And Then Came Paulette (8 page)

Gérard called in at the end of the day. He examined Marceline and asked a few questions about her medical history. She replied that she had never had any health problems in the seven years she had lived there. Although that was possible, he suspected another reason. More and more he came across people who couldn't afford medical costs, and were not covered by social security, insurance, or any kind of benefit. And, in fact, when it came to completing the paperwork, she told him there was no point. She indicated the metal cake tin on the shelf and told him to take the money due. He replied that they would see about that later, once she was back on her feet.

Gérard joined Ferdinand and Guy in the kitchen. They gave him a glass of plum wine, which he enjoyed. And they waited for his diagnosis.

It was indeed a case of flu. With a very high temperature. No need to panic for the time being. There wasn't a great deal to be done, apart from wait and keep an eye on things. Take her temperature regularly. Make her drink lots of water. And broth, too. How about thyme tisanes? That would be fine, if they wanted. Had Mélie suggested that?
He knew it. She was right, though. It was very good. If Marceline had headaches or her temperature went up, they should give her some aspirin or acetaminophen. If there was no improvement in three days, they should call him and he would come review the situation.

As he left he turned to Guy and told him that he had heard about his wife. He said he was very sorry and asked how he had been. Guy replied that he would rather not talk about it for the time being. Gérard didn't press him. They shook hands and he left.

Ferdinand went off to buy what was needed from the pharmacy. He took the opportunity to do some shopping and before going back he stopped off at Mine and Raymond's to borrow a thermometer. He couldn't find his own.

Now Guy and Ferdinand took turns at Marceline's bedside.

Guy had chosen to do nights. It made sense with his insomnia. Ferdinand would take care of the days. They had to take her temperature every two hours and record it on a sheet of paper to make a graph, like they did in the hospital. They also made a note of everything they had given her to drink. Guy had decided that. Ferdinand didn't want to call into question the purpose of such a list. We all have our little ways, he told himself. It wouldn't do any harm.

It was the first time they had used a digital thermometer. Mine had explained how it worked. A few seconds in the earhole and like magic it rang and the temperature was displayed. Like in a science fiction film. Or
Star Trek
. They remembered Mister Spock with his pointy ears, giving injections without a syringe, or a general anesthetic simply by pressing two fingers on the neck. And woh! People collapsed, just like that, rigid on the ground . . .

And what about teletransportation?

They should get a move on, inventing that. So the two of them could give it a shot before they kicked the bucket.

“Can you imagine it, Ferdinand?”

“Can I just? Beam me up, Scotty!”

Marceline had a raging temperature. She seized Ferdinand by the arm and begged him to listen. With bright eyes, she talked about her dog, her old cat and her donkey. There was no one to look after them. If he would agree to do that it would be such a relief and she would feel so much calmer. Ferdinand's immediate reaction was, of course, to say yes. But then a doubt crept into his mind. What if this became the excuse for her to give up? So he said no. And explained his reasons. The dog? OK she was nice enough, but to be honest he preferred it before when she wasn't there. The house had been cleaner and tidier, without all those paw marks and hairs everywhere. Also, she scratched the doors, and that damaged the paint. It looked terrible; he would have to do another coat in the spring. The old cat? It reminded him of his oldest son. It didn't like anyone and was totally self-centered: going out hunting, scratching tree trunks, marking out its territory and giving little Chamalo the odd clout. Not his kind of cat at all. And the donkey? Well, he wasn't amused by him. Animals that had a mind of their own, refused to be shut in, and broke down their gates—they weren't his thing at all. Given all the damage he'd caused trampling
in the vegetable garden and all the other places he'd put his great hooves, that donkey was a real pain. I'm sorry, Marceline, but don't rely on me to look after your animals. And if you do ever decide to leave them to me, I'm warning you I won't hesitate to get rid of them. I may seem nice, but I'm not really.

He emerged from the bedroom exhausted. Guy watched him come into the kitchen and slowly got up, convinced there was bad news coming. But Ferdinand said nothing. He took a bottle of wine from the cupboard, poured himself a glass, drank it in one and collapsed on his chair. The dog went over and rubbed herself against his legs. He stroked her affectionately. Guy sat down again.

Ferdinand started asking questions.

Of course Guy didn't have all the answers, he only knew one or two things Gaby had told him. So he was able to say that . . .

Yes, Marceline had a heavy burden to bear, but he didn't feel he had the right to speak on her behalf.

Yes, she probably didn't have any family. In any case, she certainly didn't have any here.

The animals had definitely helped her to keep going. It was a good idea to threaten to get rid of them; she was bound to react to that.

No, that was enough for now. He wouldn't say any more.

She tried to run, but something stopped her, shackled her legs, she shouted for them to let her go, not hold her back, otherwise it would be too late, she wouldn't be able to join them, that couldn't happen, she couldn't stay any longer, it was impossible, she cried, she begged, she kicked, but she felt her strength going, she could barely move now, she had no strength left, nothing, not even her voice, it was surely the end. Suddenly she felt calm, her body no longer suffering, it seemed light as a feather, around her the mist lifted, a bit further away she glimpsed her daughters on the other bank gesturing to her, they seemed serene, she smiled at them, finally she was going to join them . . .

“Marceline . . . Marceline . . .”

Guy's voice, gently calling her. She didn't move. He kept trying.

“Wake up, Marceline. Time for your tisane.”

She opened her eyes. He helped her up, propped her against the pillows.

“I had a really strange dream.”

“You're telling me! It was like you were running and struggling against something, but in the end you must have got where you wanted, because you seemed happy and calm. A crazy sort of dream.”

He handed her the bowl of thyme tisane.

“Drink it before it gets cold.”

She did as she was told.

“Olenka and Danuta—are those your daughters' names?”

She nodded.

“You called out their names just now while you were asleep.”

“Yes, I remember.”

Her temperature fell and Marceline was finally able to get up. Her legs felt all wobbly; she had been in bed for four days. Ferdinand and Guy helped her to the window. She could see Cornelius. He had managed to get out of his stall all on his own and was walking around the yard. Hearing the tapping on the windowpanes, he turned his head and came over at a gentle trot.

Guy eventually decided to put himself in the room that had belonged to Lionel, Ferdinand's older son. He had left thirty years before, at the age of seventeen. There was no chance of him coming back and wanting it now. A strange customer, Lionel. From time to time he would call with news. Generally at about four in the morning. Down there in Australia it was eight at night but he would forget about the time difference. Or maybe he didn't give a damn. That was probably it; he was a bit like that. Even as a child he didn't have friends: he liked to tear the wings off flies, make his mother cry and convince his little brother he was a vampire. And then he had gone off, thousands of miles away, so he would see no one and have no ties. He must have found what he was looking for. No wife, no partner, no child. Living all on his own, in the middle of nowhere. And he'd found the work to go with it. Maintaining the dingo fence—the longest such fence in the world. More than 3,000 miles. It helps to stop the wild dogs (or dingoes) from attacking the sheep. But it's not very effective, apparently. At least
that's what Lionel said and he should know. Given all the time he's spent repairing it.

In order to fetch Guy's furniture they attached the trailer to the tractor and got out a tarpaulin in case it rained. Guy did the driving and Ferdinand sat up beside him on the mudguard. The sound of the engine, the cold feel of the metal seats, the harsh jolting, the smell of diesel, it took them back a few years. During the journey they didn't say a single word. They were too busy relishing those sensations once more.

The move was soon over. Guy only really wanted to take the lemon tree and some tools from his workshop. But Ferdinand insisted, so he decided to take the bed and bedside table, Gaby's dressing table and a chest of drawers in which to store his things. The rest he left behind.

When they arrived at the village square he turned off the engine and told Ferdinand he'd buy him a drink. In the restaurant the bell tinkled and Roland put his head around the kitchen door. He was really surprised to see them. He shouted upstairs:

“Mireille! Come quick, Uncle Guy and P'p—my father are here!”

She ran down the stairs.

The four of them sat down and had a glass of white wine together. Mireille was so happy. She immediately noticed Guy's cheerful expression. In no time at all he had put some weight back on. Clearly the farm air and life in the
ménage à trois
were doing him a power of good. It was then that Roland realized no one had thought to tell him about all these changes. Annoyed, he got up, trying to hide the pain in the left side of his ribcage; it was psychosomatic, Doctor Lubin had told him, no reason to panic. He pleaded kitchen duties and left the three of them there, talking. That was handy; there was something Guy wanted to discuss with Mireille. It was nearly the end of school, so Ferdinand offered to go and fetch the kids. She agreed—that was a first—and he rushed out.

Meanwhile Guy explained to Mireille that he wanted to leave his house to her.

It didn't hold many memories for him because the real ones, the ones that mattered, the ones of her between the ages of four to eighteen, were back there on the farm. It was already ten years since they had left. So there it was, he wasn't that attached to the house, she could do what she wanted with it. Sell it or rent it, as she pleased. But Mireille wasn't pleased. She gave him a piece of her mind. She thought he was moving too fast, he should think about things before giving it up. And above all take time to see how it worked, living together under the same roof. It had been barely ten days. It was impossible to anticipate all the problems there might be with Ferdinand and Marceline. They might end up getting on his nerves, and then what would he do if he no longer had anywhere to go? He must be reasonable. There were times when she too felt like giving up. Nine years she'd been married to Roland. But she didn't want to make a rash decision and then regret it afterward. Wanting to separate from husbands or friends, in the end it was a bit the same. In both cases you risked being left high and dry. He needed to think seriously about it before going down that road.

Guy remained silent.

After a while he handed her the keys. She hesitated and he put them down on the table. He was quite certain he wanted to give that house to her. It wasn't much, but it would be hers and no one else's. Also Gaby would have wanted that. It had been their joint plan. He didn't need to say a single word. Mireille understood and nodded. Only then did he speak about his own plans. He told her he couldn't carry on living on his own. Two weeks had been enough. He needed to have people around him, share experiences, feel useful. Otherwise he would lose his appetite and the will to live. So that was it, he'd made up his mind. He was going to stay with his friends. The farm was big: he
could be independent and have space to himself when he needed it. He had set himself up with a workshop in part of the barn and at night when he had insomnia he did his DIY there. It suited him very well. Also having several grandparents together in one house wouldn't be so bad for the children. And . . .

Mireille took the house keys, bent down to give him a kiss and whispered in his ear:

“Thank you, Uncle.”

When Little Lu and Ludo saw Ferdinand waiting behind the school railings, they hurled themselves at him, and flung their arms around his neck. Then they demanded something to eat. He didn't argue and they did a rapid detour via the bakery. With Mireille they normally went straight home; this time they wanted to take maximum advantage. They chose everything that she forbade: pains au chocolat, chewing gum and sweets. During the journey home they managed to wolf these down and ask all sorts of questions, without, needless to say, leaving room for any answers. They wanted to know if little Chamalo had grown and if he still chased mice, and when could they go to Ferdinand's house? Soon it would be Christmas vacation, did he know what presents they were getting, and that their parents were going to get divorced soon? There was a pause and Ludo felt he should add something, so he took the gum from his mouth to explain. With the satisfied smile of someone who knows something that other people
don't, he said it wasn't definite, of course, but there was a good chance of it happening since Mireille and Roland were now arguing every day. Having finished the sentence he put the enormous lump of gum back in his mouth and started chewing pensively once more and Ferdinand just said: Oh, right.

A little further on he pointed out the Lumière sisters' old shop, and the house where they lived. Of course Little Lu wanted to know why they were called that and also why they didn't stop and say hello, as they knew them and they were cousins, weren't they? Ferdinand raised his eyes skywards, a bit exasperated by all these questions. Without further explanation he went to the house and knocked. No reply. Pressing his ear to the door he heard whispering inside. To reassure the two old ladies he called out his name. Simone appeared, then turned back inside and said: It's all right, Hortense. You can put the gun away, it's Ferdinand and the kids, they've come around to say hello.

They went in and the two old ladies both went into raptures over the children: they were so good-looking and how had they grown, gosh how time flew! It was only a fortnight since they'd last seen them after Gaby's funeral, but neither of them could remember that. Then Hortense invited them to follow her to the cupboard, her eyes shining in greedy anticipation as she took out a large cookie tin, while in a low voice Ferdinand scolded Simone about the shotgun. The children were no longer hungry, but Hortense insisted they tried several different cookies. Go on, don't be shy, have as many as you like. They won't keep. The boys politely each took two. Ludo bit into his
langue de chat
, but immediately spat it out again as it was off. He nudged his brother in the ribs, to warn him. But Little Lu didn't understand and cried, ow! and then tried to hit him back. Ludo ducked and managed to whisper that the cookies were all rotted and Little Lu soon calmed down. Hortense went back to chat with the others, so the boys took
advantage. They went over to the bird cage and discreetly got rid of the old cookies by slipping them through the bars.

On their way back to the restaurant they saw Guy, sitting with his back to them, talking to their mother. They hung back. The last time they had gone to his house, they had been really scared. He was the spitting image of the undertaker in
Lucky Luke
. And he really stank. Since Gaby had died he didn't seem to want to wash. Perhaps not even his feet! Mireille had explained that was quite normal; sometimes it happened that people let themselves go when they were unhappy. After a while it would pass. But now he seemed his usual self. Neat, clean-shaven, content. They ended up throwing themselves at him and smothering him with kisses. Mireille smiled and looked at the time. Five o'clock. It was a three minute journey from school to the restaurant. They had been half an hour. Ferdinand said he was sorry it had taken them so long; they had stopped to say hello to the Lumière sisters. He also pointed out to Guy that they should be leaving soon. It wasn't a good idea to drive the tractor at night.

He went into the kitchen to say goodbye to Roland.

“We're off . . .”

“OK.”

“Are you OK?”

“Yep, I'm all right.”

“And the restaurant?”

“It's fine.”

“And the kids?”

“No problem.”

“And Mireille?”

“She's fine.”

“Oh good.”

He hesitated.

“It'd be nice if you all came over and had lunch one day.”

“Yeah, why not?”

“How about Sunday?”

“Check with Mireille.”

“OK then . . . see you soon?”

“Yeah, see you soon, P'pa.”

Roland bit his lip.

“It doesn't matter, son. I don't really mind what you call me.”