lie down on a bed made of bundles of newspapers covered with a ‘mattress’. The mattress was an oilcloth folded in two‚ sewn up into a bag stuffed with sawdust.
We really thought we’d done a great deal to put Mina’s mind at rest by finding that place for her. Alas! It was from that day her troubles began.
And once again‚ we weren’t to blame.
That ghastly little ginger creature was the cause of it all. Mina persisted in coddling and cherishing the beast‚ which was undoubtedly afflicted with some dangerous disease we weren’t able to identify. Peevish and insinuating‚ its voice was an amazing‚ disturbing‚ raucous snarl.
Mina decided to consult the black vet (the one who’d tried to save the dog at Rue de Bièvre).
Again‚ Doctor N was circumspect. This is what he said: ‘There’s more to that cat than meets the eye.’ Nevertheless‚ he cured it. With a shinier coat and a more robust appearance‚ apparently totally recovered‚ the beast didn’t seem any more grateful to Mina for her patient devotion. Once it was back on its feet again (or rather‚ its paws) – only its missing eye couldn’t be replaced – it escaped through the skylight and disappeared over the rooftops without so much as a goodbye.
For four days Mina was inconsolable. And then …
And then there was a new development. Just like every other evening‚ Mina was spending a few minutes at the bar in Dumont’s on her way home to rejoin her menagerie. A cement-worker came in.
A cement-worker: at least‚ that’s what he said. He was looking for somewhere to stay in the neighbourhood. He had ginger hair and only one eye.
Ginger and one-eyed.
His name was Goupil.
Goupil – the old word for a fox. Just as ‘Bièvre’ is the old word for a beaver.
It would take pages of digression to try and pin down‚ to define the nature of the immediate rapport that was established between Mina and the ginger-haired man.
Anyhow‚ that same evening‚ among the cats and bundles Goupil shared Mina’s supper and her wretched pallet. It was simply inconceivable to us that a person like Mina‚ so different from any normal human being that we regarded her almost as an asexual creature‚ might be capable of any romantic attachment‚ even a platonic one.
But there was the evidence‚ clear and indisputable‚ and the astonishment it generated in us diverted our curiosity and partly destroyed the interest we took in world events.
From the very earliest days of their relationship Goupil proved violent and hard to please. He seemed to regard Mina much more as his prey than his slave. He worked irregularly‚ as an unskilled labourer: he said he didn’t really care whether he was employed by a company that might have been requisitioned by the occupying forces. As for Mina‚ she footed most of the expenses of this unlikely household. Nearly every day‚ laden as usual with more or less voluminous packages‚ she would head for the banks of the Seine‚ and indefatigably make her way to where the line of booksellers’ stalls ended. Often she would haggle with these people‚ most of whom were some sort of second-hand dealers. We quickly learned what she was up to: she was ‘bargain-hunting’. That’s to say‚ she would seek out certain objects‚ to buy and then of course sell. All of which had something in common: they were representations solely of cats. In the shape of little figurines‚ pots‚ knife handles‚ unidentifiable tools. There were cats in bronze‚ porcelain‚ alabaster‚ wood‚ everything you could wish for. Wefound out a little later that she in turn would pass on these finds‚ of some curiosity or else of little value‚ to a wealthy collector. This was a person who‚ before the war‚ used to attend the theosophists’ meetings at the Salle Adyar. The art dealers on Rue de Jacob know him well. They call him ‘the Cat Man’. But the guy doesn’t like people talking about him.
This small trade seemed
We really thought we’d done a great deal to put Mina’s mind at rest by finding that place for her. Alas! It was from that day her troubles began.
And once again‚ we weren’t to blame.
That ghastly little ginger creature was the cause of it all. Mina persisted in coddling and cherishing the beast‚ which was undoubtedly afflicted with some dangerous disease we weren’t able to identify. Peevish and insinuating‚ its voice was an amazing‚ disturbing‚ raucous snarl.
Mina decided to consult the black vet (the one who’d tried to save the dog at Rue de Bièvre).
Again‚ Doctor N was circumspect. This is what he said: ‘There’s more to that cat than meets the eye.’ Nevertheless‚ he cured it. With a shinier coat and a more robust appearance‚ apparently totally recovered‚ the beast didn’t seem any more grateful to Mina for her patient devotion. Once it was back on its feet again (or rather‚ its paws) – only its missing eye couldn’t be replaced – it escaped through the skylight and disappeared over the rooftops without so much as a goodbye.
For four days Mina was inconsolable. And then …
And then there was a new development. Just like every other evening‚ Mina was spending a few minutes at the bar in Dumont’s on her way home to rejoin her menagerie. A cement-worker came in.
A cement-worker: at least‚ that’s what he said. He was looking for somewhere to stay in the neighbourhood. He had ginger hair and only one eye.
Ginger and one-eyed.
His name was Goupil.
Goupil – the old word for a fox. Just as ‘Bièvre’ is the old word for a beaver.
It would take pages of digression to try and pin down‚ to define the nature of the immediate rapport that was established between Mina and the ginger-haired man.
Anyhow‚ that same evening‚ among the cats and bundles Goupil shared Mina’s supper and her wretched pallet. It was simply inconceivable to us that a person like Mina‚ so different from any normal human being that we regarded her almost as an asexual creature‚ might be capable of any romantic attachment‚ even a platonic one.
But there was the evidence‚ clear and indisputable‚ and the astonishment it generated in us diverted our curiosity and partly destroyed the interest we took in world events.
From the very earliest days of their relationship Goupil proved violent and hard to please. He seemed to regard Mina much more as his prey than his slave. He worked irregularly‚ as an unskilled labourer: he said he didn’t really care whether he was employed by a company that might have been requisitioned by the occupying forces. As for Mina‚ she footed most of the expenses of this unlikely household. Nearly every day‚ laden as usual with more or less voluminous packages‚ she would head for the banks of the Seine‚ and indefatigably make her way to where the line of booksellers’ stalls ended. Often she would haggle with these people‚ most of whom were some sort of second-hand dealers. We quickly learned what she was up to: she was ‘bargain-hunting’. That’s to say‚ she would seek out certain objects‚ to buy and then of course sell. All of which had something in common: they were representations solely of cats. In the shape of little figurines‚ pots‚ knife handles‚ unidentifiable tools. There were cats in bronze‚ porcelain‚ alabaster‚ wood‚ everything you could wish for. Wefound out a little later that she in turn would pass on these finds‚ of some curiosity or else of little value‚ to a wealthy collector. This was a person who‚ before the war‚ used to attend the theosophists’ meetings at the Salle Adyar. The art dealers on Rue de Jacob know him well. They call him ‘the Cat Man’. But the guy doesn’t like people talking about him.
This small trade seemed
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