‘In a while, we can put the eggs in the incubator. This morning, it was at thirty-eight and a half. So, if we turn it up just a little more …’
But this was Sunday. There was plenty of time. The gendarmes had drunk some brandy, the two small used glasses were evidence of that.
‘Did you take one of Couderc’s pipes?’
Come to that, where was the old man? He had disappeared straight after lunch.
‘I haven’t got any cigarettes left,’ Jean admitted.
‘I’ll give you three francs to go and buy some. But don’t go spending all afternoon in the village.’
And she watched him walk off, as she spread her knitting in her lap and chose some needles.
The village was almost empty. Two boys of sixteen or seventeen, with scrubbed faces, were trying to amuse themselves by shouting loudly.
On his way back, Jean met old Couderc, who had finally dressed in his Sunday clothes, a dark suit with a large white scarf at his neck, as if he were going to a wedding or a funeral. He was slouching along the canal. He either did not see the new lodger or pretended not to.
‘You didn’t stay long! That’s good. Sit down. Go on, get a chair for yourself.’
He went to fetch one, with a cane seat, from the kitchen and reversed it to sit astride on. Then, without speaking, he let out a cloud of blue smoke from his cigarette, as he watched a small boy who was fishing with a makeshift rod cut from the woods.
Tati was knitting. He could hear the click of the needles and, every now and then, when she counted stitches, her lips moved. When she tilted her head, he knew it was to direct a glance at him.
When finally, after a long pause, she decided to speak, it was to say:
‘Don’t think I’m going be scared by any man.’
Then, more angrily:
‘You’re all the same. You’re bullies! Think it’s all right to throw your weight around, but underneath …’
He did not reply. Perhaps he seemed a little more serious. A shadow had passed. He could no longer see the small boy fishing.
‘The gendarmes said to me: “On your own head be it! Don’t say you weren’t warned.”’
Another silence, another row of knitting.
‘And what I said was: “Don’t worry! He’s not going to try any monkey business with me!”’
‘Did they tell you my name?’
‘Passerat-Monnoyeur. That’s easy to remember, it’s on all the bottles. It’s funny, you’ve got the same name as the man with the distillery in Montluçon.’
‘Not funny at all.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s not funny, because he’s my father.’
He spoke lightly as if making a joke, and she replied in the same way.
‘Pull the other one!’
‘What do you mean, pull the other one?’
‘Oh no, young man. I know Monsieur Passerat-Monnoyeur. I know him pretty well, seeing as my sister worked in his house for years. He’s too grand to let his son go to prison. and rich enough that any son of his wouldn’t need to …’
She stopped and looked at him questioningly.
‘You don’t mind me mentioning prison?’
‘Well …’
‘All right. Not that it bothers me. The gendarmes told me the whole story. They said it was at my own risk if I took you on. So, I’ll warn you in turn, know what I mean? I’m not afraid of you or anyone else. It’s Sunday today, and we can relax a bit.’
She realized that she had taken a more distant tone towards him, perhaps because they had mentioned the Passerat-Monnoyeur family.
‘You just have to keep on the straight and narrow, that’s all. And get up a bit earlier in the morning, because the creatures won’t wait for the sun to be up before they need feeding. Now, you can go and fetch me my glasses. On the right of the mantelpiece.’
By about three o’clock, there were more people passing along the canal. Some came from the village, family groups with the children walking ahead and kicking stones. There were a great many cyclists especially, and some hikers with rucksacks. The grass was a deep green, the water almost black. In contrast, the young leaves on the chestnut trees were tender and the sun flashed golden on them.
‘So, when did you get out?’
‘Five days ago.’
‘René only did six months, and I went to see him every week. Poor kid. And what for? A few cigarette lighters they wouldn’t have been able to sell without getting caught, and some stamps and pipes.’
‘They robbed a tobacconist’s?’
