And Then Came Paulette (11 page)

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:

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

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.

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.

“And yours has also got an unusual name, hasn't it? Is Mo-je a Polish name?”

“Yes.”

“Does it mean anything?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“
Może
. Perhaps.”

“Mo-je means perhaps?”

“Yes.”

“I see.”

Of course the logical next step would have been to ask why “Perhaps.” Then she would have to go into detail, explain everything, talk about the past, and that scared him. To preempt things she started to yawn, making some excuse about a sudden and overwhelming tiredness, wished him goodnight and rushed off to bed. He was left standing stupidly, all alone in the middle of the kitchen. With a tea towel in his hand and the unpleasant sensation of having been discarded like an old sock. Until he heard the sound of her steps padding softly
back up the corridor. She stopped and through the gap in the door said in a low voice:

“It was Danuta who decided to call her cat that. She and Olenka. My daughters. They thought it was pretty.”

It was the first time she had spoken to him of her children. Ferdinand was taken aback. He looked down and stared at the striped towel he had been using to dry his hands for the past few minutes. Yes, he muttered, it was a very pretty name.

By the time they went to bed, it was almost two in the morning. They hadn't sat up so late for ages. It did them good. They talked a lot. Ferdinand about his two sons; Marceline her twin daughters. They now knew quite a bit more about each other. She understood that he regretted not being a better father, while he knew she had lost her two daughters in an accident, nearly seven years before. It had shocked him to learn that. His heart started pounding. In the heat of the moment he almost took her by the hand. But he stopped himself just in time.

And they didn't just talk about sad things.

They also had a bit of a laugh. Particularly when Ferdinand started to think out loud about what he would tell the children the next day. About Sham-alo, the tomboy. That he hadn't been wearing his glasses that day? They knew very well he never wore them. That he'd had too much to drink? It was a feeble sort of argument, Marceline objected; he could do better. All right, but one thing was certain, he wasn't the only one to get it wrong. He knew others who'd done the same: Raymond and Mine were past masters! And Alain and Barbara weren't much better. He reeled off some names: Youki was in reality Youka, Riton should have been Rita, and the two mollies belonging to the Sauvage family, that was a good one, it turned out one of them had balls! It was hilarious when the vet told them . . .

And so on and so forth.

They talked for a long, long time. Until two in the morning.

At the bottom of the stairs they almost gave each other a hug before going off to bed. With no ulterior motive, of course. But they lost their nerve.

Next time,
Mo-je
?

Ludo and Little Lu woke up on Saturday morning feeling ravenous. They went down to the kitchen, but no one was there. No Berthe to make a fuss of them and no sign of the two cats either. They put on rubber boots and oilskins that were far too big for them, over their pajamas, and went to see if the animals were outside. But the cats had disappeared, and the donkey too. It was bitterly cold, so they hurried to collect some eggs from the henhouse, a jar of honey from the old dairy and some walnuts from the cellar and raced back before they turned into blocks of ice.

Ludo fetched a large knife to cut the bread and Little Lu, kneeling on a chair, broke the eggs into a bowl. After beating them with a fork they dipped slices in the slimy mixture, pressing them down like a sponge to soak up the liquid. Then Little Lu started hitting the nuts with a hammer and Ludo took a large frying pan out of the cupboard. The problem would be lighting the gas. At home when they cooked, Roland and Mireille dealt with all that. But now he would have to manage all on his own. He tried the lighter a few times. When he
pressed the button it made the right sort of clicking sound. With matches he would have hesitated, but now with no flame it was cool, there was no risk of getting burned. When he felt ready, he took a deep breath, very quickly turned the knob on the gas, pressed the button and whoosh! the flame lit. He breathed out again, wiping his forehead. He was a bit hot. Of course Little Lu was dead impressed by his brother's composure. He worked out in his head that there were still two years to go before he was eight and able to light the flame himself. A long time, but too bad, he was used to it. It was the same old story, you always had to wait: Birthdays, Christmas, vacations . . .

They put some honey and walnut pieces on the French toast and wished each other
Bon Appétit
. Little Lu thought it tasted nice but needed a bit more salt. Ludo agreed, so he added a pinch. They finished off their plates, then prepared two more and went to knock at the Lumière sisters' door. When Hortense saw them come in, she shouted with delight and kissed them greedily at least twenty times. There was so much saliva they had to wipe their cheeks on their sleeves. She asked for her dentures so she could try out their cooking. They were soaking in a glass of water beside her on the bedside table. In front of the two stunned children Simone retrieved them and rinsed them. She applied some pink paste and handed them to Hortense, who shoved them in and flashed a broad smile.

The two sisters ate with great gusto, going into raptures about the cooks' talent at each and every mouthful. With all that praise the Lulus were in seventh heaven.

Hortense wanted to play cards. They suggested Happy Families, but she preferred Beggar-My-Neighbor. Before they started, Simone asked them to choose the color of the wool for the sweaters she was going to knit them. Their Christmas presents, she added, with a wink. Little Lu was horrified at this and nudged his brother in the ribs.
Presents were supposed to be a surprise; otherwise it was nonsense! Ludo, also disgusted, shrugged. He thought about it, then bent down to whisper in his ear that he reckoned old people always did that kind of stuff—they didn't know how to keep a secret. Little Lu thought it was a pity. He told himself
he
would never do anything like that when he was older.

They played Beggar-My-Neighbor. As luck would have it, in the first two games each of them won once, and this put Hortense in a very bad mood. So they pretended not to notice when she started to cheat, and after that they let her win every single round. It was much more pleasant that way. And she was smiling again.