Out of Sorts (13 page)

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Elementary, My Dear Watson

Stationed in front of his window in his armchair, Ferdinand contemplates the naked trees’ coating of downy flakes. The sunlight plays on the ice crystals and makes the branches sparkle. It’s Christmas Day. The previous evening, the old man stayed home and thought about Beatrice, who was celebrating with her grandchildren. Then he thought about Juliette, who doesn’t believe in Santa Claus anymore, but who will certainly be happy when she returns to find that Ferdinand gave her a subscription to the magazine
The New Detective
, after her exploits in the resolution of the Suarez case. He can’t wait to see her reaction.

Next, Ferdinand’s thoughts turn to another woman: Madeleine. He thinks of her frail, childlike voice, which seems surprised at the most ordinary things; her mischievous laugh still resonating in his head; her intense gaze, looking for approval. And especially her hand, with its delicate skin, so soft, nonchalantly resting on his, just for a moment, yet an eternity.
Oh, Madeleine!

Ferdinand dwells on the moments he’s spent with her and invents snappier responses. He even imagines their future discussions. “They’re playing a new movie at the cinema. Everyone has good things to say about it. Would you like to go see it?”

Ferdinand decides to take a walk to leave a few traces of human presence in the deserted, immaculate streets. He puts on his overcoat, wraps himself up in a scarf, and tugs his beret down over his ears. Upon opening the door, he discovers a little package on the doorstep. A letter with no postmark. The old man goes back inside, closes the door, and leans against it. The handwriting is loopy and familiar. He smiles and eagerly opens the envelope, pulling out a sheet of narrowly lined paper.

My dearest Ferdinand,

I’m writing to you because I know you’re alone at Christmas and I wanted you to know I’m thinking about you. This year was very difficult for you. The tragic loss of Daisy, the bus accident, the threat of the retirement home, the disputes with the neighbors, Mrs. Suarez’s inspections, the arrest, your stays in the hospital. A hard year, but rich in emotion. With very nice meetings, as well. I’m thinking about ours, of course. It would have taken very little for you to leave me hanging around on your doorstep! Fortunately I thought of the licorice
.

I’m also thinking of Beatrice, that supergranny who lives five yards away from you and who you’d never even spoken to, except maybe with a grunt. Look how your experiences have brought you together today, and all you’ll share from now on.

Finally, I’m thinking of Gramma Maddie. Maybe I’m wrong, but I get the impression she didn’t leave you cold. And I even think I saw a little gleam in your eyes that wasn’t there a few months ago. Desire. The desire not to be alone anymore, the desire to love again, the desire to really start living.

I’m going on and on but I’m forgetting the most important thing: I have to thank you for the subscription to
New Detective
(I’d be a terrible investigator if I wasn’t capable of figuring out my Christmas presents in advance). Our daily lunches should give us time to shed light on the darkest mysteries. I have a little something for you, too. Go out onto your landing. Look, there’s a bigger box. Open it . . .

Ferdinand is positive there wasn’t a box next to the letter, otherwise he would have started by opening it. He opens the door, and there, indeed, is a cardboard box of considerable size, the sort that holds a . . . vacuum cleaner. Or a microwave oven.
Oh, that cheeky monkey! Is she trying to send me a message?
Ferdinand tears off the wrapping paper and uncovers a box for . . . a scanner-printer! Huh? Ferdinand doesn’t even have a computer. Perplexed, he goes back to reading.

So, what do you think? I hope you’re happy. I was a little afraid of your reaction. Then again, I won’t be there for two weeks, so you’ll have time to get used to him and stop holding it against me. Most of all, don’t leave him in the box. I’m sure you’ll know how to find a spot for him . . .

Ferdinand stops his reading cold. He swears he heard a noise close by. A groan, not a whimper.
Oh, no! Not another accident. I’m alone. They’re going to accuse me again!
Then suddenly, he understands.
I’m so stupid! Why didn’t I think of it sooner? Quick!
Ferdinand grabs the box, finds little holes in it, separates the side panels, and out pops a tiny brown head, furry and splotched with white. Ferdinand gently lifts the animal, who turns out to be impossibly light. A tiny little puppy! The first contact is warm. Soft. The eyes are wet and sleepy. Ferdinand cradles the puppy against his chest. Under his fingers he feels the rapid beating of its heart, which gradually slows with his caresses. “Everything’s all right. Don’t be afraid, I’m here.”

Ferdinand doesn’t dare move, for fear of disturbing the puppy and this peaceful moment. Everything’s OK. He’s not alone anymore. Then, he remembers that he interrupted his reading before the end. Gently, he retrieves the letter from his pocket. The puppy has already fallen asleep.

. . . I’m sure you’ll know how to find a spot for him, close to your heart. My father found him along with his three brothers near a construction site. They were hidden in a box soaked by the rain. But the veterinarian said he was in good health, that he just needed love and comfort. Like you! Take good care of Sherlock. Yes, the little beagle is a male. Now we have to make you love men: your grandson, Alexandre, and my father, for starters. I’ll help you. Also think about buying more pickles. I finished the jar . . . There, the car is going to leave so I have to stop. Big hugs. See you soon.

Juliette

PS I don’t know what you did to her, but Gramma Maddie won’t talk about anything but you. She’s on a loop: “But why didn’t Ferdinand come with us? It’s not nice to have left him all alone! Antoine?”

Ferdinand’s heart starts to beat faster. The puppy whimpers, and Ferdinand calms him with a reassuring caress. The letter slips to the floor. He smiles. Life seems sweeter.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Yellow Bellied

Ferdinand is waiting by his telephone. Marion is supposed to call any minute. He’s agreeing to come live with her in Singapore, and he’s extremely nervous about announcing his decision. Marion must be hoping for it without daring to believe in it. They’d set the time, and his daughter is already ten minutes late. If the minutes continue to tick by, he’s afraid he’ll crack and change his mind.

It’s 4:30 p.m., and still nothing. Ferdinand checks the dial tone, hangs up. 4:31. Finally, it rings. Maybe his telephone was left off the hook, after all, and Marion has been trying to reach him for thirty minutes.

“Hello, Marion?”

“Uh, no, this is Tony.”

“Tony? I don’t know any Tony. Sorry, but I have to hang up, I’m waiting for a very important call. Good-bye.”

“Wait, yes, I know. You’re waiting for a call from Marion. She asked me to call you.”

“What’s that? Why can’t Marion call me herself? What’s going on? Did something happen to her? And who are
you
?”

“Marion’s in the hospital with Alexandre. The doctors just made the diagnosis. It’s renal failure.”

“What are you talking about? Is this a joke? They must have made a mistake. He’s seventeen years old . . . And where’s Marion? Why can’t she tell me herself?”

“Marion is taking some tests to see if she’s compatible with Alexandre. He needs a kidney transplant.”

“But who are you? Are you a doctor?”

“No, I’m not a doctor. You know me, I think. I’m Tony Gallica. The mailman . . .”

“The mailman? I don’t know any mailman. Not mine, not my daughter’s. Wait . . . you’re the swine who ran off with my wife!”

“I wouldn’t have put it like that, but yes . . . Louise’s companion.”

“What are you doing mixed up in this family affair? Why is Marion asking you to call me?”

“I came to Singapore for Christmas, like every other year. The results came back during my visit, and I decided to stay. They need me and nothing’s keeping me in France anyway.”

“Oh, no! This is not starting again! This is not happening like that! Tell Marion I’m coming on the next flight. And give me the hospital address so I know where to go, for Pete’s sake!” Tony gives it to him. Ferdinand starts to hang up, then adds, “Tell me, Tony. I have two questions for you. First, do you believe Louise was happy afterward? I mean, well . . .”

“I’m not going to express an opinion about your relationship, but she told me that with me she finally felt beautiful, alive. More womanly, too. She was more serene and radiant than ever on our last trip to India. It was her dream, you know. She spent hours gazing at the Taj Mahal. And then you know about her tragic end that cut our story short, her fall in the bathroom at our hotel in Singapore, while we were visiting Marion on the way back. You wanted to ask me something else . . .”

“Yes. It’s not so much a question . . . just leave me and my family alone! Get out of our lives. I don’t want to deal with you again!”

“We’ll let Marion decide. I watched Alexandre grow up and I’ve spent much more time with him than you have. He’s like my grandson. I can’t abandon him while he’s going through the most difficult time in his life. He needs all the love he can get. Good-bye, Ferdinand. We’ll see each other in a few days in Singapore.”

Ferdinand hangs up, devastated. He doesn’t even realize what he just heard: the flesh of his flesh, sick? And that swine who’s taking his place, who already stole his wife from him—he won’t steal his daughter, or his grandson, too! They’re
his
family.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Travel Broadens the Mind

Yes, family is important, but what worries they cause! Ferdinand was much calmer before he cared about others. Ever since learning the terrible news about Alexandre, he’s been out of sorts. He even has trouble being good company for little Juliette, who calls him to find out how he’s doing, and to make sure he indeed found his present. He doesn’t want the conversation to drag, but his heart is heavy.

“What’s more important, Juliette? The decision you make or the reason for your decision?”

“Well . . . I don’t know. Why are you asking me that? Are you turning into a philosopher? Who cares, right?”

“I don’t have the heart to laugh, little one, I’m sorry. I’m burnt out.”

“Again? But what’s going on?”

“I don’t want to bother you with my business, but to make a long story short, my grandson is experiencing renal failure and has to be operated on right away. I’m moving to Singapore. I think I made the decision mostly because the mailman is there, playing replacement grandpa. It annoys me to compete at a time like this! I have to pack my bags, my flight leaves tomorrow. I’m not sure we’ll see each other again very soon.”

“Oh, no! I don’t want to lose you. I’m sad for Alexandre and I hope he gets better as quick as possible, but I didn’t think I’d ever see you move, let alone so soon.”

“I didn’t think I’d move abroad one day, either, let alone for good. But in any case, I feel like I’m doing something, even if deep down I feel completely powerless. It’s horrible, that lump in your gut when someone close to you is sick. It’s so unfair. I’m an old hypochondriac—sickness should have come looking for
me
! I’m going to be good for something or someone, for once in my life!”

“But it doesn’t work like that. I can’t believe you’re leaving . . . And Gramma Maddie . . . She’s going to be so sad. Isn’t there the slightest chance you’ll stay? No . . . forget what I just said. Leave, it’s the best thing to do. I’ll think about you when I’m eating the nasty stuff the cafeteria serves, and also when I see Matteo lower his eyes when he sees me coming. You’ll be taking your puppy at least? So you’ll think about me sometimes?”

“Yes, of course. It’s not going to be practical, but I think an animal could be fun for Alexandre.”

“OK, and you’ll Skype me, now that you know how.”

“Do you think I’m Beatrice? Yes, I’ll try, Juliette. Every week. You’ll have to see Sherlock grow up, since you’re kind of his mummy, too.”

Chapter Forty

The Die Is Cast

Ferdinand is worrying himself sick. Too much change. Too many things pushing him beyond his comfort zone. He only wanted to live quietly, waiting for death to find his address. Even Dr. Labrousse had told him, “No emotional shocks.” He’s had plenty! Plagued by doubt while facing the immensity of his task, the old man decides to draw up a list:

1. Pack my suitcase.
   

   But what to do with Sherlock?
   

2. Get on the plane (for the first time).
   

   Everybody takes planes. There’s almost never an accident. But Ferdinand has a bad premonition. Note for later: check which airline Marion picked. Then again, it’s too late to change. This is starting out well!
   

3. Go to a foreign country.
   

   This seems insurmountable because he speaks only French. Furthermore, he has a terrible sense of direction. As for telling the difference between the various natives . . .
   

4. Make arrangements to move out belongings.
   

   Horror, horror, horror!
   

5. Move in.
   

   Definitively. And to a place he doesn’t know, to live off his daughter, probably in a ridiculously small room, where he’s going to lose all autonomy. Back to square one: a kind of retirement home!
   

6. Confront my hypochondria.
   

   For the first time in his life, see illness up close, real illness, the kind that can take your life. And unflinchingly endure the wait for a potential donor, daily visits to the hospital. Come each day with an even temper and courage to share.
   

7. Confront the mailman.
   

   The illegitimate grandfather off the back bench, the Latin Lover of the postal service who stole his wife.
   

There! Ferdinand decides to stop his list here and tackle the tasks, one by one. First, the suitcase. Despite the heaps of clothes scattered all around, the suitcase just stays empty. Sherlock, head tilted, tries to understand his master’s game: are you supposed to put things in or take things out of the suitcase?

Ferdinand would like to stop time, or, rather, go back to the moment he left the jail. The moment the threat of the retirement home went away, the moment he didn’t have to choose between France and Singapore, the moment his grandson wasn’t sick, the moment before he knew Tony as a real person.

No, this isn’t the time to hold a grudge or rewrite the past. Ferdinand has to concentrate on the future.
Come on, pull yourself together
. He still has an hour to pack his suitcase before leaving for the airport. Finally, the old man decides to take everything. He struggles with the zipper on his bag and manages to close it by sitting on it. In less than five minutes, the taxi will buzz at his intercom. Sherlock, intrigued, looks at his master, all ready to go.

Ferdinand pulls on his overcoat, puts on his beret, and sits down on his suitcase. He looks at his apartment, scrutinizes every detail to bring the memories with him, reassuring, familiar. Over there, it’ll be the unknown, communal life, crowded in with Marion, crowded in a little hospital room, surrounded by strangers. Not to mention Marion, who’ll be—deservedly—stressed, but his presence may be even more stressful for her, considering how she frets over and infantilizes him. The more he thinks about it, the more Ferdinand has his doubts. What if he ran away? Run away, yes. Somewhere they’ll leave him be, without phone calls (damned telephone just rang, and he unplugged it), without doorbells bothering him . . . Absorbed in his new plans, Ferdinand is suddenly interrupted by the doorbell!
Grrr . . . It can’t be true! Every time it’s Beatrice and she’s going to make me late. That is, if I do leave.
Ferdinand decides to go open the door, takes a glance through the peephole, and discovers, dumbfounded, Eric. He opens the door and takes out his suitcase.

“What do you want? You’ve come at a bad time. I’m going away. So if you don’t have a search warrant, you can get out of here.”

“I know what you’re doing and I’ve come to stop you.”

“Again? You’re a broken record, Super Cop.”

“I’ve come to tell you it’s not worth catching your flight. Right now, Marion and Alexandre are on a plane and they’re landing at Roissy in two hours. And if you listened to what people tell you over the phone instead of hanging up, we’d all save some time!”

“What are you talking about? I heard from Marion. Well, not exactly Marion—she was at the hospital in Singapore with Alexandre. They’re waiting for me. So I don’t understand why they’d change their plans without telling me.”

“Marion thinks the care will be better here. I don’t know if she’s right. In any case, she’s wanted to come back to France for a while, and now she has a good reason to chuck everything. She wants to be sure she understands the subtleties of the procedure and the treatments. And Alexandre needs to be surrounded by his family, and by two potential transplant donors, you and me!”

“Marion said that?”

“No, but it’s the least I can do for Alexandre, don’t you think? Fine, it’s not everything, but I mostly came to ask you to prepare their rooms. After thirteen hours in flight, they’re going to need to rest. I would’ve invited them to my place, but my studio is too small. I’m off to pick them up from the airport. See you later. No hard feelings about last time?”

Ferdinand closes the door on his ex-son-in-law, shakes his head, and pinches himself . . . Ow! No, he’s not dreaming. His family is coming. And staying with him. In less than three hours! His heart races with joy, stress, excitement. He waves his arms, hopping around in an unlikely dance. Sherlock isn’t sure he understands it all, but he yelps as feverishly as his master. The old man tries to recover his senses and ends up seizing his pen to draw up a new list, longer than the first one:

1. Prove that blood ties are stronger than anything.
   

   Stronger than fear, especially. And the mailman! Even though he doesn’t know Ferdinand well, Alexandre needs him, needs his presence and maybe also his kidney. That’ll be what differentiates him from Tony. Blood ties. Yes, he loves Alexandre, but he can’t lie: that thing about the transplant scares him stiff.
   

2. Resolve to give up my peaceful existence.
   

   And try to be happy about it.
   

3. Make room in my house.
   

   To welcome two people, plus Sherlock.
   

4. Support Alexandre on a daily basis.
   

   With the difficulties of treatment, setting aside his fear of medications, hospitals, sick people who vomit and cough . . .
   

5. Put up with my enemies.
   

   Super Cop, for one. The mailman, for another, if he has the misfortune to show himself.
   

6. Shake up my habits.
   

   His lunches with Juliette, his coffees with Beatrice, his future meetings with Madeleine . . .
   Oh, Madeleine!
   

7. Leave room for the unexpected.
   

   For good and less-good news. Accept change, don’t fight against it.
   

8. Change my epitaph.
   

   All things considered, “Alone at last” is perhaps a bit exaggerated. A little interaction can’t hurt.
   

Ferdinand starts to realize he might be able to stay in his home. For good. He doesn’t dare believe it yet. He’s never had any luck, or respite, or happy endings. There’s going to be a ring, either at the door or the telephone. Probably someone he hates, Tony or Eric, the ghost of Mrs. Suarez or Louise. Like a cruel reminder of the reality of his life, and which will definitively remove all hope of happiness.

But nothing happens. No ringing, no telephone call, no doorbell. Sherlock plays quietly in his basket. Suddenly, however, he gets excited. The puppy heads for the door, furiously wagging his tail. There’s someone in the stairwell. It can’t be Beatrice, she’s with her family. Nor Juliette. Marion and Alexandre are still on the plane, and Eric is heading for the airport. The old man is practically alone in the complex. Whatever happens, he’ll ignore whoever wants to bring him the next piece of news that will once more change the course of his life. Sherlock yaps noisily, and Ferdinand shoots daggers at him. The bell rings.

“What now?”