Mme. Pigeonnier, who doesn’t understand.
“Well, he wz behaving zif he was all by himself.” Mme. Pigeonnier, who has finally understood, looks at Théo, highly shocked. Théo remains imperturbable. “Wossmore, he mucked up the gate.”
“My stepfather’s gate,” he adds.
He turns his head to see what Mme. Pigeonnier thinks about it. Well, she’s highly shocked, is Mme. Pigeonnier. He reassumes his hieratic position and changes the subject. “I’m hungry,” he observes, authoritatively.
“What would you like to eat?”
“Summing nice,” he retorts.
“D’you want me to get the maid up?”
“You do that. I want summing hot, and then some dessert.” Mme. Pigeonnier waves a bell. Catherine comes running, draped in a Chinese dressing gown. She pushes her hair back over her forehead: “Yes, Madam?”
She ogles Théo and yawns; this time, he blushes. “Catherine, get us some supper,” says Mme. Pigeonnier.
Catherine whistles in admiration. “Coming up,” she says, and goes out.
“You know, she’s impertinent, your maid,” says Théo hypocritically.
Mme. Pigeonnier is lighting a cigarette, and doesn’t answer.
“She isn’t like that in the daytime,” he persists.
He takes the lighted cigarette he is offered.
“Thanks. They won’t let me smoke at home. It’s idiotic.”
“Come on, don’t criticize your parents all the time.”
“You know, my stepfather, he isn’t funny. There’s nothing in his head.”
“How d’you mean?”
“Never says a word. Talks about his office; that’s all. Looks at the papers with half an eye, but he never reads them.”
“How d’you know?”
“I watch him. He’s asleep on his feet.”
“But he’s nice to you?”
“Yes, course he is; he’s too much of a dope to bother me much. Never knows how to pass the time. And Mom, who’s at it all day long. All my pals, they live in Paris. And I’m stuck in that half-demolished house. My God, it isn’t funny. I get so pissed off.”
“What?”
“Yes, I’m labefying my crumpet with all these nigmenogs,” replies Théo volubly.
Catherine comes in, bringing the cold supper. She hasn’t forgotten herself; she lays the three places and sits down with Théo and Mme. Pigeonnier. As she cuts up a piece of cold chicken, she tells them:
“Something must have been going on next door, earlier on. I heard footsteps in the garden, and some men’s voices. There must have been several of them. I recognized Meussieu Marcel’s voice.”
As she speaks, she pretends to be unaware of Théo’s presence.
“I looked out of the window; I saw two men in the garden, they were carrying a third one, who looked as if he was dead, or ’d fainted. Someone opened the door. It was Meussieu Marcel. Him and the fellow with him, they got the one who was dead or who’d fainted into the house. The door shut again. That’s all I saw. In any case, I’m not particularly interested in what goes on in that house. Would you care for some white wine, Madam?”
“Thank you, Catherine, just a drop.”
“Me too, I want some,” says Théo, “and a whole glass.”
“As I was saying,” continues Catherine, “I’m not particularly interested in what goes on in that house; all the more so as nothing ever does go on there. It’s absolutely typical of the sort of house where quiet, mediocre people live, and get old, without anything ever happening. Aren’t I right, Madam?”
“As you see very well, Catherine, something was going on there tonight.”
“It’s probably because it was never finished.”
Catherine pours herself out a large glass of wine.
“What do you think of this wine, Madam?”
“It’s very good.”
“It isn’t bad, but you ought to buy some champagne, Madam, a small crate of a dozen bottles for special occasions. You could allow yourself that, Madam.”
“All right, Catherine, order a small crate, then.”
“Certainly, Madam. When Meussieu Théo passes his baccalaureate we’ll open
“Well, he wz behaving zif he was all by himself.” Mme. Pigeonnier, who has finally understood, looks at Théo, highly shocked. Théo remains imperturbable. “Wossmore, he mucked up the gate.”
“My stepfather’s gate,” he adds.
He turns his head to see what Mme. Pigeonnier thinks about it. Well, she’s highly shocked, is Mme. Pigeonnier. He reassumes his hieratic position and changes the subject. “I’m hungry,” he observes, authoritatively.
“What would you like to eat?”
“Summing nice,” he retorts.
“D’you want me to get the maid up?”
“You do that. I want summing hot, and then some dessert.” Mme. Pigeonnier waves a bell. Catherine comes running, draped in a Chinese dressing gown. She pushes her hair back over her forehead: “Yes, Madam?”
She ogles Théo and yawns; this time, he blushes. “Catherine, get us some supper,” says Mme. Pigeonnier.
Catherine whistles in admiration. “Coming up,” she says, and goes out.
“You know, she’s impertinent, your maid,” says Théo hypocritically.
Mme. Pigeonnier is lighting a cigarette, and doesn’t answer.
“She isn’t like that in the daytime,” he persists.
He takes the lighted cigarette he is offered.
“Thanks. They won’t let me smoke at home. It’s idiotic.”
“Come on, don’t criticize your parents all the time.”
“You know, my stepfather, he isn’t funny. There’s nothing in his head.”
“How d’you mean?”
“Never says a word. Talks about his office; that’s all. Looks at the papers with half an eye, but he never reads them.”
“How d’you know?”
“I watch him. He’s asleep on his feet.”
“But he’s nice to you?”
“Yes, course he is; he’s too much of a dope to bother me much. Never knows how to pass the time. And Mom, who’s at it all day long. All my pals, they live in Paris. And I’m stuck in that half-demolished house. My God, it isn’t funny. I get so pissed off.”
“What?”
“Yes, I’m labefying my crumpet with all these nigmenogs,” replies Théo volubly.
Catherine comes in, bringing the cold supper. She hasn’t forgotten herself; she lays the three places and sits down with Théo and Mme. Pigeonnier. As she cuts up a piece of cold chicken, she tells them:
“Something must have been going on next door, earlier on. I heard footsteps in the garden, and some men’s voices. There must have been several of them. I recognized Meussieu Marcel’s voice.”
As she speaks, she pretends to be unaware of Théo’s presence.
“I looked out of the window; I saw two men in the garden, they were carrying a third one, who looked as if he was dead, or ’d fainted. Someone opened the door. It was Meussieu Marcel. Him and the fellow with him, they got the one who was dead or who’d fainted into the house. The door shut again. That’s all I saw. In any case, I’m not particularly interested in what goes on in that house. Would you care for some white wine, Madam?”
“Thank you, Catherine, just a drop.”
“Me too, I want some,” says Théo, “and a whole glass.”
“As I was saying,” continues Catherine, “I’m not particularly interested in what goes on in that house; all the more so as nothing ever does go on there. It’s absolutely typical of the sort of house where quiet, mediocre people live, and get old, without anything ever happening. Aren’t I right, Madam?”
“As you see very well, Catherine, something was going on there tonight.”
“It’s probably because it was never finished.”
Catherine pours herself out a large glass of wine.
“What do you think of this wine, Madam?”
“It’s very good.”
“It isn’t bad, but you ought to buy some champagne, Madam, a small crate of a dozen bottles for special occasions. You could allow yourself that, Madam.”
“All right, Catherine, order a small crate, then.”
“Certainly, Madam. When Meussieu Théo passes his baccalaureate we’ll open
Similar Books
