And Then Came Paulette (15 page)

Kim was in such a hurry to move in that he negotiated with Muriel that same evening to sleep on a camp bed in the kitchen, until the room upstairs had been cleaned and redecorated. She agreed. But at the beginning she wasn't sure it was such a good idea. Sharing her space would mean having to get dressed to go the bathroom; tiptoeing to see what was left to nibble in the fridge; not switching on the light at night; and not farting when she felt like it. She had developed a taste for the solitary life and would definitely miss it. But she soon changed her mind. Because actually it was nice to have someone to chat with till three in the morning; to have a good laugh, and pillow fights; or talk about personal stuff, even share some secrets. So everything that might have been difficult to negotiate, proved easy. When it came to the bathroom, she liked to take a shower in the evening, he preferred the morning. Neat. She often couldn't sleep, he was more the type to flake out, and so she became the one who kept the stove going at night. Perfect. She found it difficult to wake up, while once out of bed he was all go, preparing coffee and bread and jam and
coming to tickle her on the neck. Great. The bike ride to college was really stressful because at this time of year it was still dark. Now with the two of them it was fun. Cool. He had a girlfriend; she was single and intended to remain that way, particularly since the fiasco of her last relationship. So they would be just like brother and sister. Sweet.

Kim, the whirlwind. He arrived on a Tuesday evening. On the Wednesday morning he cleaned his room-to-be from top to bottom. In the afternoon he mixed the paint (using Marceline's mashed potato recipe) and in the evening he applied the first coat. The next day, Thursday, when he got back from college he did the second one and on Friday evening he moved in.

It was all perfect. There was just one small problem. The Internet: that was a real pain. He put the case in favor. The planet, culture and the whole of humanity were within reach. Why say no to progress? It was crazy not to make the most of it. He and Muriel could teach them to surf and use a mouse, help them look for information, and find interesting sites on a host of subjects: gardening, mechanics, cycling, dolphins and whales, knitting and spinning wool. The possibilities were endless. They could visit museums without getting out of their armchair; listen to philharmonic orchestras; travel around the world; or visit the Taj Mahal! They would love it.

Guy investigated. Compared to what they were paying already it wouldn't work out that much more expensive to take out an all-in-one subscription for the phone, Internet and TV. He also looked at the price of computers. With the savings they'd made, they would have more than enough to buy one. And the kids would be happy, he said. Everyone voted in favor, of course. And Muriel jumped for joy.

Hortense was very excited: she wanted to learn to “surfer sur le oueb” and click on the back of a mouse! Set up her profile on “Fesse Bouc.” She loved her two new friends, particularly that young man. She found him funny, interesting and good-looking,
ooh la la
. He
reminded her a little bit of Octave, her husband for just one day, eh Simone? With his angel face he looked as if butter wouldn't melt, don't you think? When Hortense acted the bimbo like this Simone would just shrug and sigh. It was trying. She was so sure in those moments that she was just twenty, there was no point in reminding her she was seventy-five years older than that. So, the easiest thing was to say nothing and wait for it to pass.

March. Marceline's work in the garden had hardly begun. Kim and she had thought hard, done some calculations and reached the conclusion to produce enough to feed a household of seven people and also have enough to sell at the market, they would have to expand. So they requisitioned Ferdinand's vegetable garden. He didn't object: gardening gave him backache. They started to prepare several plots; spread well-rotted donkey manure on some, and straw on the rest. Kim chose a place to plant raspberry and redcurrant cuttings. He loved that.

Meat was not really Marceline's thing; he understood that. So one evening he asked Guy and Ferdinand what they would think about rearing some poultry. Before they had time to answer, he added that he was ready to deal with it; it wouldn't take too much time. And at least they would all be able to eat good-quality meat every now and then. No antibiotics, no hormones and no G.M. The two men were very much in favor. In fact no one was against. Vegetables were fine, but on their own they became boring after a while. The problem was
feeding the chickens. They went to look at the little field behind the farm. The one Ferdinand hadn't rented out to his neighbor, Yvon. He left it fallow and at present only Cornelius used it. Kim suggested cultivating it. That would be good practice for his course. The tractor was in good shape; he could learn to use it. Simone added that at home when she was little they used to give the hens chopped nettles mixed with grain and that worked very well. When they discussed slaughtering the birds, Kim confessed he wasn't very keen on doing that himself. But Guy didn't mind. Good, they would see how it went. In any case Kim knew a guy who was an apprentice butcher. He could ask him, give some chickens in exchange. They clapped their hands. All that remained was to find the seed and the chicks.

When the computer arrived at the farm Kim and Muriel showed the old people how to use it. Hortense couldn't get her head around using a mouse, but found it terribly exciting nonetheless. Guy, on the other hand, turned out to be a natural. He started to spend a large part of his sleepless nights browsing, exploring, and surfing the web. One morning at breakfast he came up with the idea of creating a website. He thought it would be interesting to share their experience with others, explain how they all lived together, the pros and cons and all that. Kim warned that they shouldn't count on him and Muriel to help them, they didn't know the first thing about coding, and it was really complicated. But that didn't put them off. They thought of possible names and Guy suggested Oldies-unite.com.

Not very pretty or poetic, but it said what it meant, so they said OK. And Guy set to work.

One evening after dinner while they were sitting outside—the oldies on the bench, Hortense in her wheelchair and the two teenagers on stools—Kim spoke about his parents for the first time since his arrival. They lived about thirty miles away and he hadn't seen them for almost five months. They had cut off all support. He'd done nothing at school for so long, they'd had enough. He wasn't angry with them; he would have done the same in their place. He missed them. During the Christmas vacation he could have gone there, but instead he had stayed working in the restaurant to earn some cash. Which he then blew, buying stupid crap. Now he was sorry. Because perhaps, not seeing each other, they'd end up forgetting each other too.

No one said anything but they all nodded.

His younger sister was five and was called Mai (he pronounced it My). A Vietnamese name, meaning apricot flower.

His mother was called Ai Van, meaning a woman who loves clouds.

Inevitably Hortense asked him what his own name meant.

Kim had no choice but to answer. He said it meant gold.

She thought that was magnificent. And then she asked his father's name. André? Ah well, that was less poetic, but a nice name all the same.

Everyone went to bed—except Guy, who had planned to spend a few hours at the computer working on their website—and Ferdinand, who suggested to Kim that he should call his parents and invite them over to lunch one day. They would all be glad to meet them. And that way he could show them the place where he was living. Yes, he would ask them.

“Hi P'pa.”

“Hi son.”

“Do you know why I'm calling?”

“How do you expect me to know? I'm not a mind reader.”

“But you know what day it is?”

“Yes, why?”

“Because . . .”

Roland's voice cracked and he sobbed quietly.

“What is it Roland? Has something happened?”

“It's the anniversary of Maman's death and you don't even remember.”

“Oh, that . . .”

Ferdinand sighed. He had started to fear the worst. The children ill; Mireille in an accident; a fire at the restaurant. The boy was so melodramatic about everything. It was six years since Henriette died. He'd had time enough to get used to it by now.

But he must be understanding.

Roland wasn't in good shape at present. He couldn't get over the separation from Mireille. At the beginning he seemed to be bearing up. He played the stoical man. Life might not be a long, quiet river, but he would not make a big deal out of it, he would learn to paddle. And as if to prove it, he started chatting up all the woman he met, particularly when Mireille was present. Now he was surpassing himself. He even made a pass at Muriel one evening, while she was working in the restaurant; she told Ferdinand when she came home. Of course she made him regret the idea. She wasn't into old people, still less fat ones. And then things changed with Mireille.

Unexpectedly she rallied and started to get better. It didn't happen overnight, but it wasn't far off. First she came off the antidepressants and drank less, then she cut her hair, changed the way she dressed and enrolled on a course at the gym. To give herself more freedom she sometimes let the children stay the night at Roland's house. And then for several nights in a row. The big change came when she took up amateur dramatics and joined a theater group. That was the turning point. It was also when Roland lost his bearings. Things got even worse when he realized she had met someone. Her own age. He went to pieces. From one day to the next his hair turned white. He was forty-five, but anyone would have thought he was sixty. If things carried on that way, he'd look older than his fucking father!

Anyway. It was the first time Roland had ever called asking him to go somewhere. Ferdinand couldn't say no. He agreed to meet him in an hour's time.

Before he left he went around his workshop. He hadn't been in there for months. Not since Gaby. He wanted to find something really nice for her, which Guy would like. He didn't want anything tacky. He had time. There was no hurry. He dusted Alfred's plaque, which was lying on the workbench. It had been finished for a long time, he needed to visit his family and ask their opinion. If they agreed, they
could all go together and put it on his grave. And toast his good health with all his friends, at the café on the square. Momo, Marcel, Raymond and the gang.

It was a little over a year already since he had taken his leave, the old guy.

Short and sweet. It was fine.

There was no risk of Jacqueline taking offense: she was the one who had asked for the divorce.

And the children could always add something if they wanted, he had left room for that.

He took out another plaque and wiped away the dust:

That one he did find amusing. But he put it away in a drawer. Now was not the time to take it out, he thought. Roland wouldn't appreciate it. The boy couldn't step back yet. Pity, but that's how things were.

It was still very cold. In the morning the ground was covered in frost. But the quality of the air and light had changed. Everything felt fresher and more alive; the days were slowly getting longer. And then the cranes returned. A good sign. Standing by the window Muriel told Hortense what she could see. They were flying low over the farm, in several large V formations, all calling at the same time. Some were circling above the house. They seemed to be lost—oh no, it was all right, one of them had taken the lead, and the others were following behind. Hortense wanted to see them. But Muriel couldn't lift her out of bed all by herself. She knew that very well. Hortense whispered: please, Muriel! Muriel hesitated, such a hassle, it wasn't a good idea. She would have to unplug everything: the drip and the oxygen too. Hortense begged her. Muriel made up her mind, screw it, she opened the window and called Kim. The two of them managed to put her in the wheelchair, wrapped her up in her quilt and stuck a woolly hat over her head. Quick, otherwise we'll miss them! Kim said: Hold on to your hat, Hortense. Get set, go . . . He ran, pushing the chair down
the corridor, skirted the kitchen table on two wheels, squeezed through the door and out into the yard. Ah, they were still there! In their hundreds. She'd never seen so many. Hortense spoke to them. Where have you been all this time? I was waiting for you, you know. They flew over her head. Krrrou . . . krrrou . . . Water ran down Hortense's cheeks. It was cold, of course. And the sky so white. It burned the eyes a little, forcing you to squint. Time to go back in. Oh no, not yet. She would love to stay till the last ones had gone over. The stragglers, they still needed some encouragement. In a frail voice she sang softly to the sky: Don't worry, my pretty ones. Fly, fly away. The others aren't far off, you'll soon catch up to them . . .

Guy took Simone in the car. She had a meeting in town with her bank manager. Two weeks before, she had signed the papers for the sale of her house at the
notaire
. She didn't have any strong feelings about it: she was neither happy, nor sad. On the other hand she did have a big problem on her hands: what were she and Hortense going to do with all the money? The bank manager, of course, had plenty of ideas on the subject. But she needed time to think, to make up her mind. More haste, less speed. So the best thing was to get hold of the cash and take it home. He stared at her in disbelief. It would be better in small denominations. Thrown off guard he could only manage . . . It wasn't easy, he'd need to look into it, it would take time. She asked how long. Two weeks, he replied. She said that wasn't a problem. So a fortnight had passed and now here she was at the meeting, with Guy. The bank manager was very attentive, offering her a seat and inquiring after their health. Simone was suspicious. He tried to butter her up, would
she like a coffee? Just to annoy him she said yes. With three sugars, please. Once he was out of the room, she said in a low voice that he'd never carried on like that when they only had their pensions to put in their accounts. No red carpet, no la di da. The one time they had been overdrawn, she'd remember it till the end of her days, he didn't behave like that at all. No way. That overdraft, it wasn't such a big deal. Well, yes it was. He'd even threatened them with the bailiffs! Registered letter and all that. They'd been terrified! They could see themselves thrown into jail, with shaven heads, striped pajamas and leg irons. Guy frowned; she'd been watching too much American TV. Oh yes, you can raise your eyebrows, son, but you don't know what we had to go through. We didn't get a wink of sleep for days and nights, with Hortense. And now look, it's all smiles, bowing and scraping. They've got no pride, these people. I'm telling you, Guy, bank managers, they're all thieves, just like those insurance people. On that point Guy had to agree. All the same you couldn't really do without them, and he would rather try and convince her not to take all the money with her in her bag—presumably to hide it under the mattress. It was too risky. But she was stubborn, Simone. Once she'd decided on something . . . She wanted to think! And speak with Hortense, if, poor thing, she had any brains left in that head of hers. That was all.

She closed her bag and rose to leave. OK, let's head back. The bank manager remained seated, frozen and staring into the blue.

When they arrived back at the farm Hortense was sitting in her wheelchair in the middle of the yard. Muriel and Kim, on either side of her, looked a little embarrassed.

“You're crazy to leave her out in this cold weather!”

“She wanted to see the cranes.”

“But you know very well, what she wants isn't always good for her.”

Hortense signaled to Simone to come closer. Her voice was frail and she could only manage a whisper.

“I saw them.”

“Yes, but . . .”

“It was beautiful.”

Simone sighed, kissed her on the forehead then pushed the chair toward the house. Kim and Muriel helped her to wheel it inside.

That same evening after dinner, when everyone was sitting outside on the bench and chairs having their coffee, Simone came and told them quietly that Hortense would soon be leaving them. It was only a matter of days now. Hortense herself had told her this. The cranes were the sign she had been waiting for. She wanted to go with them, accompany them on their journey.