Read The Body In the Vestibule Online
Authors: Katherine Hall Page
The Body In the Vestibule (8 page)
The Fairchilds had adopted St. Nizier as their neighborhood church, despite their own religious affiliation. Or, as Faith said, “God is God.” They'd taken Ben last Sunday and he had been so intrigued by the service movingly led by the brothers in their dramatic white robes and deep purple stoles and the interior of the church that he had sat still as a church mouse throughout the mass. Faith had not had to take out any of the books or small toys she'd brought for his distraction. The only rough moment had come early when he'd tried to blow out some votive candles on his way in.
The
boulangeries
were all closed on Sunday, so there was no fresh bread. They really were getting spoiled, Faith told Tom. She'd bought a large brioche the day before and it had kept nicely. All three of them dipped wedges of it in their bowls of coffee and hot chocolate for Ben, then hastened to wash their drippy chins for church.
boulangeries
were all closed on Sunday, so there was no fresh bread. They really were getting spoiled, Faith told Tom. She'd bought a large brioche the day before and it had kept nicely. All three of them dipped wedges of it in their bowls of coffee and hot chocolate for Ben, then hastened to wash their drippy chins for church.
The
clochard
was there, receiving alms and doing quite nicely. Madame Boiron had told Faith that he often came to the pharmacy to exchange his coins for bills and she was too frightened of him to refuse. On a good day, she said, he could make three hundred francs or more, around sixty dollarsânot bad for nontaxable nonwork.
clochard
was there, receiving alms and doing quite nicely. Madame Boiron had told Faith that he often came to the pharmacy to exchange his coins for bills and she was too frightened of him to refuse. On a good day, she said, he could make three hundred francs or more, around sixty dollarsânot bad for nontaxable nonwork.
As they approached the door of the church, there were several people in front of them and Faith had a good chance to look at the
clochard
as they waited. There was no question. Same clothes, same filthy
casquette,
pulled over his
eyes. Same matted beard on his red, somewhat bloated face.
clochard
as they waited. There was no question. Same clothes, same filthy
casquette,
pulled over his
eyes. Same matted beard on his red, somewhat bloated face.
She reached into her purse for some change and leaned closer to him, placing a five-franc piece in the bowl he was pushing toward her. She looked at his hand, then quickly at the other one resting on his knee. Filthy hands, the dirt ground into the folds of the skin. She stood up and walked into the church behind Tom and Benjamin.
Filthy handsâbut unscathed. There wasn't even the suggestion of a scratch on the back of either one. No one healed that miraculously, even when sitting all day in the shadow of the Lord's temple.
She wasn't crazy.
It wasn't the same
clochard.
clochard.
At the end of the mass, Faith guided Tom and Ben rapidly down the aisle and out into Place St. Nizier.
“What's your hurry?” Tom asked. “We're not due at Paul's mother's for an hour.”
“I know, but we're certain to get lost and I want to get some flowers in the market to give her, and they'll be closing soon. Why don't you take Ben upstairs and get him ready while I
cherchez les fleurs,
and we'll meet here in twenty minutes?”
cherchez les fleurs,
and we'll meet here in twenty minutes?”
“I want to go with Mommy,” Ben complained.
“Not now, sweetie, go with Daddy and
faire pee pee,
then pick out a toy to show Stéphanie and Pierre.”
faire pee pee,
then pick out a toy to show Stéphanie and Pierre.”
Ben's face brightened at the prospect of seeing the Leblanc children, but Faith could still hear him patiently
pointing out to Tom, “But Daddy, I don't
need
to
faire pee pee,
” all the way across the square.
pointing out to Tom, “But Daddy, I don't
need
to
faire pee pee,
” all the way across the square.
She raced to the market and had a bouquet of blue delphinium, white roses, and pale pink ranunculus arranged. She liked this system: You pointed to the flowers you wanted, then greens were added and the final product wrapped in stiff, clear plastic trimmed with cascading curls of ribbon swiftly achieved with the flick of a scissor blade. The treatment made even the humblest daisy look like a treasure.
When she returned, Tom and Ben were not down from the apartment yet, as she had planned, and she started across to the church, where the
clochard
was still sitting in hopes of a franc or two from worshippers lingering inside after the mass. Madame Vincent was one of these and had apparently softened her attitude of the other evening. She dropped a coin in the
clochard's
bowl, then leaned over to exchange a few words with him before straightening up and crossing the square. She waved to Faith in passing and called out, “Tea tomorrow? I'll speak with you in the morning,” before disappearing into the building.
clochard
was still sitting in hopes of a franc or two from worshippers lingering inside after the mass. Madame Vincent was one of these and had apparently softened her attitude of the other evening. She dropped a coin in the
clochard's
bowl, then leaned over to exchange a few words with him before straightening up and crossing the square. She waved to Faith in passing and called out, “Tea tomorrow? I'll speak with you in the morning,” before disappearing into the building.
Faith stopped directly in front of the
clochard
and said in the careful French she had been rehearsing since entering the church an hour earlier, “How are you? You did not seem to be feeling very well the other night in my hallway.”
clochard
and said in the careful French she had been rehearsing since entering the church an hour earlier, “How are you? You did not seem to be feeling very well the other night in my hallway.”
She had no idea what to expect, but she wanted to see what he would say and also get a better look at his face, obscured as it was by the cap. She looked at his hands again. One held a cigarette and the other possessively clutched a liter of wineâ
Le Cep Vermeil,
The Silver Vineâits low price and wide availability belying its elegant name.
Le Cep Vermeil,
The Silver Vineâits low price and wide availability belying its elegant name.
She stared at his hands. Not even a trace of a scar, but there was a trace of a ring on his right ring fingerâa very definite place that had escaped the sun. Her
clochard,
as Faith had come to think of him, hadn't been wearing a ring.
Nor did she recall that his nails had been bitten to the bloody quick as this one's were.
clochard,
as Faith had come to think of him, hadn't been wearing a ring.
Nor did she recall that his nails had been bitten to the bloody quick as this one's were.
She repeated her question, since the man had made no reply and had, in fact, not moved at all.
This time, he answered. “Get away,
putain,”
he hissed in a low voice without looking up. “Get away!”
putain,”
he hissed in a low voice without looking up. “Get away!”
Shaken, she hastily moved into the church and walked down the darkened nave to the small chapel of St. Expedit, patron of lost causes. It was always cool inside St. Nizier and at the moment the only sound was the soft shuffling of the priests as they went about their work. One passed close to her and when she turned to look at him, he nodded and smiled. He was carrying an armful of baguettes and wearing white Nikes under his robes. She stepped up into the chapel, dropped some francs in the box and lighted a candle. The sun shone through the stained-glass window, dappling the statue of the boyish-looking saint in greens, blues, and gold. Faith bowed her head and got down on her knees. The position was surprisingly comfortable, whether from an easing of the soul or of baby fatigue, she wasn't sure. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
It was certainly a different man. And that could only mean the other
clochard
was dead. There was no other reason to go to all the trouble of impersonating him. But this poor wreck outside hardly seemed capable of engineering such a switch, let alone committing a murder.
clochard
was dead. There was no other reason to go to all the trouble of impersonating him. But this poor wreck outside hardly seemed capable of engineering such a switch, let alone committing a murder.
Murder. She'd said it finallyâor rather thought it and knew it was what she had believed ever since hearing the body was gone. Someone had killed the
clochard,
put the body in the
poubelle,
then removed it before the police arrived. It would have to have been done quickly. A car waiting outside? But she had been at the window like Sister Anne in the tower and she hadn't heard a sound until the police pulled up. And why kill the
clochard
in the first place. Who was he? There had been no trace of violence and presumably the police had checked for obvious bloodstains
in the trash. Given the man's nature, he might have been killed in a fight with another
clochard
who then panicked and dumped him in the bin, yet that left the charade of the last two days.
clochard,
put the body in the
poubelle,
then removed it before the police arrived. It would have to have been done quickly. A car waiting outside? But she had been at the window like Sister Anne in the tower and she hadn't heard a sound until the police pulled up. And why kill the
clochard
in the first place. Who was he? There had been no trace of violence and presumably the police had checked for obvious bloodstains
in the trash. Given the man's nature, he might have been killed in a fight with another
clochard
who then panicked and dumped him in the bin, yet that left the charade of the last two days.
And what about the man outside? Who was
he?
She hadn't expected the frighteningly venomous responseâit wasn't every day she was called a whore-but then, what had she expected? That he would tell her what was going on?
he?
She hadn't expected the frighteningly venomous responseâit wasn't every day she was called a whore-but then, what had she expected? That he would tell her what was going on?
She got quickly to her feet. Ben and Tom would be waiting.
When she went back outside, the
clochard
was gone.
clochard
was gone.
Â
The Leblancs had come up with an old but perfectly reliable Citroën Deux Chevaux for the Fairchilds' use. It had a canvas roof that folded back, windows one pushed open and clicked into place on the exterior, and something akin to park benches as seats. It was bright red and they had all come to love it, especially Ben. Now they chugged their way up a steep hill to St. Didier-au-Mont-d'Or, where Paul's parents lived. They found the address after only a few wrong turns and pulled into the gravel-covered courtyard. It was a beautiful old stone house with a magnificent garden. Large hydrangea bushes on either side of the front door spilled their puffy flowers out into the sunshine and filled the air with their soft scent.
Sunday dinner in the countryâstraight out of a French movie, and after struggling to keep up with sisters, cousins, cousins' sisters, Faith gave up on pairing names with faces and let the infectious good humor of the day sweep over her. It was a relief. She resolutely switched her mind to automatic pilot, put a smile on her face, and decided to live in the moment. There was nothing she could do just now, anyway.
Ben was immediately claimed by the Leblanc children and their kin. When she went to check on him, he was
happily seated in the driver's seat of a vintage pedal car, zooming around a smaller garden, complete with vine-covered playhouse. The older children were busy setting places at a picnic table under a tree and assured her she was completely unnecessary for Ben's well-being and happiness. Well, she had eyes, too. Not sure whether to be delighted or rebuffed, she returned to the adults, and it wasn't long before delight won outâeasily.
happily seated in the driver's seat of a vintage pedal car, zooming around a smaller garden, complete with vine-covered playhouse. The older children were busy setting places at a picnic table under a tree and assured her she was completely unnecessary for Ben's well-being and happiness. Well, she had eyes, too. Not sure whether to be delighted or rebuffed, she returned to the adults, and it wasn't long before delight won outâeasily.
It was just like all the other parties and dinners she had attended. People came to have a good time. There was a great bustling to and fro from the kitchen. The adults were also eating outside at a table set up under a grape arbor adjacent to the house. Faith tried to help and was firmly placed in a canvas lawn chair next to Paul's father, who told her in slow, very precise English that he was a great admirer of the United States and did she know Philip Roth. “We like his books here very much. I try to read them in English, but I have to look at the French sometimes to be sure. You must have the same problem when you read French.”
Faith gave what she hoped was a noncommittal reply, her reading in French being limited to the French editions of
Elle
and
Vogue,
with an occasional glance these days at
Le Monde,
and quickly asked about his family, which took them away from Molière, Colette, and whomever to the table. He was continuing to list various relatives and telling stories as they sat down.
Elle
and
Vogue,
with an occasional glance these days at
Le Monde,
and quickly asked about his family, which took them away from Molière, Colette, and whomever to the table. He was continuing to list various relatives and telling stories as they sat down.
“You see that beautiful statue there?” Faith nodded as he pointed to an Italian marble garden statue of some female deity. “My grandfather brought it back from Tuscany and that naughty girl there”âhe moved his arm from indicating the statue to a very pretty dark-haired woman bringing a bowl to the tableâ“that girl,
ma fille,
my own daughter,” he continued in a slightly louder voice now that everyone was listening, “painted it bright blue when she was a child. You can still see traces of the color,” he told Faith
as the group exploded in laughter, as if hearing the story for the first time.
ma fille,
my own daughter,” he continued in a slightly louder voice now that everyone was listening, “painted it bright blue when she was a child. You can still see traces of the color,” he told Faith
as the group exploded in laughter, as if hearing the story for the first time.
“And it looked much better, too,” his daughter, Michèle, rejoined.
Paul's mother apologized for the
picque-nique
and Faith immediately insisted, truthfully, that it was all the food she loved the most. There was a large platter of
oeufs en gelée
âperfect three-minute eggs taken out of their shells and placed in a small mold, then covered with gelatin. These also had tiny shrimp set on top and a flower cut from a carrot slice and parsley, so the unmolded result both looked and tasted delicious. The eggs were surrounded by fresh tomatoes. Another platter held slices of cold veal that had been stuffed with pistachio nuts. Then there were several large bowlsâ
saladiers
âof tabouleh; potatoes with herring and a vinagrette sauce; the tiny lentils from the town of Le Puy, the so-called caviar of Le Puy, mixed with bits of bacon, shallots, and a mustardy vinaigrette; a large green salad with several lettuces; and
salade museau,
something that appeared to be thin slices of some kind of ham in a light mayonnaise. It went down better with some English-speaking people if it wasn't translated, Paul told them. Pig's snouts did not sound as good as they tasted. In addition, there were all sorts of the famous Lyonnais sausagesâ
rosettes, cervelas, sabodet
âand plenty of breadâcrusty baguettes and large round country loaves. The board groaned. It was a feast. Pitchers of Côte du Rhône and water were passed around and the noise got louder. Paul was sitting next to Faith.
picque-nique
and Faith immediately insisted, truthfully, that it was all the food she loved the most. There was a large platter of
oeufs en gelée
âperfect three-minute eggs taken out of their shells and placed in a small mold, then covered with gelatin. These also had tiny shrimp set on top and a flower cut from a carrot slice and parsley, so the unmolded result both looked and tasted delicious. The eggs were surrounded by fresh tomatoes. Another platter held slices of cold veal that had been stuffed with pistachio nuts. Then there were several large bowlsâ
saladiers
âof tabouleh; potatoes with herring and a vinagrette sauce; the tiny lentils from the town of Le Puy, the so-called caviar of Le Puy, mixed with bits of bacon, shallots, and a mustardy vinaigrette; a large green salad with several lettuces; and
salade museau,
something that appeared to be thin slices of some kind of ham in a light mayonnaise. It went down better with some English-speaking people if it wasn't translated, Paul told them. Pig's snouts did not sound as good as they tasted. In addition, there were all sorts of the famous Lyonnais sausagesâ
rosettes, cervelas, sabodet
âand plenty of breadâcrusty baguettes and large round country loaves. The board groaned. It was a feast. Pitchers of Côte du Rhône and water were passed around and the noise got louder. Paul was sitting next to Faith.
“We are a bit crazy on the weekends. There's always this dinner at my mother's. She has the largest house and whoever is around comes.”
“I like it,” Faith responded. “And you certainly seem to be a close family.”
“Oh, we are. We may hate each other, but we are close.”
She looked surprised.
He laughed. “It would be impossible to be with this many people without some friction, and from time to time we won't see someone for a while. Eventually, he or she comes back. No one is ever turned away, no matter what.”
Faith wondered if this was a universal French custom. It certainly wasn't something she'd observed often in the States. But families there tended to be more spread out and that had to account for some of it. She was on the point of asking him more when he told her how much he had enjoyed the dinner party at her apartment.
“Even though we are both at the university, I seldom see Georges, and Valentina never, unless she has an opening. Georges and I were at school together in the dark ages. With the Marists on the Fourvière Colline. Before they were admitting girls and getting soft. Believe me, we were
taught.
”
taught.
”
“How did Georges like that? He doesn't strike me as someone who would take to strict discipline easily.”
“Oh, he hated it, of course. We all hated and loved it, but perhaps he did not love it so much. He was already quite political and thought the whole business very
facho,
you know, fascistic. It was the sixties, remember, and he went on to playa big role in Paris as a student in the events of May in '68. Used to live in those blue cotton overalls workmen and farmers wear. Sometimes I think his life since then has been a bit disappointing to him. All the real excitement of youth is over, even though he still gets out there whenever there's a needâSOS Racism, the group fighting discrimination, the Barbie trial demonstrations. I admire him for sticking to his guns.”
facho,
you know, fascistic. It was the sixties, remember, and he went on to playa big role in Paris as a student in the events of May in '68. Used to live in those blue cotton overalls workmen and farmers wear. Sometimes I think his life since then has been a bit disappointing to him. All the real excitement of youth is over, even though he still gets out there whenever there's a needâSOS Racism, the group fighting discrimination, the Barbie trial demonstrations. I admire him for sticking to his guns.”
“And Valentina? Is she also political?”
“Oh no, Valentina only wants to make money. She has been amazingly successfulâpartly because of her connections in Italy. She has become known as a source for contemporary French art and much of her business is selling to
Italian customers. Her brothers handle things in Rome. She has also discovered some Italian artists and represents them in France. It's a bit of a dilemma for poor Georges. She gave him a fancy new car last year, a BMW, and the way he sneaks into the parking lot with it, you'd have thought it was stolen. However, I notice he keeps it immaculate. I've even seen him flick dust off it with his handkerchiefâand he has an alarm system. Ah, how easily we are seduced.”
Italian customers. Her brothers handle things in Rome. She has also discovered some Italian artists and represents them in France. It's a bit of a dilemma for poor Georges. She gave him a fancy new car last year, a BMW, and the way he sneaks into the parking lot with it, you'd have thought it was stolen. However, I notice he keeps it immaculate. I've even seen him flick dust off it with his handkerchiefâand he has an alarm system. Ah, how easily we are seduced.”
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