Sense and French Ability (21 page)

He could not articulate why or how he knew he must do this. Perhaps he had lived a simple country life for so long that he had a sixth sense about these things.

After he had filled several boxes, Jerome began the heavy work of carrying them upstairs to the living room. He was still trying to complete this task when Éric returned with a bucket that was quite full of eggs. There were duck eggs with waxy, thick shells; bantam eggs that were very small but which would have a large yolk sheltering inside; chicken eggs that were both brown and varied shades of cream, since Jerome kept any number of different varieties of hens.

“It’s truly awful out there,” Éric said as a crack of thunder almost overhead caused them both to stoop involuntarily. “Why are you collecting all that together up here?” He suddenly noticed all the food that had appeared from down in the cellar.

“I just thought,” Jerome answered, “that we have such a lot and perhaps we could give some to Fliss. She is very kind to us.”

He hoped the fib would be enough to keep Éric happy. Anyway he could hardly explain to himself, never mind Éric, why he needed to do this. Éric did, indeed, not pursue the matter. It was one occasion when Jerome was pleased for his butterfly mind. Éric took off his coat and went to hang it somewhere to drip dry.

As the thunder receded, Jerome wondered what he should do next. He knew he had chickens and rabbits in the barn. In the typical French provincial way he kept the rabbits in cages at the back specifically to supplement the menu cheaply. Maybe he would leave them for the time being. Perhaps he was being a panic merchant and none of this was necessary. He just had this uncanny, awful feeling of impending doom.

*

Whilst the various households were busy in their diverse ways, the rain continued to pelt down. Ubeknownst to everyone the automatic mechanism of the weir downstream had operated and opened slightly to allow more water through. However, it was not fully functioning as it should, because reeds and grass that had built up during the previous few months had not been cleared efficiently by the village handy-man. M. le Maire, Pierre le Bec, had only just asked him, yet again, to do this at the end of the previous week. He had responded in his usual way, with his perennial cigarette hanging from his bottom lip and the job was yet to be done. This was not too serious in itself but should there be any further mishap it could be a contributory factor in future problems. M. Demille was aware of this and was straight on the telephone to M. le Maire.

“It really is not good enough,” he was saying. “I’m sure the river level is up and the weir cannot be efficient as it should be if he does not do his work properly.”

M. le Maire sighed audibly down the phone. “I have set him targets and if he does not comply and achieve them he will be sacked. Please be assured of this.” He tried to pacify the old busy body.

“At the next meeting of le conseil, I want it brought up for discussion. There is a group of us who are thinking this,” M. Demille asserted.

“That’s fine. Who else would like this brought up?”

“Oh I couldn’t possibly say over the telephone but I can assure you that everyone thinks the same as I. It is only me who has the courage to speak out about it,” M. Demille assured M. le Maire.

“Right. I understand exactly,” he responded. He knew this argument so well from any number of other occasions. “In the meantime I shall go out myself, right now, in this weather and check upon the state of the weir. Are you able to join me to help, as you are clearly so anxious?”

“Well you know I would but I have my wife in a bit of a state here, she is so worried. I really do not like to leave her.”

“As you wish,” M. le Maire said with a further sigh and finished the call.

Putting on his raincoat, hat and wellington boots he trudged through the gloomy evening down the lane to the end of the village. The rain dripped down his neck. He was soon soaked and was not a happy man. As he suspected, there was a build-up of debris but he was convinced, correctly, that it was not an emergency under the present circumstances.

“I just hope this rain stops but tomorrow, come what may, we will get it sorted out,” he muttered to himself.

Chapter 21

All night and into the following morning the rain continued. It was steady and heavy. Not long after dawn as the light improved, Pierre le Bec, called on the contonnier, the handy-man, to accompany him in clearing the debris from the weir. They each lived up the hill a little on the opposite side of the valley to Fliss, on the edge of the village. They trudged down together, somewhat gloomily.

“The river water level is up a bit but not too much, as far as I can see,” observed Pierre le Bec, as he looked down between the trees to the river.

He received a grunt from his companion which caused the perennial roll up to bob up and down from his bottom lip.

“I was going to do this as soon as the weather clears up,” le contonnier said. He was always morose and now was no exception.

Pierre ignored this, knowing it was extremely unlikely that he would have gotten around to it. Together they plodded down the steep slope heading for the lane and down-stream to the weir.

“There is a lot of mud coming down this slope,” Pierre said, with a frown. “It may cause the same problem as before. I hope not. The drains are so old they are not up to this.”

As they reached the bottom their fears were realised. There was water starting to fill across the road.

“I’ll leave it an hour and call Jean Christophe Rochefort to see if he will come and sweep the mud away with his tractor and rig like he did last time. Let’s get on and see to this rubbish blocking the weir.”

Again, he was treated to a grunt of reluctant agreement.

As the two were tramping through the weather the rest of the village had not yet stirred. Even Harriet, who was so worried the previous evening, had eventually fallen asleep and, at that early hour, was blissfully unaware of the weather. It was early, and most people would not be rising for another hour. Unbeknown to the two men, the task they were about to attack, with the best of intentions, was to be a contributory factor to another event which would more directly be a cause of the drama that was unfolding. However, they plodded on to do as they thought best; well, as M. le Maire believed was best.

*

“Wake up, wake up,” mon Oncle. “It’s time for breakfast. Fliss, it’s time to get up now,” Melodie chirped. “Choupinette is very, very hungry.”

“Urgh! What time is it?”

Jean Chri flung his arms above his head and grinned sideways at Fliss.

“Early,” he said. “Very early. I’m used to it, though. This, too, is the life of a farmer.”

She smiled back at him, feeling satisfied and happy.

“Mmm,” she murmured. “It’s only just light. What’s the time?” She rolled sideways. “Fetch me a big bath towel, little one,” Fliss requested and sat up sleepily. Fetching one at a gentle trot, Melodie threw it in her general direction and danced off. As she went, Fliss called “Get the bowls out ready for the hot chocolate.”

Swinging her legs round and pulling the towel towards her, she rose from the warmth of the night and shrugged on the day.

She turned to Jean Chri at the door. “It doesn’t often rain for this long in one go, does it? It certainly doesn’t in England and the weather is pretty much the same here.”

“No, I have to agree, it does not.”

Jean Chri sloughed off the covers and rose.

“I better take a look down in the village and see what the situation is,” he stated as Fliss headed for the bathroom for a hasty wash.

“You shower if you want. I’ll get properly sorted after I’ve got Melodie her breakfast,” she said.

As Melodie and Fliss busied themselves in the kitchen, Fliss was sure she heard a very strange ripping sound and as Jean Chri entered the room she said, “What on earth was that noise?”

“I heard nothing over the shower,” he replied.

Moving to the window Fliss looked out but against the heavy rain and wind she could see little.

“It really is grim out there,” she said.

Jean Chri took a piece of bread and butter, gulped down some hot chocolate and reaching for his coat was just heading for the door when the telephone rang. The two adults looked at each other, wondering who could be ringing this early.

“That doesn’t seem like a good sign,” he whispered to Fliss as he moved towards the phone.

He hesitated to put on his coat. Grabbing the phone instead, Jean Chri pressed the button to answer the call.

“It is M. le Maire,” he said to Fliss

She watched his face and saw an exasperated look flit across his features. Then he nodded.

“I’ll go straight away,” he said and rang off.

“That was Pierre telling me the soil is being washed down from the fields again as it did before. I shall have to go and get the tractor out and do what I can to sweep it away from the drain covers. It sets like concrete.”

“It’s still raining so hard. Won’t it just keep coming down the hill?”

“Bah,
oui
!” He shrugged. “It seems any action will not be effective.”

Reaching again for his coat he headed for the door.

“Will you phone Pascal and Amelie at a more sociable hour and say we are happy to keep Melodie until a bit later when the rain should have stopped, unless they want to come and collect her of course?”

He gave Fliss a hurried kiss as he disappeared out through the door.

*

Pierre le Bec and le contonnier struggled to put on their waders in the pouring rain. Eventually, probably as wet inside as out, they tentatively entered the water. It was quite deep but they man-handled their bill hooks as with years of experience.

Gradually, they grabbed heavy wreaths of long bull rushes and dead roots that had flowed with the current over quite a long period of time. The mud on the bottom was cloying at their feet, making the task more difficult. It was a slow business. Eventually there was enough weed removed, and all of a sudden the water poured through the weir. They had to balance against the drag and pull of it. The level seemed suddenly to drop. They continued to work and it was at least an hour later when M. le Maire deemed they had done enough.

Upstream, Harriet’s eyes flew open as she started awake. She heard a roaring, ripping sound not dissimilar to that heard by Fliss quite some time earlier.

“What on earth was that?” she said loudly to Jo who was still dozing beside her.

“What was what?”

“That noise, what on earth was it?” Harriet repeated herself in her anxiety.

“I didn’t hear anything. What was it like?”

“It sounded like a roaring, splitting, hissing, splashing sound,” Harriet said as she struggled to describe the racket she had heard.

“I have no idea and we don’t have dragons round here. That’s the only thing you might be describing,” Jo laughed. “You are a bag of nerves. Calm down. Lie back and relax.”

“Sorry,” she admitted, lying down again but still feeling tense.

The more she tried to loosen up the more difficult it was to lie still. Eventually she could not stay immobile anymore and said, “Right, time I was up. I’m hungry anyway,” she fibbed.

Moving to the window she lifted the blind.

“Harriet! Do you have to open that so suddenly?” Jo squinted in the sudden light albeit dull and wet.

“Oh no! Jo come here and look quickly,” Harriet blurted out. The sight that greeted her was terrifying.

“What is it?” Jo was feeling slightly grumpy by this time.

“Really, Jo, look!” Harriet whispered with a sound of panic in her voice that caused Jo to rise quickly and stand in her summer pyjamas next to Harriet. She had to stoop a little to peer out of the window, under the eaves since, she was so tall.

“Oh my word!” she gasped, gathering her dressing gown and running for the stairs.

As she headed down the steep flight she stopped halfway, almost causing Harriet to crash into her as she was so close behind. Then Harriet put her hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh which had a note of hysteria as she peered around Jo. A paperback book was floating past the third step. As they watch, it decided it was water-logged sufficiently for it to begin to sink.

Jo turned on the stairs and shooed her friend back up. Running back, the two looked again from the window.

“Hell’s bells. Look at that,” Harriet said. “Oh my God. What do we do now?” There was a note of panic in her voice.

The murky water that was filling their living room was also covering the garden and clearly had spilled from the riverbank. Opening the window to lean and look out, Harriet could see further down that a large willow tree was lying across the river making an effective dam, and that half the bank where once it stood had been washed away. She ducked her head in again hastily since it was still pouring with rain.

“We must get dressed quickly,” Jo said. “If we telephone someone they will know what to do.”

Harriet dialled a number and tried to listen as she dragged some clothes on untidily in her haste but then there was no reply from the number she had called.

“That was Pierre, the mayor’s number,” Harriet told Jo.

“Shall I call Fliss?” Jo asked. “She may be able to get Jean Chri. He will help us.”

“Good idea.”

“Thank goodness I brought my phone up last night. If I’d left it downstairs it’d be history by now. The coffee table is well under water,” Jo said.

It seemed much longer to Jo than the few seconds it really was before Fliss answered her phone. For all her nonchalance, she was seriously rattled. Without preamble Jo described the situation and Fliss told her that Jean Chri was out in his tractor clearing the water from the road. Telling her friend that she would phone him straight away, she did just that.

*

Jerome awoke just after dawn and called through the other bedroom door. “Éric, it’s time to get up, we have work to do.”

Unaware of events yet to unfold, Jerome had nevertheless decided to take his food produce to Fliss. He could not have explained this to himself, let alone to anyone else.

Having had a speedy breakfast of bread which they’d dunked in coffee to soften it, they went out into the pouring rain and found the old wheelbarrow. Éric grumbled but Jerome was constantly encouraging.

They both loaded up the boxes of food-stuffs and slowly began to trundle along the road towards her house. There was some nearly knee-deep water across the road. They waved to Jean Chri who was trying to sweep some of the mud and water away with little success.

They had boots on and, while the sludgy mix almost went over the top of those, they just made it through. Jean Chri watched with a slightly puzzled look as the odd duo slowly progressed towards Fliss’ house.

“Where are you off to with all that?” Jean Chri called to them.

Upon hearing Jerome’s reply he responded, “She’s at my house with Melodie. Leave it at the top of the steps and I’ll take it in for her when I have finished here.”

They saluted an understanding.

Having deposited the goods, Jerome and Éric headed for their own home again. As they approached they saw a light come on in Jean Chri’s house and Jerome was encouraged that Fliss was up and about. He left Éric at the gate and approached the front door. Upon arrival he knocked with determination. Fliss finally answered with surprise written large upon her face.

“Jerome,” she exclaimed. “It’s very early. Is everything alright?”

“I’ve brought you some eggs and preserved vegetables and fruit; things that might come in handy. I’ve left them by your door,” he answered somewhat sheepishly.

“Oh, OK.” She couldn’t help surprise creeping into her voice. She saw he suddenly felt vulnerable and a little foolish. “Well, please do come in. Jean Chri has just this minute gone to see if he can help sweep the mud and water from the road.”

“We saw him,” Jerome responded.

Fliss offered him a coffee which he accepted gratefully. After heaving all the boxes up the steps. Melodie politely kissed him good morning but Fliss saw her surreptitiously rub her face.

“You are prickly,” she said honestly to Jerome.

“Sorry.” He spoke to her. “I came out quickly this morning. All this rain is worrying.”

“Do you think you should go and get dressed now?” Fliss prompt Melodie. She was rightly concerned that Jerome would say something that might upset the little girl.

“The hill sides are so steep and the valley floor is not wide. It is raining too hard. If the river bank gives way many will have a problem,” he continued.

“Surely it has rained hard like this before,” Fliss argued gently.

“Yes, yes, of course you are quite correct. I am just being a silly old man,” Jerome mocked himself.

“Is this why you have brought me all this food? In case there is a problem?”

“Well maybe.” He looked awkward again.

“Jerome, you are the kindest of people,” she reassured him.

It was not long after this, as they finished their coffee that Fliss’ phone rang. She picked it up and pressed the button to take the call. “Hello? Oh Jo, hello. You’re phoning early. Are you okay?”