The Panda Theory Page 6

  ‘It was a black and white mongrel called Georges. They used to go hunting and fishing together.’

  ‘Your dog was called Georges?’

  ‘Yes, like my husband. It was his idea. “That way, if I get lost,” he said, “all I have to do is call out my own name!” It used to make him laugh. He died a nasty death.’

  ‘Your husband?’

  ‘No, the dog. It wasn’t a pretty sight, believe me. It was terrible. My husband’s death was much quicker. He decapitated himself with his chainsaw when he was out pruning the cherry trees. He didn’t suffer. Well, that’s what the doctor said. But what does he know? He’s never been decapitated!’

  ‘And your dog?’

  ‘Poisoned meat. Rat poison. You know, those little red pellets. His vomit was full of them.’

  ‘That’s terrible.’

  ‘Yes, terrible. His eyes bulged and his tongue was hanging out as if trying to escape his mouth. Animals are stupid, especially dogs. Perhaps it’s the effect of the people they spend time with. They only think of themselves. They’re not like us, they don’t have a soul.’

  With a crooked finger, she made the sign of the cross so rapidly it looked like an aeroplane propeller.

  ‘Are you waiting for Father Mauro?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘He’s always late. He’s a drinker.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Yes, he’s a drinker. And he masturbates in front of St Rita as well. I’ve seen him do it. Everyone has their flaws, I suppose.’

  ‘That’s true.’

  ‘I’ve only come for confession. I’ve got an appointment at the hairdresser’s at four o’clock and it’s already twenty to. I won’t be long. I’ve just got to tell him that I was the one who killed Georges but that I’ve blamed it on my neighbour. Speak of the devil, here he is now … Have a nice day.’

  ‘And you.’

  The old lady got up and scurried shakily down the aisle to meet a jovial-looking priest of the sort you’d find on a cheese packet. God had no need to worry, business was good.

  The street swarmed with extras but there was no audience, or director. And there was probably no script either. Everybody wandered around without aim or purpose, hesitant and unable to find their place. Perhaps that was the intention. It wasn’t unusual to bump into the same person in different parts of the town; grim-faced, lost in thought and waiting, in the absence of a revelation, for some sort of sign. The entire town seemed on standby. The sky was equally unsettled, with threatening clouds, light rain and intermittent flashes of lightning. Swarms of minuscule gnats, impervious to swiping hands, buzzed overhead. Nothing made sense. If being alive was just a hobby then how could you be sure that there would be a tomorrow? Just as there was no guarantee there had been a yesterday. It was a day to kill someone for no reason.

  Gabriel had bought himself a frying pan, a pot and a camping stove. He was going to eat alone in his hotel room tonight. Ham, mashed potato and chestnut purée. He’d had enough of them. He didn’t want to see them or listen to their whining. And yet, without realising, he found himself in front of the Faro. The bar was crowded, like a teeming fish tank. Noticing him outside, José waved his cloth in Gabriel’s direction, inviting him inside. Now the panda and José looked so alike it was hard to distinguish them; they both grinned like Cheshire cats. As Gabriel didn’t move José dashed out from behind the counter and opened the door wide.

  ‘What on earth are you doing? Come on in!’

  ‘It’s fine, I—’

  ‘She’s opened her eyes, Gabriel! She spoke to me!’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘Joke.’

  ‘Joke?’

  ‘Joke, or poke, or folk, I didn’t really understand. She wasn’t quite with it but she said it three times, with her eyes wide open! The doctors were completely baffled. Come on in! You know, Gabriel, you and me. Now it’s going to be …’

  José crossed his fingers; his eyes welled up with tears. He slapped Gabriel on the shoulder and pushed him inside. Where had this spontaneous generation of carefree youth who laughed, sang, told jokes and emptied glass after glass come from? All it took was a little watering for them to pop up like mushrooms from between the slats in the floorboards. What use is a miracle if there is no one there to witness it?

  ‘No, not beer. It’s champagne time!’ José exclaimed. ‘By the way, I tried to call you at your hotel to tell you the good news but you weren’t there. The girl on reception said she’d let you know. I thought I’d invite her along. I hope you don’t mind?’

  ‘No, not at all. Here’s to the end of your worries, José. I’m very happy for you.’

  ‘You’ll see. You’re going to get on really well with Marie. Everything will be like before, but even better.’

  ‘I’m sure it will.’

  The searing rays of sunlight which set the terrace ablaze werediffused as they struck the motionless beaded curtain, so that all that passed into the living room was speckles of light, instantly swallowed up in blue shadow. Blandine was asleep on the couch, her mouth slightly open, her brow misted with the perspiration of sleep. One arm was folded under her head and the other hung by her side, her fingers brushing the coir mat. The cats lay at her feet, breathing in sync. Somewhere in the distance, a long way away, someone played a piano. The same passage of music, over and over. A newborn baby cried, a boat came into port, a fly landed on the ceiling. The house creaked, whispering gossip. The smell of the barbecue, dried herbs, charcoal and melon skin lingered in the air. On the first floor, in a hammock that Gabriel had fitted the day before, Juliette rocked back and forth while sucking her thumb and dreaming of unexplored futures. Gabriel closed his book. Every page seemed like a closed shutter. Focusing on anything else but the sweetness of this magical moment seemed inappropriate, even rude. Yet despite his best efforts he wasn’t able to let go, to surrender to sleep, to experience the same feeling as the others: his wife, his daughter, the cats, the fly. He felt excluded from everybody’s bliss, from all the innocence. But he didn’t know why. It was as if he had committed a crime of which he had no memory. A surge of injustice mixed with guilty despair rose within him and threatened to suffocate him. He bit into his closed fist to stop himself from screaming out as tears rolled down his cheeks. He should never have taken the plane the day after.

  ‘Gabriel?’

  Madeleine’s face appeared through a fog of cigarette smoke. She had changed her hair, which was now held back on either side with combs. It suited her, made her look younger. Just behind her stood Rita, her badly lipsticked lips stretched in a crooked, timid smile.

  ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Shall we get a table? The bar’s too busy.’

  Rita instinctively headed over to the same table that she had shared with Marc two days earlier. Force of habit. The three of them sat down and José served each of them a glass of champagne.

  ‘It’s on the house! And there’s more where that came from. Gabriel’s like a brother to me. Just tell him whatever you want and I’ll be right over.’

  The women sat side by side, the curly little hairs on the back of their necks visible in the mirror behind them. Madeleine raised her glass.

  ‘I’m not sure what we’re celebrating, but cheers!’

  They clinked glasses. People are fragile. Hard and fragile, like glass.

  ‘For someone who doesn’t know anyone round here …’

  ‘It’s all down to chance. José was the first person I met. Well, apart from you. Do you remember, when I first arrived, I asked you if you could recommend a restaurant?’

  ‘And Rita? You know each other, don’t you?’

  ‘That’s by chance as well.’

  ‘So that’s how you live, by chance?’

  ‘That’s right, yes, just like everybody else. And what about you, Rita? What brings you here, if you don’t mind me asking?’

  ‘Me? My chance is called Marco!’

  She smiled bitterly and downed her drink in one.
Some people wore their misfortune with elegance. Rita was one of them. Her heart, hammered by a thousand blows, echoed like a gong, a bronze shield on which fate could make no dent.

  ‘He’s buggered off. I was stuffed when I got back to the hotel after lunch. I collapsed and when I woke up he’d vanished.’

  ‘He’ll be back, I’m sure. Didn’t he have a meeting with his solicitor?’

  ‘You don’t take your toothbrush to the solicitor. Gone, with his suitcase, without leaving me a penny and without settling the room, the bastard. Can I get another?’

  ‘Of course. José, do you mind?’

  ‘Thanks. Excuse me while I nip to the loo.’

  José refilled the glasses and whispered in Gabriel’s ear, loud enough for Madeleine to hear.

  ‘So then, you rascal. You don’t hang around, do you? Two at a time!’

  Madeleine covered her mouth to stifle a laugh, then said seriously, ‘Poor soul. I think she’s hooked on drugs. Have you seen her pupils? They’re pinpricks! When she came down from her room earlier she was in a right state, her eyes smeared with make-up. She looked a total wreck. I saw this Marco leave, but as she was upstairs I didn’t think anything of it. What a bastard! I’d just got off the phone to your friend José. I felt sorry for her and she told me you knew each other so I suggested she come along. Is that all right?’

  ‘Yes, of course it’s all right, Madeleine.’

  ‘Where did you meet them?’

  ‘Here. I gave them some peanuts.’

  ‘Peanuts?’

  ‘Yes. They had a saxophone for sale. I bought it to give to José’s kids.’

  ‘A saxophone? You do some strange things!’

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘Yes. You’ve only been here four or five days and already you know so many people. It’s amazing how you’ve become part of their lives. You make yourself at home wherever you go, don’t you?’

  ‘I don’t mean to. I swear it’s not my fault. Do you think it’s wrong?’

  ‘I didn’t say it was wrong! You just make my head spin a bit. You’re nowhere and everywhere at the same time. I don’t know what to do with this poor girl. And I don’t know what I’m going to say to my boss – he’s not the sympathetic type.’

  ‘I’ll pay her bill, don’t worry.’

  ‘That’s kind of you. What’s going to happen to her though?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You don’t think she’d commit suicide, do you?’

  ‘No, she’s not that type. She wants more from life.’

  ‘Here she is now.’

  The men standing at the bar turned and nudged each other as Rita walked past. She wasn’t beautiful, but she had something about her and knew how to flaunt it. She crossed the room nonchalantly, rolling her hips, revelling in the lusty stares of the men.

  ‘Men! Well, you have to have them. Lots of them though, not one! I’ve finished with that!’

  She knew how to laugh. It was a hearty laugh, intelligent and frank. She didn’t hold back. Madeleine looked on admiringly, with a touch of envy.

  ‘I feel good with you two. If I had the cash, I’d take you both out for something to eat. I’m starving!’

  Rita had an urge for red meat and chips. The only thing now remaining on her plate was the bone from her steak and a smear of mustard. She had been to the toilet twice and had downed three bottles of beer. She was like a time bomb; you never knew exactly when it might go off. Madeleine had taken them to a Western-themed restaurant. It suited the situation perfectly. Beefy blokes came here to eat beef and drink beer, which clouded their gaze with a mixture of guilt and greed.

  ‘Have you ever seen a white poppy?’ Rita asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I found one once. I was young, about eight years old. It was a Sunday in spring. I used to live in a little village called Subligny, near Sens. I was at a picnic with my cousins, uncles and aunts. We made posies of wild flowers: daisies and cornflowers. The weather was gorgeous. It had been a long, long winter. The grass came up to my chin. The sky was a picture-postcard blue. We laughed and chased each other while the men opened bottles and the women laid out the tablecloths, pâté, ham and salad. It was a wonderful day. And then I found it, there on its own, a white poppy. White! I fell down in front of it as though it were the Virgin Mary. It swayed in the wind, which swept through the field. There were others next to it, normal red ones that didn’t care about being picked or trodden on, just normal poppies, you know. I plucked it at its base and ran with it, holding it up in the air like a flag, to show my family. They were all amazed at my albino poppy. They took my photo. I was as pleased as punch. Here, look, I’ve got the photo.’

  Rita rummaged around in her miniature handbag, the bag that contained her whole life, and pulled out a shiny purse from which she picked out a yellowing photograph with curled corners and scalloped edges like a petit beurre biscuit. It showed a laughing, chubby little girl, with a Joan of Arc haircut, brandishing a skinny flower in both hands above her head. Behind her, against the backdrop of a milky sky, stood the blurred image of a small scowling boy. Rita, the queen of an unforgettable day.

  ‘You can tell it’s me, can’t you? I pressed it between two paper plates so I wouldn’t forget it. But after, because everybody was drunk, it got lost, probably thrown in the bin or something. It wasn’t a big deal. Whether they’re red or white, poppies don’t last.’

  The photo passed from Gabriel to Madeleine.

  ‘It’s funny, I’ve got similar photos of me when I was a kid, this age with the same haircut and the same outfit. I used to wear these awful glasses. God, I was so ugly! You don’t look so bad, Rita. So what are you going to do now?’

  ‘I don’t know. I can’t decide. I’ve always been like that. I don’t like deciding things. My only options are nothing or anything. What would you choose? I’ve spent my life following different people to different places. That’s why Marco was good for me. He always knew where he was going. As often as not it was straight into a wall but at least it was something, right? Why did that bastard have to leave me? I’d better not go anywhere. I don’t know much, but I’ve got this gut feeling. He’s going to need me – I’d stake my life on it. You’re a man, Gabriel. What do you think?’

  ‘I don’t know. Yes, maybe wait a while.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll do that. The only problem is I’m completely broke.’

  ‘I’ll take care of that. I’ll settle your room.’

  ‘That’s very kind. We could share the same room if you want. That would save money.’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.’

  ‘Ah, okay. Oh, I’m sorry, Madeleine. You know what it’s like when you get wrapped up in your own problems; you don’t think about anybody else. I’m stupid.’

  The two women turned to one another and looked into each other’s eyes as if staring into a mirror. Madeleine took Rita’s hand.

  ‘There’s nothing going on between me and Gabriel. Isn’t that right, Gabriel?’

  Gabriel didn’t answer. He stared at his hands, which were flat on the table, as though dealt out in a card game. He was thinking about the ham and mashed potato he had planned for himself that evening.

  Madeleine pulled herself up like a ship’s figurehead, her sumptuous chest thrust forth against the wind and tide, heading for distant lands. ‘You can stay at mine for a bit, Rita. We’ll work something out.’

  ‘Why would you do that for me? We hardly know each other.’

  ‘I don’t know. Ask Gabriel. He must know. He knows everything.’

  Love me tender, love me sweet, never let me go. The music at the end of the film. The restaurant’s lights went out one by one. The bill paid, it was time to digest the steak and chips, to sleep off the beer wherever they could. Tomorrow was another day.

  They soon forgot about the rain. It coursed from the rooftops and down the gutters as naturally as blood through veins. Madeleine’s umbrella was too small for the three of them
so, depending on the size of the pavement, Gabriel walked behind, in front or to the side.

  ‘Well then, goodnight.’

  The two women stood glued to the umbrella handle, watching Gabriel dripping under the streetlight.

  ‘You can’t just leave us like that! Come upstairs for a drink. You’ve got something to drink, haven’t you, Madeleine?’

  ‘Yes, but he doesn’t want to.’

  ‘Another time. I have to get up early tomorrow. Goodnight.’

  The women watched him turn and walk away, hopping over puddles, hunched over like a question mark.

  ‘He’s one of a kind that one. Do you have a crush on him?’ asked Rita.

  ‘Maybe,’ said Madeleine.

  ‘He reminds me of a priest sometimes. But he is a man after all and you never know with men. What about women, Madeleine? Do you like women?’

  The sound of their laughter matched the rippling noise of the rain on their umbrella. They looked like a two-headed bat. The town yawned, the rooftops overflowed.

  The only thing left in the freezer compartment was a huge calf’s tongue studded with ice crystals. It was otherwise empty, just like the apartment. Gabriel had spent the day waiting for it to defrost on the chopping board. A whole day watching the mute tongue’s slow thaw. He didn’t have anything else to do. At about seven o’clock he threw the tongue into a pot of simmering stock and made a punchy sauce with tomatoes, gherkins and shallots. There was enough to feed an army. He ate it all though, the tongue that said nothing, out on the terrace, until it made him sick. All that remained were fragments of bone and cartilage. The telephone had rung as he vomited, his head over the toilet bowl, his hands gripping the porcelain sides. It didn’t matter. He didn’t have anything to say to anybody. Wrapped in the cats’ tartan rug, he made his way back out onto the terrace. It was warm but he shivered as he looked up at the sickle moon scything the stars. Usually, at this time, Juliette would have been asleep, sucking her thumb, and Blandine would have been drawing at her work bench with the cats running around. But he had just vomited a whole calf’s tongue and had run out of words to describe the night and the sea and what he was still doing alive.