On Leave by Daniel Anselme

welled up in his eyes. But he felt no shame in allowing them to be seen.
    He felt that it was like a secret that they shared, even Danielle, who kept quiet behind her circular specs. The granny stood up sharply and went to the kitchen, where you could hear her opening and shutting the oven door and shifting pots and pans.
    â€œIt’s nice to have a home,” he said. “The sounds … things in their right places … you know what I mean?”
    â€œYes, especially a new, clean home,” Colette said.
    â€œI do hope you’re hungry,” Madame Valette said.
    â€œOh yes, very!”
    â€œBut what are they up to?… And Luc still isn’t here!”
    â€œOh, Luc…” Colette laughed, as though it were quite normal for Luc to be late. “But in my view,” she added with a slightly supercilious air, “the old man and son Jean are taking a liberty.”
    â€œAh, here they come,” Madame Valette said, and stood up.
    In the same instant the front door could be heard opening and slamming shut—with a kick, most likely—and Jean Valette appeared with a scowl and a tray of shucked oysters.
    â€œDamn!” he shouted from the threshold, “there are dozens of you in there and nobody can be bothered to open the door for me!… Hallo, Prof!” he added as he put the tray down. “You been here long?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned to Colette with an accusing glance: Another one of your bright ideas!
    â€œWhat’s up?” she asked, quite composed.
    â€œThose bloody oysters!”
    â€œAnd where is your father?” Madame Valette asked in the same calm tone.
    â€œOn his way!”
    Jean Valette was done up in a striped navy blue suit—rather worn and crumpled—and a pink shirt without a tie, but his shoes were small-checked bedroom slippers. What made him unrecognizable above all else was his moody and angry face. He frowned and blinked all the time, as if the light were too much for him. It’s not that Lachaume had never seen Valette in a bad mood or angry. What was surprising was that it seemed to have no discernible cause.
    â€œYou having a good time?” he asked Lachaume.
    Casual language of that kind was equally unexpected. Lachaume glanced at the women to see if they, too, felt startled. All he could see on their faces was hostile resignation and a decision to say nothing for the time being, which only added to his feeling of awkwardness.
    â€œWhere is your father?” Madame Valette asked a second time, still calmly.
    â€œOn his way, like I said!” Valette grunted while lighting a cigarette. “Aren’t we going to eat, then?” His cigarette showed he was only pretending to be eager for lunch.
    â€œWe’ll wait for Luc and Dad,” Colette said as she walked across the room in her shimmering blouse.
    â€œNo! I’m not going to wait for Luc!”
    â€œYou’d do better to pay attention to your friend,” Colette fired back. “He’s been waiting for you for almost an hour.”
    Then she left the room.
    Jean Valette shrugged, and all of a sudden Lachaume saw his good and cheery old face come back, with that special light in his eyes that the women in the family had first made him conscious of.
    â€œMy sister’s a right’un!” Valette said, with that broad smile that seemed to make his ears stick out even farther.
    He sat down next to Lachaume on the convertible sofa, took a Martini from the low table, and then had second thoughts.
    â€œLet’s wait for Dad. He’s looking forward to meeting you, he’s heard so much about you…”
    Jean Valette stayed cheerful when the three women came back in the dining room, and it seemed to Lachaume that the sun was once again shining its full light on the two brilliantly colored mimosa bouquets standing in their vases on the white tablecloth.
    â€œTell me,” Jean Valette