’t hang up, I got up from my chair, the voice mentioned the names of my two daughters, my blood froze, she said they had been in an accident. I broke down, fell to my knees, the voice played for time, I groaned, I shouted, the voice resumed, a major collision, no time for them to realize what was happening. I didn’t want to listen. It wasn’t possible. There had to be some mistake. She said she was very sorry. Please, no, not that, please! Let me rewind, wipe it all out, not dial that number. If only I’d hung up earlier, then perhaps . . . I wanted the voice never to have existed, never said those words. I wanted her dead. I’m sorry . . . it’s stupid . . . I’m still just as devastated today. Would you mind if we go for a short walk?

  Ferdinand took Marceline’s arm. It was dark and cold. They walked for a long while without talking. And then they went home. Ferdinand put on some water to heat, made a tisane. They sat side-by-side next to the stove and immediately the cats came and curled up on their knees. Chamalo’s stomach bulged a little. Ferdinand naively observed that the sweet thing must have been stuffing her face with the field mice again. At this Marceline couldn’t help smiling. She wanted to say to him: really, Ferdinand, you are such a charming, funny man. She almost came out with it. But the words stayed on the tip of her tongue.

  Ferdinand now knew a little more about Marceline’s two daughters.

  They were beautiful, they could have moved mountains. They wanted to do everything, and learn everything. Even to repair the rickety roof of the house they had just bought. For them, nothing was impossible. They had both just split up from their respective boyfriends—as twins they often did things at the same time—they were both going to make a fresh start, together. And then their paths crossed with a sad, young man. And without meaning to, he took them away with him. They were twenty-five and he was nineteen. Marceline imagined the telling off they must have given him over there, the poor boy. What a damn mess! What have you gone and fucking done now? If you had to get paralytic couldn’t you have stayed at home, you jerk? Your girl ditches you and you get blind drunk. She was a waste of space, that girl; she wasn’t worth a thing. You could have found someone better. Someone to go around the world with—can you imagine? But now, not a hope! Nothing. Sweet F.A. And your parents, can you see what you’ve done to them? You know, don’t you, that from now on, for the rest of their lives, they’re going to think it’s their fault you drank like a fish? They’re going to think they didn’t love you enough, that they didn’t know how. It’s disgusting. You know very well they did what they could. And look at our mother. She’ll never get over losing us. You’re so full of crap. All right, all right, it’s true, it’s not your fault. Life’s a bitch and we all die in the end, that’s how it is. But we’re within our rights to think that’s a real pain. Come on, stop crying. Yes, it’s tough and it’s bound to take years but in the end the parents will manage without us, you know. Right we’re off. If you’re too scared on your own, you can always come with us . . .

  Berthe had been the only one to emerge unscathed. The police kept her with them until Marceline arrived two days later. She stepped down from the train with just a small suitcase and her cello. It was the first time she had come there. Her daughters had planned to do the work on the house and invite her around after her tour was over, to give her a surprise. She had trouble finding it. The donkey and the cat had been alone for several days. Cornelius had managed to open the gate on his pen and was grazing on anything he could find in the vegetable garden or outside the house. But Mo-je, Danuta’s cat, had always lived in an apartment. He didn’t know how to hunt and was in quite a bad way. So even if at that moment she just wanted to disappear, melt into the ground, dissolve into the atmosphere, there was no way she could do that. Berthe, Mo-je and Cornelius were there and needed her. They were her inheritance; she couldn’t just leave them. So she stayed on. For them. And never went back to Poland. She left the past behind. Some days she would work out how many days she had left. Just to get an idea. She found out the average life span of cats and dogs. Donkeys too. And she learned that a dog could live till it was eighteen, a cat till it was twenty-five, and a donkey forty. One hell of a long time. She was also interested to know that a chicken could live for sixteen years, a goose twenty-five and a carp seventy . . .

  55

  End of School

  Guy and Ferdinand were sitting on a bench not far from the college gates. From there they could see the time on the clock and easily watch the comings and goings. They were a little nervous. At four-thirty the bell rang, the gates opened and the students came running out on to the street. They rose from the bench. A group of youngsters gathered not far away, all yelling, talking over one another, messing around and hitting each other with their backpacks. The two men went over, Ferdinand cleared his throat and apologized for disturbing them but there was something he wanted to ask. They all stopped and gave him a look. Ill at ease, Ferdinand asked if by any chance any of them might be looking for somewhere to live. The boys looked suspicious. Who were these two old geezers and what did they want? It was weird hanging around the school gates at their age; there was something fishy about them. But one of the boys recognized them, he knew they were retired farmers, he’d seen them at his uncle’s café. Reassured by this they conferred with one another. That was true, Kim would soon have nowhere to live. They shouted his name and he finally shuffled over. Whassup? It was true, the people he rented his room from wanted it back and he was going to have to quit pretty soon. What was the idea? The two guys over there might have something. Cool, how much was the rent? Ferdinand and Guy suggested he came over and sat down on the bench to discuss things quietly.

  So there it was, they did have a room, but what they were looking for was someone willing to put in a few hours each week in the vegetable garden. Nice one, the young man laughed. As luck would have it, he was studying agriculture. But before they went any further, he wanted to get something straight: old-style gardening wasn’t his thing, he was into organic. Otherwise, they could forget it. Ferdinand and Guy looked at each other. That was all right by them. Sure, the young man went on, but there was another problem, how much did they want for the room? Because he was on the penniless side. Now it was their turn to laugh. Guy said that they were offering board, lodging and laundry in return for a few hours gardening every week. Kim’s eyes opened wide.

  If it had just been up to them they would have sealed the deal on the spot. But he would need to see the lady in charge first. (And the other tenant too.) It wouldn’t be easy. She was a cantankerous old bag, a real stickler for principles, and narrow-minded too. The whole package. They enjoyed painting a gloomy picture for him. But the boy listened without flinching. It didn’t seem to scare him off. They were looking for someone fearless. He’d won them over. They were sure it would be fine with Marceline but not so convinced about Muriel. Kim was keen. He wanted to see the lady in charge as soon as possible. Without a second thought, they decided to take him on.

  Of course they hadn’t given Marceline any warning. So she took Kim for a young student interested in gardening, who was visiting the farm for research purposes. Naturally enough she gave him a tour of the estate. There wasn’t much growing in the garden in winter; it was fallow time for almost everything. Even so there were some leeks and cabbages, lamb’s lettuce, spinach, sorrel and black radishes. She explained how she worked. He gave the impression he knew what he was talking about: compost, crop rotation, and planting flowers between the rows to deal with pests. And she countered with nettle soup, horsetail brew, and wood cinders. Rich in potassium and very effective against slugs. Did he know that a slug can live for up to six years? Really! And an earthworm? Some of them reach ten years. Wow that’s crazy!

  Lost in conversation, on their way back from the garden they walked straight past the bench where Ferdinand and Guy were sitting, and into the old dairy. Mar
celine showed Kim her bee-keeping equipment, opened a jar of honey and made him try some. He liked it and took some more. She found him adorable, this boy who was so enthusiastic and curious about everything, he asked the right questions, it was so interesting. Cornelius, another inquisitive creature, put his head through the door to see the newcomer close up. He sniffed him, rubbed against his shoulder, and trod on his feet. He wasn’t the only one to take an interest in Kim. Since his arrival Berthe had also stuck to him like a leech.

  They passed the bench once more, again without stopping, and went into the kitchen. Marceline immediately came out again to tell the two accomplices she had invited the boy to stay for supper. Ferdinand and Guy congratulated one another. The plan was working.

  When Muriel arrived they went to see her and explained their scheme. Of course she started to sulk. It was a cushy number being here on her own. Now she would have to share her space, change her habits, tidy up, wash the dishes piled in the sink, and avoid drying her underwear and bras in front of the stove. Their plan really pissed her off. But they reassured her that nothing had been decided yet. Marceline was still not in the picture and she might very well put her foot down. Muriel sighed. She really hoped so. With a face like thunder she pushed open the kitchen door and recognized Kim, the boy who sometimes worked in the restaurant. She liked him; he was a funny guy. He was amazed to see her and asked what she was doing there. She invited him to see her apartment.

  Before sitting down to eat Guy looked at Ferdinand and rolled his eyes. He wanted him to understand that now was the moment to talk to Marceline. Ferdinand couldn’t put it off any longer. He went up and asked her if she’d like to go outside with him, he had something important to tell her. Intrigued, she agreed. He started by mentioning the garden, the fact that she had to do it all on her own, the amount of extra work she would have when spring came, especially now there were six of them in the house. None of this sounded very natural, so she interrupted him and asked him to spit it out, particularly since the sweet potato gratin would burn if they didn’t hurry back. He wavered a bit, then told her about Guy and his idea. She made a face, annoyed at not having seen it coming. But, she couldn’t deny it; she had been sleeping badly for some time, worrying about everything that needed to be done. And it was true things would be a lot better if she had some support. They walked along silently side by side. Just before going in she wanted to say thank you. She turned and smiled and kissed him . . . on the cheek. In fact she wanted to kiss him on the mouth, but at the last minute changed her mind. Next time, perhaps. Może, she would dare. No, the next time she would definitely go for it. All this dithering was getting ridiculous; just like teenagers.