Out of Sorts (11 page)

Getting out, Ferdinand staggers. He leans against the car for a moment and ascertains the extent of previous damage to the car: right side pushed in, rear bumper dented, and scratches just about everywhere. Yes, indeed, Beatrice is extremely cautious in a car.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Nutty as a Fruitcake

The room Ferdinand is consigned to is twice as small as the one he had during his previous stay at the hospital—and twice as inhabited. To his right, a little eighty-year-old dame with the look of an over-the-hill TV news anchor makes it known she’s more than delighted to have company. Ferdinand, meanwhile, struggles with the stiff neck that’s resulted from snubbing his neighbor’s idle chatter and keeping his head turned toward the window. He’s waiting for the medical team to remember his existence, when finally the tall white figure of Dr. Labrousse enters.

“Ah, Doctor! There you are. Can you get me out of here? I can’t take it anymore. My skull hurts. My roommate does nothing but talk. And very loudly at that. Is she deaf or what? Do something, please.”

“Mrs. Petit? Isn’t she adorable? Always a funny story to tell.”

“That’s what you think. Try sharing a room with her and you tell me whether you appreciate hearing the same two stories on a loop. Then at night, how she coughs! Is whatever she’s got contagious? What’s she in for?”

“A fall in her kitchen. I assure you, she’s getting out soon. RIGHT, MRS. PETIT? HAPPY TO BE LEAVING?” Then Dr. Labrousse turns back to Ferdinand. “I’m going to tell you a secret: she’s got a crush on you. She told all the nurses and her grandchildren that you look like Clint Eastwood or Anthony Hopkins, only more mature.”

“I’m not sure that’s a compliment. A cross between a trigger-happy cop and a cannibal? Thanks so much! Can’t you switch my room? Or better, allow me to leave? It’s been more than two days. I feel like I’m going to catch a hospital-acquired infection.”

“Calm down, Mr. Brun. First of all, how is your jaw doing?”

“Fine. But what am I doing here? I feel great, apart from this damned pain in my skull.” He sends a dark look toward the neighboring bed. “I want to go home. They’re keeping me without explanation.”

“Rest assured, it’s nothing serious, Mr. Brun. We just want to get you back on your feet and use the time to do some supplementary testing.”

“No wonder the hole in the social services budget is so big. Who’s paying for these tests no one needs? Not me, I hope.”

“No, it’s not you, Mr. Brun. I have to say, I’m rather surprised by the results of your analyses.”

“You were surprised last time, too,” Ferdinand retorts, impassive, recalling his days after the bus incident.

“Yes, but positively that time. What’s surprising me today is the weakness in your heart. Have you done anything crazy lately? I’m trying to understand what could have changed in such a short time.”

“I don’t rightly know. I just took a ride here in a car the size of a yogurt cup at Formula 1 speeds, driven not by Michael Schumacher, but by a blind nonagenarian who’s unaware of the dangers. Maybe it’s that?”

“Hmm, I don’t think so. In any case, we’re going to have to take care of you. Take it easy. Get yourself pampered by your family, and avoid pointless physical exertion, emotional shocks, and ill-advised romps with Mrs. Petit. I’m joking! Come on, I’ll give you something to quiet your migraine and if everything checks out tonight, you’ll be gone tomorrow morning. Take heart, Mr. Brun!”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Going to Confession

The medication prescribed by Dr. Labrousse to relieve the headache turns out to be effective—so effective that Ferdinand no longer hears his neighbor’s ramblings. He can’t even tell whether she’s still in the room or if he’s been transported elsewhere.

Ferdinand feels good, like he’s floating on a little cloud, cradled by an all-encompassing warmth. He begins to daydream, to wander. Life seems so sweet all of a sudden. It’s one of those moments when you tell yourself to pause here, to leave the bookmark in your life at this precise instant. Even though he’s at the hospital—he who always shunned these death traps, as he calls them—he feels safe. All his problems seem to fly away: Mrs. Suarez, the murder accusation, and even that business about the retirement home.

Only the situation with Mrs. Claudel remains tricky. Ferdinand is much too ashamed about it. He’ll keep avoiding her and spending his free time with Juliette instead—if her father agrees, of course. Just then, a face peeks into the room.

“Oh, my child, I’m so happy to see you. We have to talk about that retirement home business again. Believe me, I don’t need it!”

“Um, Ferdinand, it’s Juliette, not Marion. I brought you things to eat.” Her arms are full, not with flowers, but with irresistible goodies, including caramels (provided he hasn’t lost his teeth), licorice, candied chestnuts, and nougat.

“Oh, pardon me, little one, where was my head? It’s nice of you to come, but I don’t want you to have any problems with your father because of me.”

“Don’t worry, Ferdinand, I talked to him. He still doesn’t like you—you didn’t do much to smooth things out—but he’s willing to try for a fresh start. Our lunches aren’t guaranteed, but this is something. It’d be too bad not to come over to eat anymore, especially since it’s so much better than the cafeteria.”

“But I don’t know how to make much. I just made you some sauce dishes here, some pies there. Meanwhile, there was nothing in the fridge. My wife, now she was a veritable Cordon Bleu, and I encouraged her. ‘It’s not bad. Edible. You’ll be able to make it again!’”

“You were always like that? I mean, never giving compliments?”

“I’m mischievous. And forthright. That you can’t fault me on. Maybe people take my jokes as spitefulness if they don’t know me, but I always tell the truth, even if it doesn’t please everyone.”

“Like a three-year-old?”

“Or ten! Don’t you think? I’ve never known how to lie so people aren’t hurt. I’m just like that, a man of truth. A straight shooter. I never cheated on my wife, for that matter.”

“And you want a medal? My father never cheated on my mother, either!”

“That you know of. But fine . . . never mind. You’re still a child. I don’t know why we’re talking about this anyway.”

“You were telling me about how your wife reached the point of not being able to stand you anymore.”

“Ah, yes, she didn’t like the truth, she always took it personally. But it was objective feedback. And
I
didn’t like questions with one right answer. What if she asked me, ‘Is the skin on my neck sagging more than before?’ How could I lie? ‘No, my lovely, you’re as firm as the day we met!’ My body was drooping, too—she must have noticed it—so I wasn’t going to tell tales. It would have broken the trust between us.”

“So how would you answer?”

“‘It’s getting a little turkey neckish, a bit like the texture of tripe.’”

“I don’t believe it! But why were you so . . . imaginative?”

“I don’t know, it just came out. Sometimes, she wouldn’t ask me anything but I couldn’t keep myself from making comments. It was to help her, with constructive criticism. Sometimes, I didn’t even need to say anything, she understood just looking at my face. For example, if she asked me what I thought of her new dress, I would tell her, ‘No, that dress doesn’t do anything for you. We can see your flabby arms and it gives you an awful belly. It looks like you’re pregnant. Unless you are pregnant?’

“Once, she came back from the hairdresser with gray hair! She didn’t ask for my thoughts, but at the same time she’s a woman. A woman coming home from the hairdresser always looks for her husband’s approval. But I said, ‘Your silver hair isn’t working! I know it’s cheaper, but you look like a granny!’

“Then again, she nearly made me soil my pants over a pair of underwear. All I did was put them on her pillow without saying anything, so as not to order her around. But she got up on her high horse, saying, ‘Do I look like a servant to you? You could have sent a telegram with:
HOLE STOP MEND STOP URGENT STOP
.
It wouldn’t have been worse!’ How could I have guessed a mere pair of underpants could cause so much hassle? It’s just she was good at sewing. She made Marion’s clothes and little things for the house, like towels and tablecloths made out of the same red gingham, which I still can’t stand the sight of!”

“Please, reassure me, did you love your wife?”

“Of course.”

“Did you tell her?”

“No, not directly. That sort of effusiveness is always out of context. It bothers me. When she asked me squarely, ‘Do you still love me?’ like an ultimatum, I didn’t answer with ‘Of course, my dear,’ even though it would have saved time and averted loads of arguments. I flat out couldn’t. I didn’t feel my heart ache like it did at the beginning, when we were young. So I answered with a joke, ‘Bah, we get along, we’re used to each other, we have our little routine, and frankly I’d be too lazy to look for better.’ I never did have any luck with women!”

“What century are you living in, Ferdinand? No woman would tolerate even one percent of your actions or comments! Or else you’d have to pick somebody with amnesia. Tell me if you’re interested, I know someone! Also, stop attributing everything to bad luck. Women leave you because you make them. Period! And you’re not even capable of learning from your mistakes. Look how you’re behaving with Mrs. Claudel. She’s still reaching out to you. You can rectify the situation. Same with Marion. So do it! I
dream
of being able to relive my last conversation with my mother. I think about it a lot. I wasn’t very nice to her at the end: I resented her for paying more attention to Emma. I resented her because I wasn’t the only princess anymore. We’re all a bit selfish. But not stupid! Did you ever do something, just once, just to make your wife happy?”

“No, but it’s not so easy with women. You never know what they want. She did throw me a line once, though. She never stopped telling me, ‘You know what my dream is? To travel abroad to see the Taj Mahal.’ I didn’t understand why she wanted to go to the other side of the world. I said, ‘What for? You hate the heat! You panic when you see too many strangers all at once, you’ve never wanted to come camping with me in the mountains.’ And when she bought an orange sari, I said she was ridiculous, that it wasn’t carnival time.”

“You’re hopeless, Ferdinand. No offense, but
she
should’ve gotten a medal. How long did she stay with you?”

“From the age of eighteen to sixty-two. She told me she wasted her best years with me. Can you believe it? She has some nerve! Those aren’t things you say during a divorce, especially when you’re wrong.”

“How was she wrong?”

“She cheated on me with the mailman and left me like an old sock! Even an old sock would have been treated better.”

“Are you sure you want to tell me the rest? You seem tired.”

“I need to talk about it, just once, and after that, it’ll be forgotten. Even Marion—I’ve never told her what I did.”

“You’re scaring me, Ferdinand. You’re not a serial killer after all, are you?”

“No, but I’ve done things I’m not proud of, things that pushed me past the point of no return. One day, when Louise wasn’t home, I got into the house. Well,
her
house. I’d kept a set of keys she didn’t know about. In there, I destroyed everything. I doused her daffodils with weed killer. Can you imagine? I’ve always hated postal service yellow, but that was too much. It was like she wanted to expose her adultery to the whole village. I was cuckolded, and by the mailman! I scratched up his car and punctured the tires. I cut the cords on all the household appliances. I even put nettles in her rain boots. Worse, I let the chickens out. They surely didn’t get very far, with the neighbor’s dogs and the foxes in the woods.

“When she came home, I hid and watched her burst into tears. That should have moved me, but I felt nothing. She deserved it! After that, she never let me come close to her and they moved to the south of France. All I know is she died from a stupid fall getting out of the bathtub. I can’t say whether God punished her, because if there were any justice, I’d have been the first to pay the price. They say tough guys are the last to go. So there it is, the whole story.”

“You put nettles in your wife’s boots, and hoped she’d come back to you? Don’t you have some regrets?”

“To be honest, yes, I have regrets, but if I could do it all over again, I don’t think I’d do anything differently. The only difference is I’d wait every day for her to leave me, and when the moment came, I wouldn’t be surprised. I’d have regrets for myself, but not for us. For me, for having failed again, for being incapable of positively influencing the course of my life. Those are my regrets. Not what you were expecting, eh?”

“But it’s not over! You still have your daughter and your grandson. Maybe there are things you’d like to change with them.”

“It’s too late. I should’ve done it differently with my daughter, maybe taken her to the beach. Kids like the beach, don’t they? Now they’re on the other side of the world. Marion is always asking me to visit, but I’ve got nothing to do down there. She even wants to pay for my ticket, more than four hundred euros. Can you believe it? But it’s out of the question. She’ll work the whole time, I know it. And my grandson, I must have seen him fewer than ten times since he was born. He’s seventeen now, and we’d have nothing to say to each other. And then, I’m not fond of going abroad. So, better to save ourselves the money and the trip.”

“Yes, better to save yourself from life. Let’s scrimp and save our money, and our feelings, too, for that matter,” says Juliette.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Heavens to Betsy

Juliette returns the next day. The discussion from the previous day has been erased, just like the doctor’s promise that Ferdinand would be discharged in the morning. It seems the old man has been forgotten yet again. Ferdinand is out of sorts. He no longer knows whether he dreamed that tirade, confessing his shameful misconduct. Of course he did. Otherwise, why would the little girl have come back?

They’re in the middle of chatting, when an electronic noise resounds through the room, repeating several times. Ferdinand looks around for the source, wondering what he could have done now. That’s when Juliette removes a touch screen tablet from her bag.

“I think your daughter would like to tell you something. You have things to say to each other, don’t you?”

Juliette hands the device to Ferdinand, who feels like a chicken looking at a knife: dubious. He shoots a desperate look at Juliette, who turns the screen toward him. The old man then sees his daughter’s face. Marion, still so far away, seems like she’s right next to him. He can even detect signs of anxiety and fatigue.

“Hello, Papa.”

“How does this thingamabob work? Where’s the mic? Can she see me? I’m shaking too much, she’s going to get seasick! Can you turn the sound up? I can’t hear a thing.
Marion? Can you hear me?
”

“Yes, Papa, very well. You don’t have to shout. Talk like you’re on a telephone, no louder. How are you doing?”

“OK. I’m at the hospital but I’ve had it worse. It’s weird to talk into this thing. You’re fuzzy, Marion. Ah, the picture’s better now! I can’t wait to get out.”

“I blame myself, especially for having missed your call. That dragged things out at the police station. You wouldn’t look like that if I’d gotten your message immediately. It’s my fault, but mostly Eric’s. I called him to ask for an explanation. If I ever get my hands on him!”

“If I may, you’re not looking too hot, either. Are you sleeping at night?”

“Not much at the moment. Between your umpteenth stay at the hospital and Alexandre getting health screenings . . .”

“What’s wrong with Alexandre?”

“They don’t really know yet, so no use worrying about it, which is easier said than done. You know me—I can get nervous and anxious over nothing. Right now, I can’t sleep and I throw up everything I swallow.”

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

“That’s nice, Papa. And I’m sorry about that retirement home business. I was really scared of losing you, especially after Mama’s death. You’re my remaining family, whether you like it or not. But I was wrong.”

“That’s OK, Marion. It’s nothing. Besides, it didn’t do me any harm to clean up. My slippers slide much better now. The hardest part was dealing with Mrs. Suarez.”

“Papa, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. The retirement home isn’t the solution. Something changed in you a while ago. Just offering your help with Alexandre proves it. But I still can’t help but worry. You spend your days alone, with nothing to do. Have you thought about getting another dog? I wasn’t in favor of it at first, but now I think it would do you good.”

“I don’t need a dog. I don’t feel like starting all over again with the training. Then the feelings . . . Just to see it die before me again. And I have Juliette now. It’s kind of the same, a stomach on legs, minus the walks. She’s a nice little girl.”

“But that pains me, too. You’re going to wind up knowing a stranger better than your own grandson. He needs his grandfather.”

“I’m not the one who chose to live in Singapore.”

Ferdinand has a gift for setting fires—not just where there’s fuel, but also where there’s a peace pipe.

“Papa, it was to get away from you and Mama! You put me in the middle of your fights. I couldn’t see either of you without hearing your complaints. Worse, all your ‘Talk to him! He’ll listen to
you
’ or ‘Go see her and ask her to come back. I’m ready to accept her apology.’ It’s sad to say, but with Mama’s death, at least it’s calmed down. And I’ve changed, too. I’m getting older and I’m realizing what’s really important. In one year, I almost lost you twice. That’s not a life—not for you, not for me, not for Alex.”

Marion takes a deep breath and continues.

“I’ve made a big decision, Papa. I’m selling the apartment in the complex and I’d like you to come live with us in Singapore. What do you think?”

“Darling, I’m not sure I heard right. It cut out. Anyway, I have to hang up now. The nurse just came in and it’s time for my treatment. Love you!”

“Papa, don’t hang up. Did you hear my proposal?”

For several long seconds, both of them are silent. Ferdinand’s face remains shut down, then he finally blurts out, “I think so, yes.”

“I’m aware that means an enormous change. But it’s family! I’m not asking for an immediate response, I’m not forcing you into anything. I’m just saying I’d like it. OK, I’ll leave you to your nurses. Call me as soon as you get home and we’ll talk about it some more. Hugs, Papa. I love you.”

“Go on, Marion. Bye. How do you turn this thingamabob off, Juliette?”