and hog killings, the geese that were roasted for the Feast of Saint Martin, Christmas and Easter dishes they couldnât forget to this day â¦Â They told each other all this outside the closed doors of the dining hall, so they wouldnât have to think about how ravenously hungry they were. But today, for the second day in a row, the foehn was blowing, for the second day in a row the doors to the dining hall were open wide and now and then a dejected pensioner would wander in, sigh deeply and instead of just sitting down, heâd slump into his chair and bump his elbow on the plate, which clinked against the silverware â¦
7
        O N S ATURDAY AFTERNOONS AND S UNDAYS , F RANCIN , who hated sitting around the house, liked to tinker. That was the only reason he tinkered, so he wouldnât have to sit around the house, every Saturday he called in someone to help him, preferably a worker from the brewery but sometimes just an ordinary fellow he happened to meet in the little town. First he disassembled his motorcycle engine, then his car engine, and after midnight he put everything back together again, he tried to convince his helpers of the beauty and charm of an engine, enthusiastically explaining each and every part, the workers would listen respectfully, but their minds were elsewhere, at home, in the pub, each of them resolved firmly that this would be the last time he ever helped Francin with his tinkering, and in this way Francin, oneby one and with great enthusiasm, got all the maltsters and all the coopers, all the simple and trustworthy people of the little town, to work for him, he couldnât stand people who read books, who meant something in the little town. He liked the simple man, who listened respectfully or at least pretended to be as passionate about car parts as he was. But only here, in the retirement home, did I realize that Francin, with all his tinkering, had just been trying to run away from me, he loved me too much, whenever Iâd look at him and smile, heâd blush to the roots of his beautiful hair, I turned him to jelly, he became submissive, pathetic, and was terrified that if I were to smile like that at other young men, theyâd undoubtedly fall as much in love with me as he was. And he wished the impossible for himself, that I would belong to him alone, that he would never have to share my smiles, my eyes, my hair, my words with anyone else. So itâs only now, now that Iâve had my teeth pulled, that I understand that I was once a goddess to him, that he was powerless against me, he could never be rude to me, he could never, ever look at me, he could never stand my gaze for too long, heâd lower his eyes and knit his fingers and then, on the pretense that he was going out to get coal, heâd go out to the brewery courtyard, where he could recover his composure in the fresh air, he spent a long time shoveling coal into buckets from the big piles next to the malt house, and whenhe came back inside, he stoked the fire and pretended to be busy with something, anything, as long as he didnât have to look me in the eye, and if he did look at me, it was to watch me as I sat reading or did the ironing. Most of all he liked to help me stretch the eiderdowns and sheets, which had been sprinkled with water that had dribbled from my fingers as if from a holy water font, weâd each grab two corners of the sheet, crumple them up in our hands, and then, standing face-to-face, weâd pull so hard it was as if we wanted to tear the sheet down the middle, and then came the best part, after we had stretched the damp sheets with our fingers we moved toward each other with ludicrous little steps, the corners of the sheet and our fingers touched and I took the corners from Francinâs hands, he was always so happy, he came mincing toward me and then stood still with one leg raised, as if he were doing a dance step, and laughed,
7
        O N S ATURDAY AFTERNOONS AND S UNDAYS , F RANCIN , who hated sitting around the house, liked to tinker. That was the only reason he tinkered, so he wouldnât have to sit around the house, every Saturday he called in someone to help him, preferably a worker from the brewery but sometimes just an ordinary fellow he happened to meet in the little town. First he disassembled his motorcycle engine, then his car engine, and after midnight he put everything back together again, he tried to convince his helpers of the beauty and charm of an engine, enthusiastically explaining each and every part, the workers would listen respectfully, but their minds were elsewhere, at home, in the pub, each of them resolved firmly that this would be the last time he ever helped Francin with his tinkering, and in this way Francin, oneby one and with great enthusiasm, got all the maltsters and all the coopers, all the simple and trustworthy people of the little town, to work for him, he couldnât stand people who read books, who meant something in the little town. He liked the simple man, who listened respectfully or at least pretended to be as passionate about car parts as he was. But only here, in the retirement home, did I realize that Francin, with all his tinkering, had just been trying to run away from me, he loved me too much, whenever Iâd look at him and smile, heâd blush to the roots of his beautiful hair, I turned him to jelly, he became submissive, pathetic, and was terrified that if I were to smile like that at other young men, theyâd undoubtedly fall as much in love with me as he was. And he wished the impossible for himself, that I would belong to him alone, that he would never have to share my smiles, my eyes, my hair, my words with anyone else. So itâs only now, now that Iâve had my teeth pulled, that I understand that I was once a goddess to him, that he was powerless against me, he could never be rude to me, he could never, ever look at me, he could never stand my gaze for too long, heâd lower his eyes and knit his fingers and then, on the pretense that he was going out to get coal, heâd go out to the brewery courtyard, where he could recover his composure in the fresh air, he spent a long time shoveling coal into buckets from the big piles next to the malt house, and whenhe came back inside, he stoked the fire and pretended to be busy with something, anything, as long as he didnât have to look me in the eye, and if he did look at me, it was to watch me as I sat reading or did the ironing. Most of all he liked to help me stretch the eiderdowns and sheets, which had been sprinkled with water that had dribbled from my fingers as if from a holy water font, weâd each grab two corners of the sheet, crumple them up in our hands, and then, standing face-to-face, weâd pull so hard it was as if we wanted to tear the sheet down the middle, and then came the best part, after we had stretched the damp sheets with our fingers we moved toward each other with ludicrous little steps, the corners of the sheet and our fingers touched and I took the corners from Francinâs hands, he was always so happy, he came mincing toward me and then stood still with one leg raised, as if he were doing a dance step, and laughed,
Similar Books
