And Then Came Paulette (16 page)

Ludo sat on the edge of the bed and poked the blanket. “You asleep, Papa?”

“Mm.”

“Do you want some aspirin?”

“Mm no.”

“You got a headache today?”

“Mm, don't think so.”

“That's good.”

“Where's your brother?”

“Don't you remember? He wanted to go to Maman's last night.”

“Oh yeah, that's right. What time is it?”

“Nine-thirty.”

“Oh Christ! Why didn't you wake me?”

“I was busy.”

“Doing what?”

“Just doing stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“In the kitchen.”

“Uh-oh, I hope you didn't fuck everything up!”

“I tidied it all up.”

“Tidied what up?”

“All my work.”

“What are you talking about, Ludo?”

“You'll just have to come and see.”

“OK. I hope you haven't done anything damned stupid.”

Roland put on his bathrobe and slippers and trudged down the stairs. Halfway down, he sniffed the air and turned to Ludo.

“It smells good, whatever it is.”

Ludo gave a faint smile, he was a little nervous.

In the kitchen Roland lifted the tea towel to reveal a large, round loaf of bread; golden and crusty.

“Did you make that?”

“Yes.”

“All by yourself?”

“Yep.”

“I can't believe it!”

“Do you want to try some?”

“Sure do.”

He cut two slices. They both took a bite at the same time.

“Just look at that, it's soft and it's got a good crust. The texture is light and elastic. Smells nice too. Where did you learn to do that?”

“Maman's boyfriend, he's a baker.”

“Is that right?”

Roland took it on the chin, pretending to pick up some crumbs that had fallen on the floor. And then he stood up again, his face bright
red, grimacing and clutching the left side of his chest. He cleared his throat.

“Well, I have got one small complaint to make. To be honest, it needs a bit of salt. And you know it's a pity, Ludo, because with bread that kind of mistake can be fatal.”

Ludo ran up to his room, hurled himself on the bed, and buried his head under the pillow to stifle his crying. Damn fool! Once he'd calmed down, he felt someone behind him. He came out from under the pillow and turned swiftly to face him. Roland was leaning over him, looking distraught, his hair a mess and his eyes all swollen. He wore a faint, rather sheepish smile. He whispered: “I'm sorry, Ludo, your bread's perfect. I'm a damn fool and I'm jealous. Forgive me.”

As Ludo helped his father to prepare the lunchtime dishes, he explained how he had made the bread. First, the yeast. Easy peasy. You just needed water and flour, you left it by the stove and when bubbles came you added a bit more flour and water each day to make it swell. He had started his own dough two weeks ago. He'd brought some from home to make this bread. And while Roland was doing the accounts with Mireille the day before, he had gone into the kitchen and mixed together 3 ounces of yeast with 14 ounces of flour, one and a half cups of warm water and a teaspoon and a half of salt. He'd stirred it all in and then he'd taken the bowl with the mixture quietly up to his room and left it to rise all night by the radiator. At seven o'clock he'd gone downstairs without making any noise, folded the dough and let it rise for a second time while he did his homework. And then at nine o'clock he'd put it in the oven. That's what I did, Papa. To give you a surprise.

Roland was moved. And to show his admiration he ate half the loaf with some cheese and some wine. He thought his son was marvelous.

Chamalo was walking aimlessly around the kitchen. Normally her favorite room, it was warm and where she slept; people stroked her and fed her there in the morning. But food was not her main concern right now. She was not at all hungry, and didn't care about being stroked. She was just looking for a quiet place to lie down, that was all. There were too many people. They never stopped moving around, going here, there and everywhere. Only at night did things calm down. And even then you couldn't be sure. Because of Berthe and her dreams of mad races after strange animals. She whined with terror or yapped with excitement, depending on what she came across. It was irritating. It annoyed Mo-je in particular. But he was a special case, that one. Not long ago he had almost put her eyes out, jumping on her head and digging in his claws, he was so exasperated. His nerves were on edge and his reactions over the top. He was also dead jealous, that tomcat. So, not the kitchen. She went to look elsewhere. Down the corridor and turn right. The door was ajar, so she went into the two little old ladies' room. It was peaceful and warm in there. She fell on the large
bag with all the balls of different colored wool, and thought for a second it was just the job. But then she changed her mind as she sensed something. That was it. A shadow had just passed over the left-hand bed, accompanied by a very light breath of air. It felt cold. Hortense's soul taking flight, perhaps? Chamalo turned and trotted out of the room.

Finally she decided to settle behind the wood-burning stove in Kim and Muriel's apartment. Their kitchen was much more peaceful. Mo-je would never think of looking there and there was no risk of Berthe bothering her with her pathetic dreams. She stretched out on her side, her heart racing, she got up again, turned, couldn't find a comfortable position, her stomach hardened like a stone, and her pupils dilated. It was the first time she'd felt that kind of pain. She was worried. The little creatures that up to that point had been stirring inside her, now hardly moved, as though caught in a vice, pressing against her sides. The pain stopped her from breathing. She started to purr in an attempt to dull her fear.

At three o'clock Muriel got up to go pee. She didn't flush as it was nighttime. You wouldn't hear anything from up there, of course, but she preferred not to, you never knew. And she thought of the need to save water. No sense in wasting it. Letting it run for no reason, while you brushed your teeth, washed your hands or did the dishes. It was really terrible. Shit, the amount people wasted, it was crazy! Muriel's concern for the environment was new. She agreed with Kim, they had to stop being idiots, stop letting themselves be manipulated like sheep. Question everything. Take control of our lives. Take responsibility for our waste for Christ's sake! OK. But she hadn't yet got to the point where she would use dry toilets. The thought of having to shit and piss in a bucket of litter, like the cats in the apartment, blew her mind. But Kim put a lot of effort into trying to convince her, as well as the other inhabitants of the farm. For the time being no one apart from
Marceline was very keen, but in her case the idea was not a new one. He wanted them to meet other people who had already adopted the system so they could ask them questions directly, it would be a sort of forum. What concerned them most was the smell. And having to handle the buckets, wasn't it really awkward, disgusting, and archaic? And to be honest was compost made from human waste really any good as a fertilizer? What about all the germs? Were they destroyed during the composting? He would help them join a forum, so they could discuss things with experts. It would be fun to see the wrinklies chatting on the net.

Coming out of the bathroom Muriel hesitated. She wasn't very keen to go back to bed right away. She would go and see if there was anything interesting in the fridge. It was empty. But something on the table caught her attention. That was weird—a magazine and a bar of chocolate! Where did they come from? She didn't stop to wonder for long. She sat down on the bench, broke off a small piece, and ate it as she flicked through the magazine. She heard a noise. Someone was walking around upstairs. Then down the stairs. Muriel looked up and saw some bare feet, a pair of legs, then a long white T-shirt and a girl's head. Never seen her before—some new girl?

“Hiya.”

“Hiya.”

She stuck her nose back in the magazine once more.

“The bathroom's that door down there.”

“Thanks.”

“I don't flush it at night, so if you could . . .”

“You don't have dry toilets here?”

“We haven't got that far yet.”

The girl made a face. When she came back she sat as close as possible to the stove to warm her feet.

“I'm Suzanne. And you?”

“Muriel.”

And just then, in the silence, a harsh meowing. A gut-wrenching sound. They looked at one another, then bent down to look behind the stove.

“What are you doing down there, little Chamalo?”

Muriel and Suzanne were both sitting on the floor beside Chamalo.

They had spent the rest of the night stroking her, holding her paw, talking softly in her ear: don't worry, my dear, my lovely . . . it'll be all right . . . it's tough but you'll get there, go on you have to push, now . . . yes, that's it, again . . . that's good you're almost there . . . it's so beautiful, your baby, well done, puss . . . And another!

At dawn the last one was born.

There was only an hour till she had to get up and go off to her classes, it wasn't worth going back to bed. So Muriel and Suzanne made some coffee and toast and started to chat. First about their studies: graphic design for Suzanne, nurse training for Muriel. Hey that's weird, my aunt is a midwife. You're kidding? The last placement I did was in the maternity ward. Well, in that case you'd have met her. She's dark, a bit tubby—well like you, yeah—she wears glasses and she's totally dyslexic. No, doesn't mean anything to me. I'll introduce you. She's cool, you'll see. That's good; I've got loads of questions I can ask her about my work placement report.

And then they talked of other things. Boys—that was soon dealt with. Suzanne pouted and raised her eyes to the ceiling, while Muriel pouted and looked down at the floor. It was obvious, there was no point in talking about it, they moved on to other subjects. Music, the movies, the traveling they would do one day. Their dreams. It was just like being friends, they could talk about anything, no need for kid gloves. Suzanne talked about weight problems and Muriel didn't mind. On the contrary she needed to talk about it. She admitted that for a few months now—and, as luck would have it, it happened in winter, layers of fat against the cold—she had been constantly hungry. But that was it, she had decided to go on a diet and work on her abs. Otherwise she could kiss goodbye to her swimsuit next summer! At the same time she might say that, but deep down she didn't really care that much. Firstly, she was penniless, there was no chance she would be going on a beach vacation. Secondly, swimming pools weren't her thing. She was a Taurus and everyone knew Tauruses hated water. But Suzanne didn't agree with that. Because, she had just read somewhere recently that although you might think that, in fact Tauruses . . .

When the alarm clock went off, Kim was taken by surprise. First to find himself alone in bed; then to find the two girls down below chatting like old friends; and finally to discover Chamalo had given birth to four little ones.

It was only when they got back from college that day that he and Muriel found out about Hortense.

They were shaken by the news. Particularly Muriel. She talked herself into going into the bedroom to see Hortense's body one last time. She felt that was important to Simone. If it had been just up to her, she wouldn't have done it: corpses freaked her out. But she didn't stay for long, her head started to spin and she nearly fainted. Guy and Ferdinand helped her on to the sofa so she could lie down for a minute. When she got up again she felt better but preferred to go straight to bed without anything to eat. It had turned her stomach a bit.

. . . Shortly after Hortense's death, Simone started to lose interest in her surroundings. But Guy was keeping a close eye on her. He immediately spotted those unmistakable little details. Each day she went to bed a little earlier, slept later, and neglected her hair. In the evening she rarely sat down on the bench with the others after supper. On the other hand she was capable of sitting on her own for hours during the day, without moving or doing anything, watching the sky and the clouds go by. And as soon as anyone came up to her she would get up and rush off, saying she had something urgent to do. More seriously, she no longer had any appetite. And that wasn't at all like her, since normally she loved her food. Except that for her, of course, nothing was normal now. The light had gone out: her better half, her sister-in-law Lumière, had passed away. She no longer knew what to do, what to cling on to, or quite simply whether she still had the desire to carry on. When someone asked her a question, she would stop midsentence, shrug and mutter what did it matter anyway. Guy had been through all this himself, not so long ago; he knew it only too
well. So he started to look for ways to prevent her from sinking into despair. Not easy, Simone was even more obstinate than he was. And much older too. It was going to be tricky.

Ferdinand knocked at Mireille's front door. He was returning the Lulus from the weekend. But she did not appear; instead it was Yvon's son, Alain. The children leaped into his arms. Ferdinand was surprised to see him there. He pinched him on the cheek and thumped him on the back, commenting how much he had grown since the last time. The young man was embarrassed, but invited him in. They were having a drink before supper with his father, he should come join them. That was lucky; Ferdinand had been planning to go and ask him something. They would be able to talk about it. But before he had even got started, Yvon took the initiative. He had his own plan. Ferdinand would be his witness while he talked about his son. The boy had decided to take a different path. That's how it was—
c'est la vie
. He'd gone into the bakery business. It was logical: father producing the grain, and son making the bread. Except that Yvon was struggling with the farm on his own. His hips were really bad, no two ways about it; an operation was in the cards. Ferdinand, suddenly the expert, assured him the operation was nothing. He'd had it done and in just a few weeks
was fit as a fiddle. Good as new, friend. Well, said Yvon, as long as he could still climb up on his tractor, he would rather put it off. In any case it was fine, he had decided to retire. Not right now, not right away, mind, but in a year or two's time. In the meantime he wanted to take on an apprentice. If it helped some boy get a foot in the door that would be great. And if it worked out, he planned to let him farm the land when he went; it would be good from everyone's point of view. Ferdinand was dumbfounded. He told him about Kim, a great boy, very hard-working. Yvon interrupted him. He'd already met him—it was him he had in mind. But he's interested in organic! Yes, and he's right about that, it's the future. Ferdinand grew increasingly astonished. Yvon confessed he no longer had the energy for new stuff, but that was no reason to put a spoke in the youngsters' wheels. Ferdinand wondered if old Yvon was joking. But he hadn't drunk more than usual and he seemed serious. His son nodded to confirm this, as did Mireille, sitting beside him. He had planned to go and see Yvon to ask him—a bit of a favor, but all the same—if they could take back one of the let fields so Kim could cultivate it. So he was flabbergasted to find Old Yvon had a real deal to offer the young boy. Well, well!