“Hello, Ferdinand. How’s it going?”
Juliette sticks her head out onto the landing and waves to the nonagenarian.
“Ah, I see you have a visitor. Hello, Juliette! Can I do something for you, Ferdinand?”
“Beatrice, I have a favor to ask you. There’s been a power outage at my place and the breaker isn’t cooperating. While we wait, there’s an emergency: I need to finish cooking the chicken in your oven, if that won’t be a bother.”
Beatrice smiles. “I love chicken. But living all alone, I end up eating it all week . . .”
Ferdinand gets the message immediately. Beatrice is smart—she’s always known how to communicate her desires tactfully.
“Will you do us the honor of joining us, Beatrice?”
“What a wonderfully kind gesture! With great pleasure. And it was so nicely proposed. Let’s not bother with going back and forth from one kitchen to the other. Let’s eat in my dining room.”
The clock is ticking, and Ferdinand doesn’t have time to refuse. He agrees. Juliette has followed the conversation and already gathered everything up. The chicken, the pasta, and the mousse, like a procession of offerings, leave Ferdinand’s apartment and cross the hall to take their places in Beatrice’s kitchen. In the dining room, the white tablecloth is already spread out with nary a wrinkle. The table is set and the pitcher filled with water. A fat loaf of farmhouse bread is on a cutting board. Ferdinand hadn’t thought of bread, even though, according to Juliette, there’s nothing better for adding zest.
Once the chicken’s in the oven, Ferdinand takes his place at the head of the table. To his left is Beatrice, and to his right, Juliette. The old man returns to the oven to supervise the fowl. From the kitchen, he hears the conversation flowing easily between the old lady and the little girl. They’re discussing literature. Mrs. Claudel seems surprised to learn that this little girl has been doing entirely inappropriate reading.
“No wonder your classmates find you strange,” he hears Beatrice say. “I know just the right book to help you impress the kids at recess!” She fetches a tome from her library.
“You’re too young to read such an enormous book, but when you feel like it, or have the courage, it’s one of the best in existence. The Fellowship of the Ring by Tolkien. It’s a classic, and I’m giving it to you.”
Ferdinand returns with the steaming platter. His eyes widen at the thick volume Juliette is looking at. Some present! Then he changes his mind upon reading the title. Even he’s heard of it. Juliette will give him the lowdown.
“Ferdinand,” begins Beatrice, “you’ll be happy to learn that Commissioner Balard has been censured for the poor treatment he inflicted on you. I was right: your health was in pitiful condition. According to the tests, it’s mostly the stress that mauled your heart. Do you have cardiac problems?”
Ferdinand smiles. His heart has indeed been mauled over these past few months. And it’s not about to stop . . . Beatrice continues on about the commissioner, whom she cannot stand. Juliette, on the other hand, loads up her plate.
“This sauce is so good, Ferdinand. Bravo!”
“Wait ’til you taste dessert. I think you’ll like that, too.” After their meal, he asks, “Can I take your plates?”
Ferdinand leaves the table with an armload and comes back with a bowl covered in aluminum foil. When he uncovers the chocolate mousse, Juliette’s eyes light up.
“I love chocolate mousse! How did you know?”
“Little Miss Know-It-All isn’t the only one who knows everything! I have my sources.”
“Gramma Maddie, I’ll bet. Is it her recipe?”
Juliette gulps down spoonful after spoonful, to Beatrice’s astonishment.
“This child has an appetite! She would eat you out of house and home. I’m kidding, my dear. But you certainly do know how to wield a fork.”
“I’ve gotta run,” Juliette says. “I’m going to give you a kiss, Ferdinand, because I won’t see you before we leave for Normandy. We’re heading out first thing tomorrow morning. Thanks again for the book, Beatrice. I’ll tell you if I like it. Merry Christmas to you both!”
“It was a pleasure to get to know you better, Juliette. If you like the book, the next one’s waiting for you. Have a wonderful holiday with your family and give Madeleine my regards. I hope we meet another time, for another lunch . . .”
Ferdinand accompanies Juliette out and helps her hoist her school bag onto her shoulders. He notices how much the little girl’s grown in just a few months and already he can’t wait to see her again after the holidays. Then the old man, a bit embarrassed, musters his courage.
“Juliette, can I ask you a favor? Can you give this little something to Madeleine from me, for Christmas? It’s really nothing, but I know she’ll like it. Have a great holiday. We’ll see each other when you get back.”
Juliette disappears, and Ferdinand goes back to Beatrice’s. Their conversation picks back up in the same lighthearted tone. They talk about coffee and television shows to watch together.
On the landing, the light’s gone out again. But no one could guess that the breaker was intentionally thrown by Beatrice.
After lunch, the two neighbors settle in on Beatrice’s sofa to drink their cups of coffee. Ferdinand is ill at ease about this unforeseen tête-à-tête. Will he still be able to be friends with her after his stupid declaration? He doubts it, but he appreciates Beatrice’s company—she never judges him.
Awkwardly, he says, “I know I’m late getting around to it, but I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me. Coming to get me at the police station, bringing me to the hospital . . . You didn’t have to do it. It really touched me, especially after my . . . declaration, which must have made you uncomfortable.”
“To say the least. At more than ninety years old, I’m out of the habit. But what I did was nothing, Ferdinand. It’s what they call friendship. And you know, you were the simplest case of my career!”
“And the only one?” Ferdinand’s smile is joined by Beatrice’s.
“You should thank Juliette instead. That little girl is marvelous! She’s the one who dug up Mrs. Suarez’s prescription, and I prefer not to know where or how. She has very fixed ideas, a bit like you. According to her, the death of our late concierge is the fault of Mrs. Berger’s cat, who was roaming the trash room, looking for a mouse. Juliette says Mrs. Suarez was frightened by the sight of its eyes shining in the darkness. That’s what brought on the heart attack. A grim tale, in any event. Then again, it’s been a beautiful year for our friendship! To think, without that threat of the retirement home, you might never have said a word to me. And you wouldn’t have met Juliette, either. That little girl loves you a lot, you know.”
“Not too much, I hope. Because if that’s the case, I’m afraid she’ll be sad when she learns about my departure.”
“Your departure? Good God! For where?”
“Singapore.”
“Oh. That’s so far! But it’s your decision and I’m sure you’ve weighed the pros and cons. That’s brave, Mr. Brun. If you leave, we’re going to miss you enormously, Juliette and me.”
“I don’t have the slightest desire to leave my apartment or certain people, but Marion asked me to. She said, ‘It’s family,’ and I think she’s right . . .”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Elementary, My Dear Watson
Stationed in front of his window in his armchair, Ferdinand contemplates the naked trees’ coating of downy flakes. The sunlight plays on the ice crystals and makes the branches sparkle. It’s Christmas Day. The previous evening, the old man stayed home and thought about Beatrice, who was celebrating with her grandchildren. Then he thought about Juliette, who doesn’t believe in Santa Claus anymore, but who will certainly be happy when she returns to find that Ferdinand gave her a subscription to the magazine The New Detective, after her exploits in the resolution of the Suarez case. He can’t wait to see her reaction.
Next, Ferdinand�
��s thoughts turn to another woman: Madeleine. He thinks of her frail, childlike voice, which seems surprised at the most ordinary things; her mischievous laugh still resonating in his head; her intense gaze, looking for approval. And especially her hand, with its delicate skin, so soft, nonchalantly resting on his, just for a moment, yet an eternity. Oh, Madeleine!
Ferdinand dwells on the moments he’s spent with her and invents snappier responses. He even imagines their future discussions. “They’re playing a new movie at the cinema. Everyone has good things to say about it. Would you like to go see it?”
Ferdinand decides to take a walk to leave a few traces of human presence in the deserted, immaculate streets. He puts on his overcoat, wraps himself up in a scarf, and tugs his beret down over his ears. Upon opening the door, he discovers a little package on the doorstep. A letter with no postmark. The old man goes back inside, closes the door, and leans against it. The handwriting is loopy and familiar. He smiles and eagerly opens the envelope, pulling out a sheet of narrowly lined paper.
My dearest Ferdinand,
I’m writing to you because I know you’re alone at Christmas and I wanted you to know I’m thinking about you. This year was very difficult for you. The tragic loss of Daisy, the bus accident, the threat of the retirement home, the disputes with the neighbors, Mrs. Suarez’s inspections, the arrest, your stays in the hospital. A hard year, but rich in emotion. With very nice meetings, as well. I’m thinking about ours, of course. It would have taken very little for you to leave me hanging around on your doorstep! Fortunately I thought of the licorice.
I’m also thinking of Beatrice, that supergranny who lives five yards away from you and who you’d never even spoken to, except maybe with a grunt. Look how your experiences have brought you together today, and all you’ll share from now on.
Finally, I’m thinking of Gramma Maddie. Maybe I’m wrong, but I get the impression she didn’t leave you cold. And I even think I saw a little gleam in your eyes that wasn’t there a few months ago. Desire. The desire not to be alone anymore, the desire to love again, the desire to really start living.
I’m going on and on but I’m forgetting the most important thing: I have to thank you for the subscription to New Detective (I’d be a terrible investigator if I wasn’t capable of figuring out my Christmas presents in advance). Our daily lunches should give us time to shed light on the darkest mysteries. I have a little something for you, too. Go out onto your landing. Look, there’s a bigger box. Open it . . .
Ferdinand is positive there wasn’t a box next to the letter, otherwise he would have started by opening it. He opens the door, and there, indeed, is a cardboard box of considerable size, the sort that holds a . . . vacuum cleaner. Or a microwave oven. Oh, that cheeky monkey! Is she trying to send me a message? Ferdinand tears off the wrapping paper and uncovers a box for . . . a scanner-printer! Huh? Ferdinand doesn’t even have a computer. Perplexed, he goes back to reading.
So, what do you think? I hope you’re happy. I was a little afraid of your reaction. Then again, I won’t be there for two weeks, so you’ll have time to get used to him and stop holding it against me. Most of all, don’t leave him in the box. I’m sure you’ll know how to find a spot for him . . .
Ferdinand stops his reading cold. He swears he heard a noise close by. A groan, not a whimper. Oh, no! Not another accident. I’m alone. They’re going to accuse me again! Then suddenly, he understands. I’m so stupid! Why didn’t I think of it sooner? Quick! Ferdinand grabs the box, finds little holes in it, separates the side panels, and out pops a tiny brown head, furry and splotched with white. Ferdinand gently lifts the animal, who turns out to be impossibly light. A tiny little puppy! The first contact is warm. Soft. The eyes are wet and sleepy. Ferdinand cradles the puppy against his chest. Under his fingers he feels the rapid beating of its heart, which gradually slows with his caresses. “Everything’s all right. Don’t be afraid, I’m here.”
Ferdinand doesn’t dare move, for fear of disturbing the puppy and this peaceful moment. Everything’s OK. He’s not alone anymore. Then, he remembers that he interrupted his reading before the end. Gently, he retrieves the letter from his pocket. The puppy has already fallen asleep.
. . . I’m sure you’ll know how to find a spot for him, close to your heart. My father found him along with his three brothers near a construction site. They were hidden in a box soaked by the rain. But the veterinarian said he was in good health, that he just needed love and comfort. Like you! Take good care of Sherlock. Yes, the little beagle is a male. Now we have to make you love men: your grandson, Alexandre, and my father, for starters. I’ll help you. Also think about buying more pickles. I finished the jar . . . There, the car is going to leave so I have to stop. Big hugs. See you soon.
Juliette
PS I don’t know what you did to her, but Gramma Maddie won’t talk about anything but you. She’s on a loop: “But why didn’t Ferdinand come with us? It’s not nice to have left him all alone! Antoine?”
Ferdinand’s heart starts to beat faster. The puppy whimpers, and Ferdinand calms him with a reassuring caress. The letter slips to the floor. He smiles. Life seems sweeter.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Yellow Bellied
Ferdinand is waiting by his telephone. Marion is supposed to call any minute. He’s agreeing to come live with her in Singapore, and he’s extremely nervous about announcing his decision. Marion must be hoping for it without daring to believe in it. They’d set the time, and his daughter is already ten minutes late. If the minutes continue to tick by, he’s afraid he’ll crack and change his mind.
It’s 4:30 p.m., and still nothing. Ferdinand checks the dial tone, hangs up. 4:31. Finally, it rings. Maybe his telephone was left off the hook, after all, and Marion has been trying to reach him for thirty minutes.
“Hello, Marion?”
“Uh, no, this is Tony.”
“Tony? I don’t know any Tony. Sorry, but I have to hang up, I’m waiting for a very important call. Good-bye.”
“Wait, yes, I know. You’re waiting for a call from Marion. She asked me to call you.”
“What’s that? Why can’t Marion call me herself? What’s going on? Did something happen to her? And who are you?”
“Marion’s in the hospital with Alexandre. The doctors just made the diagnosis. It’s renal failure.”
“What are you talking about? Is this a joke? They must have made a mistake. He’s seventeen years old . . . And where’s Marion? Why can’t she tell me herself?”
“Marion is taking some tests to see if she’s compatible with Alexandre. He needs a kidney transplant.”
“But who are you? Are you a doctor?”
“No, I’m not a doctor. You know me, I think. I’m Tony Gallica. The mailman . . .”
“The mailman? I don’t know any mailman. Not mine, not my daughter’s. Wait . . . you’re the swine who ran off with my wife!”
“I wouldn’t have put it like that, but yes . . . Louise’s companion.”
“What are you doing mixed up in this family affair? Why is Marion asking you to call me?”
“I came to Singapore for Christmas, like every other year. The results came back during my visit, and I decided to stay. They need me and nothing’s keeping me in France anyway.”
“Oh, no! This is not starting again! This is not happening like that! Tell Marion I’m coming on the next flight. And give me the hospital address so I know where to go, for Pete’s sake!” Tony gives it to him. Ferdinand starts to hang up, then adds, “Tell me, Tony. I have two questions for you. First, do you believe Louise was happy afterward? I mean, well . . .”
“I’m not going to express an opinion about your relationship, but she told me that with me she finally felt beautiful, alive. More womanly, too. She was more serene and radiant than ever on our last trip to India. It was her dream, you know. She spent hours gazing at the Taj Mahal. And then you know about her tragic end that cut our story short, her fall in the bathroom at
our hotel in Singapore, while we were visiting Marion on the way back. You wanted to ask me something else . . .”
“Yes. It’s not so much a question . . . just leave me and my family alone! Get out of our lives. I don’t want to deal with you again!”
“We’ll let Marion decide. I watched Alexandre grow up and I’ve spent much more time with him than you have. He’s like my grandson. I can’t abandon him while he’s going through the most difficult time in his life. He needs all the love he can get. Good-bye, Ferdinand. We’ll see each other in a few days in Singapore.”
Ferdinand hangs up, devastated. He doesn’t even realize what he just heard: the flesh of his flesh, sick? And that swine who’s taking his place, who already stole his wife from him—he won’t steal his daughter, or his grandson, too! They’re his family.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Travel Broadens the Mind
Yes, family is important, but what worries they cause! Ferdinand was much calmer before he cared about others. Ever since learning the terrible news about Alexandre, he’s been out of sorts. He even has trouble being good company for little Juliette, who calls him to find out how he’s doing, and to make sure he indeed found his present. He doesn’t want the conversation to drag, but his heart is heavy.
“What’s more important, Juliette? The decision you make or the reason for your decision?”
“Well . . . I don’t know. Why are you asking me that? Are you turning into a philosopher? Who cares, right?”
“I don’t have the heart to laugh, little one, I’m sorry. I’m burnt out.”
“Again? But what’s going on?”
“I don’t want to bother you with my business, but to make a long story short, my grandson is experiencing renal failure and has to be operated on right away. I’m moving to Singapore. I think I made the decision mostly because the mailman is there, playing replacement grandpa. It annoys me to compete at a time like this! I have to pack my bags, my flight leaves tomorrow. I’m not sure we’ll see each other again very soon.”
Out of Sorts Page 12