Authors: Pascal Garnier
The merry-go-round slowed to a stop. It was over quickly. Gabriel stood up as he had got up from the bench at the station a few days earlier, with sticky hands.
‘Five shots, five balloons, the prize is yours.’
The butt of the rifle was as cool and soft as Joan of Arc’s skin. It was easy; all you had to do was empty your mind. Kept aloft by an electric fan, the five dancing coloured balloons exploded one by one. Load, aim, fire … load, aim, fire. It was all over in less than three minutes.
‘Well done. You’re a fine shot, sir!’
The stall holder resembled a badly restored china doll with her cracked make-up, bottle-blonde hair with dark roots, and thick red lipstick that had smeared onto her false teeth. Her glazed eyes, which had seen too much, were as lifeless as those of the hideous toy panda which she placed on the counter.
‘Your prize!’
At the sight of the black and white animal with its outstretched arms and beaming smile, Gabriel took a step back.
‘No, no thank you. It’s fine.’
‘Go on! You’ve won it, you have to take it.’
‘No, I …’
‘When you win something, it’s yours. Give it to your children.’
‘I don’t have any.’
‘Well, you’d better get busy! Take it, go on. What am I supposed to do with it? I’m no thief. C’mon now, stop making a fuss.’
‘Well, okay then. Thank you.’
It wasn’t that it was heavy – it was just difficult to carry. He didn’t know how to hold it. By the ear? By the paw?
Or by wrapping his arms round the whole thing? As he walked past, people turned to stare, some smiling and others laughing outright. The cuddly toy didn’t care. It continued to gaze wide-eyed at its surroundings with the same fixed happy smile, regardless of which way up it was carried. And so Gabriel arrived at the Faro encumbered by his unwanted progeny. The metal shutter was pulled down, but he could see a light on inside. He knocked several times, the panda perched on his shoulders. Finally José appeared, unsteady on his feet and looking anxious.
‘Oh, it’s you. I forgot, I’m sorry. In you come.’
The shutter rolled up slowly with the grating sound of rusty metal. It ground to a halt halfway up, exhausted, and Gabriel had to squeeze underneath. José looked as
worn-out
as Gabriel.
‘Is everything okay, José?’
‘Not really. What’s that?’
‘A panda. I won it at a shooting gallery. I thought the kids might like it.’
‘That’s kind of you. Come on in.’
On the table in the back room the bottle of port stood next to an empty glass. Gabriel tossed the grinning panda onto a chair as José slumped on another. Though one was in a state of bliss and the other in despair, Gabriel couldn’t help but notice a resemblance between the two of them. He sat down and waited silently while José covered his face with his hands, rubbing his eyes and stubbly cheeks.
‘Do you want a drink? Shit, it’s empty. I’ll get another.’
José didn’t move though. It was as if he was stuck to his chair, which was in turn welded to the floor. The room was
silent except for José’s laboured nasal breathing, drawn up from the depths of his chest. Beside him, the panda, like a happy guest, sat waiting for dinner. The only thing it lacked was a napkin round its neck and a knife and fork in either paw. It was exactly the same size as José.
‘How’s Marie?’
‘Well, you know … It’s not a cyst. They don’t know what it is. She was sleeping. I mean … she’s in a coma. She looks so different, all yellow, her nose all pinched, and purple around her eyes. She’s got no mouth, just a small slit with a tube coming out. And all the machines in her room make noises like televisions that haven’t been tuned properly. They either don’t know what’s wrong with her or they just won’t tell me. I didn’t recognise her at first. I thought I’d got the wrong room.’
His eyes filled with tears and his nose began to run. He was drowning from the inside. Gabriel lowered his head and traced the outline of a daisy on the tablecloth with his finger. She loves me, she loves me not …
‘Have you eaten?’ Gabriel asked.
‘No, I’m sorry, I completely forgot about you.’
‘Don’t worry. You need to eat something though.’
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘I could rustle something up. I know where everything is. Let me help.’
‘If you want. Thank you for coming. I don’t really know what I’m doing at the moment. There are some bottles under the sink. Let’s have a drink.’
‘I’ll go and get you one.’
Pasta, tomatoes, tuna, onions and olives. Gabriel
worked like a surgeon, his actions neat and precise. It was like being back at the shooting gallery. No need to think, just act. In the space of fifteen minutes the pasta bake was in the oven, he had laid the table and filled the glasses with wine. José had already emptied his twice and was staring mournfully at the panda.
‘What kind of animal is it? A bear?’
‘A panda.’
‘It’s big.’
‘Yes.’
‘The children love anything that’s big. It reassures them. I didn’t have the heart to go and see them after the hospital. I phoned them and said that everything was okay and that the four of us would be together again soon.’
‘You did the right thing.’
‘They didn’t believe me. “Papa, your voice is all funny,” they said. You can’t hide anything from kids. They’re cleverer than us. When I was a kid, I knew everything, well, most things. But now I don’t understand a thing. What’s the point of growing up? It’s stupid.’
‘I’ll get the pasta.’
With his elbows on the table, José hoovered up his meal. The tomato sauce ran from the corners of his mouth, to his chin and down his neck. Like an ogre. Once finished, he pushed the empty plate away and burped, then wiped his mouth on his cuff.
‘Jesus, that was good! You’re hired. I’m not kidding. You’re hired, seeing as Marie …’
José thumped the table. The bottle and glasses went flying. The panda slumped on its shoulder. José grabbed
the stuffed animal and threw his head back. All you could see was his uvula going up and down like a yo-yo.
‘For God’s sake,
why
!?’
He pounded the tablecloth with his fists. The panda rolled onto the floor. José collapsed forward, his forehead on the table, his arms dangling by his sides. His back began to shudder. Gabriel picked up the bottle and glasses.
‘We had everything we needed to be happy.
Everything
.’
‘I know.’
José looked up and wiped his nose on his sleeve. He was frowning, his mouth twisted in an ugly grimace.
‘What do you know?’
‘Pain.’
José screwed one eye shut and focused the other on Gabriel. He was dribbling. He was ugly. He was hurting.
‘Who are you? I don’t give a shit about your pain. Why aren’t you telling me she’s going to be okay, that everything is going to be fine, like it was before? Why are you looking at me with those doe eyes and not saying anything?’
‘Because I don’t know.’
‘
You don’t know?
’
Furious, José leapt up, his eyes bloodshot, and knocked the table over. The veins in his neck bulged, his muscles tensed. He stood there, shoulders hunched and fists clenched, ready to pounce. Gabriel didn’t flinch.
‘You don’t know anything. You don’t know anything at all! All you know is how to cook. Get lost. Fuck off. You and your fucking bear. Beat it. I never want to see you here again. Never, ever!’
The pavement gleamed as if covered with shiny sealskin. The night skies of cities are always yellow, rain or no rain. Gabriel picked up the panda and laid it on the lid of a dustbin. It sat there, confident, radiant, offering its open arms to whoever wanted to take it home.
‘When they die, cats purr. Yes, it’s true, I’m telling you! When I had to have mine put down she was purring … Hang on a second … Monsieur Gabriel, can I talk to you a moment?’
‘Of course.’
Madeleine said her goodbyes to the Sonia on the other end of the phone and hung up. She was wearing a low-cut pink T-shirt, which emphasised her chest, especially when she leant forward. Her little nameplate necklace bounced from one breast to the other.
‘Are you thinking of staying for much longer?’
‘I don’t know, perhaps a bit longer, yes.’
‘It’s just that your room is reserved for someone else from the fourth to the seventh. Would you mind changing rooms?’
‘No, not at all. What day is it today?’
‘Actually, it’s the fourth.’
‘Ah, well, in that case I’ll go and get my things.’
‘Thank you. The rooms are practically the same, you know.’
‘It’s no problem at all.’
‘I’m putting you in number 22. It’s on the next floor up.’
‘Great. I’ll go and get my bag.’
‘One more thing. I wanted to ask you what you were doing today.’
‘Nothing really. Why?’
‘I’m off this afternoon and I wondered, well, whether you fancied going for a walk? It’s not raining.’
Her cheeks flushed red. She should blush more often. It suited her.
‘Is that too forward?’
‘No, not at all. It’s a great idea. Of course, I’d be glad to.’
‘I finish at noon.’
‘Perfect. I’ll see you later then.’
It was the first time he had seen her outside work, in her entirety, standing up and not behind the desk. She was tall, as tall as he was, maybe even taller. It was a little intimidating. Even so, it was she who lowered her eyes and clutched her bag with the awkward charm of a young girl caught stepping out of the bath.
‘Okay, shall we go?’
‘After you.’
She opened the door as if about to plunge into the unknown and strode off down the road on her long legs in a sort of blind charge, the tail of her raincoat flapping in the wind. She talked as fast as she walked.
‘I know a great Vietnamese restaurant, or Italian if you prefer. There’s a very interesting models museum and a cinema, but I don’t know what’s on. It’s a small town. There’s not a lot to do, but it is pretty, especially by the banks of the—’
‘I’ve got some calves’ liver.’
‘Sorry?’ Madeleine stopped in her tracks. Her dark eyebrows arched so high they almost touched the roots of her hair.
‘Calves’ liver. I could cook it for you if you want. I have all the ingredients. Do you like calves’ liver?’
‘Yes, yes, I love it, but—’
‘At your place. I could cook it there.’
Madeleine looked bewildered, as if she’d been plonked down in the middle of nowhere at a crossroads of identical streets. She burst out laughing.
‘You’re quite something, aren’t you! Why not? I live nearby.’
They walked side by side at a slower pace. Madeleine didn’t say a word, but shot Gabriel the occasional curious glance, followed by a disbelieving shake of her head.
‘You know,’ Gabriel said, ‘I often end up wandering around unfamiliar towns. I like it, but it’s nice to have somewhere to go.’
‘Do you travel around because of your work?’
‘It’s not exactly work – it’s a service I provide.’
‘What sort of service?’
‘It depends.’
‘And does it take you all over?’
‘Yes, all over.’
‘Here we are. I live on the third floor. The one with the geranium at the window.’
The stairwell was unremarkable. It was typical of a modest 1960s building, clean, with a succession of
dark-red
doors distinguished from one another by nameplates and colourful doormats. Madeleine Chotard’s – that’s what was written on the copper nameplate: M. Chotard – was in the shape of a curled-up cat.
Cats were everywhere in the two-bed flat in all sorts of varied guises: a lamp stand, wallpaper, cushions. There were figurines in wood, bronze and porcelain of cats jumping, sleeping, arching their backs, stretching …
‘The kitchen is on your left if you want to put your stuff down.’
Even more cats in the kitchen: cat salt and pepper mills, cat jugs … Gabriel put the food on the worktop next to the hob and went back into the living room to join Madeleine. The room was small, but bright and very clean. Not a single cat’s hair in sight.
‘Make yourself at home. Do you want a drink before you start?’
‘I’d love one.’
Being at home obviously freed Madeleine from the demeanour required at work. She was comfortable with her body, most probably sporty, natural – what’s known as a fine specimen. The strip of flesh visible between the bottom of her T-shirt and the belt of her skirt when she bent over to take a bottle from the cupboard was smooth and flat, not an ounce of fat.
‘I haven’t got a great choice. To be honest, I hardly ever
drink aperitifs – I just keep some for friends. Do you fancy a Martini?’
‘Perfect!’
It was as if there were a second world underneath the smoked glass of the low coffee table, an almost aquatic parallel universe where the reflection of the hands dipping into the bowl of peanuts merged with the floral carpet.
‘It’s funny seeing you here,’ she said.
‘It was you who invited me, the other day. You suggested I cook for you.’
‘I was joking.’
‘Well, I took it seriously. Would you rather go to a restaurant?’
‘No! It’s just that it’s surprising, that’s all. Normally you get to know people in a public place like a café or a club …’
‘A neutral place, yes. But why do you want to get to know me?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe because you always look a bit sad and bored.’
‘You must get a lot of people like that at the hotel, travelling salesmen, loners, people passing through …’
‘This is the first time! Don’t think—’
‘I didn’t mean anything like that, believe me. I’m happy to be here. Are you hungry?’
‘A little, yes.’
‘Okay then, I’ll get started.’
‘Do you want me to show you …?’
‘No, it’s fine, thanks. I’ll manage.’
It was as he had expected. Luckily, he’d thought of
everything. It was a typical singleton’s kitchen. The fridge was practically bare and contained just a few
fat-free
yogurts, half an apple wrapped in cling film, some leftover rice, a half-frozen lettuce stuck to the back of the vegetable drawer and a jar of Nutella for those nights when she needed comfort. It was touching.