The Incorrigible Optimists Club (35 page)

21

I
n the game of ‘Happy Families', I'm collecting the repatriates. It's hard to imagine how any single family could accumulate so much misfortune. The Delaunays disembarked from Algeria. Maurice, Louise and the cousins Thomas and François, with their suitcases, their spaniel Toby, their pied noir accent and their bitterness. They had left behind their thirty-two buildings, their businesses, their cars, their furniture and their sunshine.

‘Right up to the end, we believed them. We hoped for a miracle. France abandoned us. It was a stampede. Panic everywhere. We fought to climb aboard the boats. We left without anything. Without a bean. They took everything from us,' explained Maurice dejectedly.

‘Over there, you were rich. Here, you're poor. If it were me, I would have stayed,' my father asserted.

A few years beforehand, grandfather Philippe had divided his will between his two children. My mother had inherited our flat and the family business. Uncle Maurice had invested his share in buildings in the centre of Algiers and Oran. He had borrowed money and given his personal guarantee. He was going to have to go on paying it back over ten years and he no longer received any rent.

‘All we're left with are our debts and our eyes to cry with,' moaned Louise.

‘We're in it together! It's when there are problems that the family is important,' asserted my mother, trying to raise their spirits. ‘You're at home here.'

They moved in. When they had come during the holidays, the mood used to be joyful. We laughed and concentrated on having fun and making the most of everything. But now the atmosphere was no longer fun. The flat was transformed into a disorganized camping site. If we had been able to voice our opinion, we would have preferred them to live somewhere
else. It was a bad moment to arrive, for reasons we didn't wish to talk about. I made an effort. Thomas and François only read comics. I recommended books to them, but they looked at me as though I were retarded.

Maria was an energetic woman with an exalted notion of her role. She was part of the family. My mother left the day to day running of the house to her, and, from morning till evening, she did so without having anyone nagging her. From one day to the next, she found herself landed with the Delaunay tribe, who never lifted a finger, thought they were in a hotel and gave her orders that she refused to carry out. She loathed them and considered them intruders. The old resentment between pieds noirs and Spaniards rose to the surface. Louise grumbled about her bad temper. As far as my mother was concerned, Maria was a gem. It all exploded after the washing machine gave up the ghost. Maria declared she had too much work and gave a week's notice. My mother kept her by giving her a pay rise, but she continued to moan.

Juliette had pinned great hopes on the arrival of the cousins: someone to talk to at last. But the
chiacchierona
was disappointed. Louise never stopped crying and exhausted her with her constant complaining. The cousins cold-shouldered her. They spent their time in front of the telly and she irritated them. So Juliette continued talking to herself and she took her revenge on the cousins, who took baths every morning, by emptying the hot-water-tank and leaving them with ice-cold water.

No one could have foreseen the battle that would break out between Toby and Néron. Our cat was furious about the presence of this slobbering creature that left hairs everywhere and barked for no reason. The moment they were introduced, they hated one another. They had to be shut in separate rooms. Toby never left Franck's former bedroom, and Néron remained in Juliette's room. But we kept forgetting to close the doors and every time we did so they laid into each other. Toby set about Néron intending to kill him, had his snout ripped open by an angry claw, and howled the entire night. Subsequently, even this dog we had reckoned was stupid realized that he had to give our cat a wide berth.

*

Worries shouldn't be kept to yourself – they should be shared with friends. I spoke about mine to Leonid, who was playing chess with Igor. I was in luck. On matters to do with distress, misfortune and adversity, they were experts. They explained to me what in mathematics is known as the ‘law of series'. An American by the name of Murphy had given an example that bore it out with incontrovertible logic. If I have understood correctly it goes like this: a slice of bread always falls jam side up or it remains stuck to the ceiling and, when it falls down again, it lands on the carpet, your face or your tie.

‘If, by the most unlikely chance, it falls on the non-buttered side,' Igor continued, ‘it's because you've buttered it on the wrong side.'

‘I've tried it with blinis and taramasalata, and the same thing happens,' Leonid continued.

One way or another, they succeeded in persuading me that the Delaunays' moving into our home was a godsend and that I should be pleased about it.

‘We don't want to depress you, Michel, but at your age, you should learn to appreciate the present moment. The worst is ahead of you. Compared to what awaits you, the present, whatever it may be like, is easy.'

‘But be careful, you shouldn't lack interest in everyday matters, you must just keep away from them. That way, nothing can affect you.'

This conversation made me feel happy. I was delighted to have understood a scientific concept. I changed my attitude towards my cousins. They were not aware of anything different and still kept themselves glued to the television.

After two weeks, a sort of organized disorder set in. My father went back to his old habit of leaving at dawn and returning home as late as possible. My mother did much the same. The family had grown larger and we had to resign ourselves. Louise was the only one not to have understood that certain questions ought not to be asked, for fear of upsetting this delicate balance.

‘What's become of Franck?' she asked. ‘Where is he?'

She tried this on my father, who left without responding; on my mother, who gave her a dirty look; on Juliette, who didn't know; on me,
who pretended I hadn't heard her; and on Maria, who never spoke to her. She tried again at lunchtime one Sunday, while my father was carving the chicken, and Grandfather Philippe cut her short: ‘You're boring us stiff, Louise, with your bloody questions. Franck's travelling!'

Every time the phone rang, I rushed to pick up the call. It was never usually for me. But one evening, Cécile got in touch. She had come back. It was late, and she sounded tired, a bit absent-minded. She didn't want us to meet. She had to arrange Pierre's funeral, which would take place in the country, at the family tomb.

‘I can come, if you like.'

‘It's not worth it.'

‘I'd like to be with you.'

‘There's going to be family there. People I haven't seen for years.'

‘But we'll be together. I've had a lot of problems too.'

‘Don't go on, Michel, I want to be alone with Pierre. The others are strangers to me. I'm tired; I need to rest. I'll be there for a brief while and we'll see each other when I get back. Will you be around?'

‘Guess what: the Delaunays from Algeria have landed. The house is a pigsty. We won't be going on holiday this year, so we can have some time together in August. Cécile, I'm your brother now.'

‘Yes, you're my kid brother. I'll call you.'

It was early July. My mother had not come home. We were slightly concerned. She never went away without warning us. She had left the shop in the late afternoon without saying where she was going. We phoned my grandfather, but she wasn't with him. We began supper without her. Then the front door slammed and my mother entered the room in a fury. We were gathered round the table. Maria was serving us.

‘Paul, five million in Treasury bonds are missing at the bank! Where are they?'

My father got to his feet. His napkin fell into his soup plate. He stood there, open-mouthed, caught off-guard.

‘What have you done with them?'

When my mother reverted to old francs, it meant there was a problem.

‘Er… Ah yes, the five million. I wanted to talk to you about that.'

‘Are you making fun of me?'

‘Listen, we can talk about this later. Privately.'

‘Immediately!'

The Delaunays from Algeria witnessed the row. Juliette and I didn't know where to put ourselves.

‘Listen, Hélène, it would be better if we discussed this on our own.'

‘I want an explanation!'

‘I can't tell you anything.'

‘What? You take five million francs from the bank without my knowledge. You forge my signature and yet you can't tell me anything?'

‘I needed it.'

‘Five million? What for?… Are you taking me for a ride? It's family money. I wanted to give it to my brother. He needs it. It's all gone!'

‘It's money I've earned! I was entitled to take it. And stop using that tone in front of the children.'

‘I'll talk in whatever tone I want. I'm not blaming you for taking the money! I'm blaming you for concealing it from me. And for forging my signature!'

‘I'll pay you back.'

‘Oh really? What with? With my money, perhaps?'

‘Don't you believe me?'

‘Who's to say that you didn't just pocket this money? That you haven't got a mistress? That you didn't lose it at the races or at cards?'

‘As if you didn't know what I do all day long.'

‘Tell me the truth!'

‘I can't, Hélène.'

‘I hope it's not for Franck? It's not for him, is it?'

‘No.'

‘Was that why you made the trip to the Nord? Do you take me for an idiot? I suspected as much. You've seen Franck. You've helped him.'

‘Never!'

My mother turned towards me. She looked me straight in the eye.

‘Michel, have you seen your brother?'

A shiver ran through me. I felt as though my hair were standing on end and I blushed. But I held her gaze and tried to remain calm. My father's head was down. I immediately remembered the promise that he had insisted I make, man to man. I was trapped. I could still hear his words: ‘Whatever happens and whoever it may be.'

‘No, I haven't seen him,' I said in an offhand way.

‘You haven't spoken to him?'

‘I would have told you, Mama.'

‘And you, Juliette?'

‘Mama, I promise you. We haven't seen Franck.'

She glared at my father.

‘If it's not for him, you're going to have to explain to me. You know me, when I've got a bee in my bonnet, I don't give up. I won't stand for it, believe me!'

My father put on his coat and went out. In the morning, when we got up, he wasn't there. After that, the Treasury bonds were never mentioned again. I didn't know whether my father had used them to pay for the cost of the journey or whether he had given them to Franck for future use. But the subject was closed.

My mother declared that the
fellaghas
would never lay down the law in our house. We would not alter our plans or habits in any way. We would spend our holidays in Perros-Guirrec as we did every August. I phoned Cécile on several occasions, but she didn't reply. I went round to her place, and the concierge confirmed that she hadn't come back and that she didn't know where she was.

Just as we were taking our baggage downstairs, a policeman arrived, and my father was summoned to the police station. Two inspectors asked him the same questions over and over again. Why had he returned to France? He had mentioned Tangier. Was his son in Morocco? Diplomacy not being his forte, he told them that they could go to hell, they and the entire French army. They detained him for two days. We had to delay our departure.

The day after we arrived in Brittany, my father deserted us, with the excuse that he had work to do, and returned to Paris. We had to endure a month of rain interspersed with winds and icy squalls. It was impossible to swim, to stay on the beach or to walk along the coastal path, which had turned into a bog, without risking breaking our necks. We watched the rain pour down. We played Monopoly. The Delaunays from Algeria didn't know how to play chess, but they loved buying houses and hotels. I made several calls to Cécile, without getting through.

My father came back to collect us and we returned earlier than planned. Because their school records had been burnt in a fire at the Lycée Bugeaud, the cousins had to take an exam to get into Henri-IV. They failed. Their accent must have counted against them. They were so pleased with themselves that I didn't feel sorry for them. Grandfather tried to use his connections, but to no avail. Louise wanted to register them at Stanislas, which had an excellent reputation, but they no longer had the means. The cousins were also turned down at Montaigne and at Buffon, and eventually ended up at Charlemagne, which took settlers without an exam.

On 15 September, I got a call from Cécile. I hadn't heard a word from her for two months.

‘I'm glad to hear from you. I went to your place. Your concierge told you, didn't she?'

‘We have to see one another, Michel.'

‘We can meet in the Luxembourg tomorrow.'

‘We've got to meet straight away.'

‘I'm in the middle of making my cousins from Algeria do some work. They were turned down by Henri-IV. They're absolutely useless.'

‘It's urgent.'

‘Can't you wait a bit?'

‘No!'

Half an hour later, I rang her doorbell. She opened the door. She had changed. She was wearing Pierre's white Scottish pullover, which came down to the middle of her thighs. It was the first time I'd seen her in a skirt. She had a new hairstyle, with an uneven fringe. Her dark hair fell
over her shoulders. She had that gloomy expression she wore when she was in a bad mood. She didn't reply when I said, ‘Hello, how are you?' She turned around and leant against the drawing room table. A cardboard box lay on top of it.