And Then Came Paulette (12 page)

Waking at dawn that same Saturday, Muriel stopped herself from going straight to knock on her landlord's door. Even though she was dying to do so. She sorted out her things while waiting for a more reasonable hour. By the time she finally went, the landlord had already gone out, so that was a letdown. She left a note for him. On her return home she had nothing to do, everything was packed in her suitcase, knapsack and two cardboard boxes. She had no desire to unpack her books and notes and do some studying, so she started to pace around like a caged animal.

As the landlord still hadn't called by eleven-thirty she started to feel really down, but she couldn't hang around; it was time for her appointment, so she went to the Place du Marché. Marceline had almost finished packing up. The crates of vegetables, jam and honey were already stacked in her cart and all that remained was to fold the tarpaulin. Muriel offered to help but Marceline suggested that first she should go over and introduce herself to Cornelius. He was a very special donkey, quite capable of refusing
to take someone if he felt he'd been ignored. She handed her a piece of carrot, adding that it might help coax him if he was in a bad mood. Muriel stared at her. It seemed completely bonkers but she didn't dare say so, let alone refuse. Having checked no one was looking, she went up to the animal, hesitated for a few seconds, then feeling like a real idiot, she said: Hello, my name's Muriel, would you take me in your cart? But she did it all the same. In a low voice, of course. Cornelius stared at her out of one eye. He sniffed the air around her and then her hand. He took the carrot she was offering and munched it, nodding his head up and down. Muriel, really impressed, couldn't stop herself from throwing her arms around his neck to thank him. No one had ever told her that donkeys could understand words so well. She went back to announce the news and Marceline said: Phew!

Hortense was terribly disappointed to learn Muriel had to leave so soon after the injection. And she let this be known in the noisiest way possible. If she had been capable of kicking the furniture to show her frustration, that's what she would have done. She wanted Muriel to stay longer, young people were such a comfort: a breath of fresh air, strawberries and cream in winter. When she came into contact with children it perked her up—can you understand that, Simone? I'm sick to death of all these wrinklies! I don't like them, they're no fun and what's more they stink! Simone raised her eyes to the heavens, muttering: there she goes, off again. But Muriel nodded to show it didn't matter, she was used to it. There had been cases like that in her own family.

The second injection.

She was even more nervous for this than the first one. It threw her. So she focused all her attention on the preparations. She made a point of recalling, step by step and in the correct order, all those hygiene procedures, with the relevant technical terms and all the rest. But of
course it was the injection itself she was nervous about. What if it went wrong this time? What if she hit a nerve or a blood vessel? That would be a catastrophe. To calm herself, and also Hortense, she started humming.

And Hortense, who knew every single song, immediately identified the tune. She started to bawl:

Once Muriel had left, Simone sat down on the edge of the bed and they finished the verse as a duet. With damp eyes and quavering voices:

Hortense stroked Simone's hand. And then, feeling suddenly perkier, she propped herself up against the pillows, wiped her nose on her bathrobe sleeve and asked for the large bag of wool. She found it difficult to choose what would work best for a scarf. But finally she went for the speckled one. It was modern; it would suit the young girl well, don't you think? Simone, in conciliatory mood, replied that she thought that would be very good. To make things easier, she helped her to cast on. Hortense managed to knit three rows before she nodded off, overwhelmed by so much effort and emotion.

The cats must have been hard at work chasing mice during the night. After lunch, when Marceline opened the door of Muriel's apartment-to-be, she found them each lying on a chair by the stove, with big round bellies. Too weary even to raise their heads and greet her. She started off by washing the bathroom floor, then the one in the kitchen. But when she got to the bedroom she noticed the old wallpaper was coming away from the wall in places. It was too depressing. She and Ferdinand agreed that they couldn't leave it in that state, so they tore it all off. Then she prepared the paint with the children. Four pounds of mashed potato, four pounds of lime, starch to fix it all, and water. As for the color, they were thinking of green; boiling tarragon leaves worked and it smelled very nice, but it was the wrong time of year. So they went for terracotta bricks. They put some in a sack; hit them with a sledgehammer to make a powder, and then they added it to the mixture. This gave it a pink hue, which Ludo thought was perfect, especially for a girl's bedroom.

After the painting, the Lulus went off to play hide-and-seek in the barn. In a dark corner they came across two old bikes lying under the hay and covered with bird droppings. Not surprising given the string of swallows' nests just above. Standing the bikes upright they found to their surprise that they were just the right size. As Ferdinand went past he explained that the bikes had belonged to their father and Uncle Lionel when they were children. Little Lu winced. He looked at Ludo to check his reaction. He was glad to see he was equally worried. Because it was really hard to believe their father had ever been little once upon a time. And even harder to believe that he had a brother whom they had never heard of. It just wasn't possible. Faced with their incredulity, Ferdinand could think of no other solution than to show them a photo. On it were two little boys each sitting on a bicycle: one had round cheeks and smiled, while making a face; the other, a bit taller and less sturdy, was looking elsewhere, as though bored by having his photo taken. Ferdinand gave a running commentary: the little one with the stupid smile was their father at the age of seven, and the other one was their Uncle Lionel, age eight. They didn't recognize their father, so they weren't convinced. But Ludo read out aloud what was written beneath: Roland and Lionel, Christmas 1974. He looked carefully at the photo. The bikes were the same color as the ones they had found. Maybe there was something in this story after all?

When Guy saw them come into his workshop he asked jokingly what they were doing with that pair of rusty old boneshakers. Little Lu protested: they're not boneshakers! Those bikes belonged to Papa and his brother Lionel when they were little like us! Guy acknowledged his mistake and Little Lu explained solemnly that he had decided that morning to learn to ride a bike properly. Trikes were for babies. And he wanted to learn on this bike. Fine. And Ludo? He wasn't too bothered: he had a cool mountain bike. But out of solidarity he backed his
brother. And besides it wasn't so bad to have a second bike here on the farm, one that he wouldn't be afraid to damage on the crappy mud tracks. So Guy examined the two old . . . things. Even a basic repair job would involve a lot of work. The frames were heavy, there were no gears, and all the parts needed replacing. But it wasn't a problem, he had finished fixing Muriel's bike the previous night, so he had some time on his hands.

First he gave the children protective masks and gloves. They thought dressing up was fun. Guy wanted them to put oil on the rusty parts to loosen them, without breathing in the fumes or getting any on themselves. Then he taught them to take off a tire using spoon handles. When it came to finding the punctures in the inner tubes, it was so cold in the workshop they preferred to do that in the kitchen. After blowing them up they plunged them in a bowl of water and when they pressed down the bubbles rose to the surface. They found that hilarious. Little Lu drew circles in pen around the holes to mark the spots where the patches should go.

At the end of the day Ludo was worried. He wondered how he was going to check if his meeting with Guy the following morning was still on. He was only eight, but he had already suffered some big disappointments in his life. He was wary, knowing from experience that adults were capable of anything: changing their minds without warning, going back on their word without reason, ripping people off, wasting time, playing dirty tricks on kids—maybe not maliciously, but as though it was a normal thing to do. With complete impunity and no remorse. He wanted to tread carefully with the old uncle, grill him subtly, ask some discreet questions: Did they have alarm clocks on the farm when you were little, Uncle? Or did you just have cocks that went
Cock-a-doodle-doo
in the morning? But Guy whispered in his ear: Don't worry, son, I'll come fetch you at dawn. And when I say something I do it, period.

At seven o'clock on Sunday morning Guy woke Ludo, as he had said he would. It was still dark. They went downstairs without making a noise, dressed warmly and went out. Behind Guy's bike, resting on
its kickstand, was the other one they'd found covered in swallow droppings in the barn, that had belonged to his father's unknown brother. Now it was all cleaned up and ready to go.

They pedaled along side by side without saying a word. At the speed they were going, the cold made their eyes water, reddened their cheeks, and chapped their lips.

When they arrived they laid their bikes in the ditch, pulled down their coats, adjusted their hats and wiped the snot from their noses. They wanted to look a bit presentable. Then Guy signaled to Ludo to follow him, without making a sound. They walked along beside the high wall, he lifted the ladder that was hidden in the grass, leaned it against the wall, and one after the other they climbed over into the cemetery.

Ludo asked Guy to wait a bit further on. He meticulously examined Gaby's gravestone with his flashlight but he couldn't find any crevice or little crack between the stones. Finally he slipped the piece of paper folded in eight into the ground by the rosebush at the end of the grave.

The text of the new letter to Gaby (spelling mistakes not included) went as follows:

On returning to the farm Ludo went up to wake Little Lu. They made some bread and jam and two large bowls of hot chocolate, and then went to see Hortense. They offered to play her at cards again. She chose Russian Bank. They each won two games, which really annoyed her. So after that they let her cheat. Her smile returned and Simone gave them some sweets.

Later they went out mushrooming with Ferdinand. They had to put on fluorescent jackets over their coats in case they met any people out shooting. It was compulsory, there were a lot of them around at that time of year, and it might be dangerous. They talked and sang very loudly as they walked through the woods to avoid being mistaken for pheasants or wild boar. In spite of the noise they made, they still saw a roe deer and two rabbits. But they didn't find a single mushroom. Ferdinand moaned that someone must have got there before them and found his special spot for mushrooms. They returned empty-handed.

That afternoon it was bucketing down, so they watched a film. Generally Ferdinand borrowed DVDs from his friends or from the library, but he had bought this one and thought it was beautiful. It was called
Oceans
and of course it had whales and dolphins in it. While he was watching Little Lu suddenly remembered that last night he'd had that dream again: the one where he swam with Gaby and the big fishes. He recognized them in the film; it was definitely them. Ludo was annoyed and called him pathetic. Because really everyone knew that dolphins weren't big fish, but mammals like humans. Ferdinand stalled, he wasn't so sure . . .

After that they went to see Marceline in her room. They opened the cello case and drew the bow across the strings, but only managed to produce a scratching sound. They asked her to play and sat on her bed to listen. From the first notes they sat open-mouthed. It was sweet on the ears, it made the skin on your stomach tingle, and it tickled you down to your toes. Once the piece was finished, they begged for another. Marceline said she was tired. Her fingers were too stiff. To be able to play she would have to practice every day, it was such a long time now since she had stopped. Little Lu asked her why, but she didn't have time to reply—at that very moment Cornelius banged against the windowpane. The children rushed to let him in, and made a huge fuss over him.

He nodded his head to show he was happy.