sometimes I find myself offering him up a little prayer of thanks for all the good things he left behind for me. I know I don't deserve it, but I feel he should know how much I appreciate it.'
  He pulled out a couple of bottles and blew off the dust, revealing yellowed hand-written labels. 'Ah, yes, these will do. Thank you, Jean-Pierre.'
  He examined the label closely. 'He had good taste, Jean-Pierre did. I think we're going to enjoy this.'
  We re-emerged, blinking in the bright sunshine with Serge clutching the bottles. I completely forgot to ask him about the teddy bear on the mantelpiece.
  He pulled the corks and poured the wine and we sat looking out over green fields full of wild flowers stretching as far as the eye could see. The giant shadow of the Pyrenees loomed in the distance. I couldn't imagine a better setting for lunch nor a more idyllic spot to live and bring up a family.
  Regine brought out an enamel pot of rabbit stew and a plateful of plain, unadorned white rice for me with a side salad of sliced tomatoes. I watched Serge tucking enthusiastically into the rabbit while I picked away at the flavourless grains.
  'This is wild rabbit,' he said. 'Much nicer than the tame ones.' He waved towards some concrete hutches where I could see several little brown rabbits hopping about. 'I picked up this little fellow on the road last night. He was still warm⦠clipped by a car.'
  'You know, Johnny, life is not bad out here in the country, but sometimes it gets a little boring. If I couldn't work and tour around I'd probably end up doing myself in like the neighbour Marc over there.'
  He pointed to a house tucked away beyond the sloping fields at least two or three kilometres away.
  'His wife went off with the postman and he killed himself with his own chainsaw. Cut himself to pieces behind the barn. It was one hell of a mess, Regine tells me. They had to hose down the cobblestones.'
  I tried not to imagine what killing yourself with your own chainsaw would be like. A lot of the peasants I met had fingers missing from various accidents but I'd not heard of anything like this before.
  'Oh yes, the things that go on in these little villages would turn your hair white. It's not all a bed of roses, like some of you English imagine. Life can be hard and lonely, especially in the winter when the snow comes down. That's no picnic, I can tell you.'
  Regine brought out a large tarte aux pommes and then went back inside, busying herself in the kitchen. How like Serge, I thought, to find himself a girlfriend who would wait on him hand and foot. We ate slices and drank cups of coffee. Serge tried to tempt me to try a glass of eau-de-vie, a potent home-made apple brandy. I took a small sip at his insistence and it nearly blew my head off. There was a time when I'd have downed it in one swift gulp and asked for more. I knew I had to be careful, but convinced myself I could handle a few sips, surely, without embarking on an out-of-control drinking binge.
  Serge lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. 'It's days like these I thank God for everything. I don't have to work too hard and the life of a brocanteur is an enjoyable one as long as you know all the wrinkles.'
  He stood up, stretched and yawned.
  'But I was going to let you in on some of my little secrets, wasn't I? See, I haven't forgotten.'
  He gathered up a pile of dishes and we carried them through and plonked them in the sink in the kitchen. I could hear the whirr of an electric sewing machine in the next room and peeked through to see Regine and a teenage girl bent over, working. Regine looked up and smiled. She was sewing up brown furry material which I recognised as a potential teddy bear from the pattern, with a pointed snout and round ears.
  'Eh!' said Serge, throwing up his hands in mock alarm. 'You've discovered my little secret,
  He pulled out a couple of bottles and blew off the dust, revealing yellowed hand-written labels. 'Ah, yes, these will do. Thank you, Jean-Pierre.'
  He examined the label closely. 'He had good taste, Jean-Pierre did. I think we're going to enjoy this.'
  We re-emerged, blinking in the bright sunshine with Serge clutching the bottles. I completely forgot to ask him about the teddy bear on the mantelpiece.
  He pulled the corks and poured the wine and we sat looking out over green fields full of wild flowers stretching as far as the eye could see. The giant shadow of the Pyrenees loomed in the distance. I couldn't imagine a better setting for lunch nor a more idyllic spot to live and bring up a family.
  Regine brought out an enamel pot of rabbit stew and a plateful of plain, unadorned white rice for me with a side salad of sliced tomatoes. I watched Serge tucking enthusiastically into the rabbit while I picked away at the flavourless grains.
  'This is wild rabbit,' he said. 'Much nicer than the tame ones.' He waved towards some concrete hutches where I could see several little brown rabbits hopping about. 'I picked up this little fellow on the road last night. He was still warm⦠clipped by a car.'
  'You know, Johnny, life is not bad out here in the country, but sometimes it gets a little boring. If I couldn't work and tour around I'd probably end up doing myself in like the neighbour Marc over there.'
  He pointed to a house tucked away beyond the sloping fields at least two or three kilometres away.
  'His wife went off with the postman and he killed himself with his own chainsaw. Cut himself to pieces behind the barn. It was one hell of a mess, Regine tells me. They had to hose down the cobblestones.'
  I tried not to imagine what killing yourself with your own chainsaw would be like. A lot of the peasants I met had fingers missing from various accidents but I'd not heard of anything like this before.
  'Oh yes, the things that go on in these little villages would turn your hair white. It's not all a bed of roses, like some of you English imagine. Life can be hard and lonely, especially in the winter when the snow comes down. That's no picnic, I can tell you.'
  Regine brought out a large tarte aux pommes and then went back inside, busying herself in the kitchen. How like Serge, I thought, to find himself a girlfriend who would wait on him hand and foot. We ate slices and drank cups of coffee. Serge tried to tempt me to try a glass of eau-de-vie, a potent home-made apple brandy. I took a small sip at his insistence and it nearly blew my head off. There was a time when I'd have downed it in one swift gulp and asked for more. I knew I had to be careful, but convinced myself I could handle a few sips, surely, without embarking on an out-of-control drinking binge.
  Serge lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. 'It's days like these I thank God for everything. I don't have to work too hard and the life of a brocanteur is an enjoyable one as long as you know all the wrinkles.'
  He stood up, stretched and yawned.
  'But I was going to let you in on some of my little secrets, wasn't I? See, I haven't forgotten.'
  He gathered up a pile of dishes and we carried them through and plonked them in the sink in the kitchen. I could hear the whirr of an electric sewing machine in the next room and peeked through to see Regine and a teenage girl bent over, working. Regine looked up and smiled. She was sewing up brown furry material which I recognised as a potential teddy bear from the pattern, with a pointed snout and round ears.
  'Eh!' said Serge, throwing up his hands in mock alarm. 'You've discovered my little secret,
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