blades of the knives, in Jeanne’s eyes and Rodolphe’s glasses. The performance was pitch perfect, the feelings expressed so realistically he almost broke into applause. It called to mind a Greek tragedy, leagues apart from the phone conversation he had had with Odile just before dinner, which was unfunny slapstick. Even the tone of his wife’s voice had sounded ridiculous to him. She was going spare with worry, what was he doing? Where was he? Why wasn’t he returning her calls? Why didn’t he ring her?
He had felt like hanging up straight away. Out of the goodnessof his heart he went to the trouble of thinking up a lie, telling her he had run into an old school pal who had been keeping him company.
She could understand that, surely. No, of course he hadn’t done anything stupid, of course he still loved her and yes, he promised to call her more often. Putting the phone down, he wished he had never called. In Odile’s world, he felt dirty.
Jeanne was picking up the pieces of broken plate. Rodolphe had calmed down. Now only his lower lip was trembling, as if he was about to cry.
‘Sorry, Jeanne; my apologies, Olivier. I don’t know what came over me. All those people today who couldn’t care less. Let’s start again, shall we? … It’s time for some presents! Come on then, Olivier, pop the cork!’
Rodolphe hauled himself up, supporting himself on the back of his chair, and zigzagged his way to his bedroom, emerging a few minutes later laden with packages tied with ribbon. Olivier filled the champagne flutes. Jeanne disappeared and returned with a large box of her own.
‘Right, let’s put this lot on the table. I’ll film you opening your presents. This one’s for my beloved big sister and the other’s for you, Olivier.’
‘That’s very kind of you, Rodolphe. I’m so sorry, I completely forgot, I haven’t …’
‘Oh, it doesn’t matter! Just having you here is enough for us. Open it, open it!’
Rodolphe turned the camcorder on, pointing the lens at the rustling paper. The box Olivier was opening carried the logo of an arms makerand contained a hunting horn.
‘So …?’
‘It’s a lovely horn, but I have to say I’m not quite sure I get it …’
‘Of course you do! It’s Roland’s
cor
, you know, the horn he blew at the Battle of Roncevaux Pass. Or is it Roland’s corpse? You have to admit it’s a good one, isn’t it?’
Rodolphe burst out laughing. His fat belly wobbled, giving the camera a rocking motion. The shot itself would not be a good one.
‘What about yours, Jeanne? Do you like it?’
In her palm she held a glass ball, which she set down on a mahogany pedestal table.
‘Is it a crystal ball?’
‘You guessed it! I bought it in a new-age shop. So, what can you see in it?’
‘Nothing.’
‘What do you mean, nothing? It came with a guarantee. If you can’t see your future, I’ll take it back.’
‘There’s no need. It’ll make a very nice paperweight.’
‘Give it here. I bet I can see better with my hands than you can with your eyes.’
Rodolphe put down the camcorder and took hold of the ball.
‘It needs warming up a bit … there, I’m beginning to make something out … it’s still a bit blurry but it’s getting clearer … There it is! It’s blue, lots of blue … the sky or the police? … The sea, perhaps … Nothing, emptiness, nothing but emptiness, a long, long drop …’
‘That’ll do, Rodolphe. Very funny. Why don’t you open your present?’
‘Oh, yes. There you go, have your ball back; it works fine. So … Oh, it’s big!’
His podgy fingers tore at the paper and the sellotape holding the lid shut.
‘What is it?’
‘A set of bathroom scales.’
‘Bathroom scales? For weighing? Fantastic! I’ll try them out straight away.’
He put the scales down in the middle of the floor, clambered onto them and struck a pose like a statue.
‘How much do I weigh?’
‘A hundred and fifteen kilos.’
‘Is that all?
He had felt like hanging up straight away. Out of the goodnessof his heart he went to the trouble of thinking up a lie, telling her he had run into an old school pal who had been keeping him company.
She could understand that, surely. No, of course he hadn’t done anything stupid, of course he still loved her and yes, he promised to call her more often. Putting the phone down, he wished he had never called. In Odile’s world, he felt dirty.
Jeanne was picking up the pieces of broken plate. Rodolphe had calmed down. Now only his lower lip was trembling, as if he was about to cry.
‘Sorry, Jeanne; my apologies, Olivier. I don’t know what came over me. All those people today who couldn’t care less. Let’s start again, shall we? … It’s time for some presents! Come on then, Olivier, pop the cork!’
Rodolphe hauled himself up, supporting himself on the back of his chair, and zigzagged his way to his bedroom, emerging a few minutes later laden with packages tied with ribbon. Olivier filled the champagne flutes. Jeanne disappeared and returned with a large box of her own.
‘Right, let’s put this lot on the table. I’ll film you opening your presents. This one’s for my beloved big sister and the other’s for you, Olivier.’
‘That’s very kind of you, Rodolphe. I’m so sorry, I completely forgot, I haven’t …’
‘Oh, it doesn’t matter! Just having you here is enough for us. Open it, open it!’
Rodolphe turned the camcorder on, pointing the lens at the rustling paper. The box Olivier was opening carried the logo of an arms makerand contained a hunting horn.
‘So …?’
‘It’s a lovely horn, but I have to say I’m not quite sure I get it …’
‘Of course you do! It’s Roland’s
cor
, you know, the horn he blew at the Battle of Roncevaux Pass. Or is it Roland’s corpse? You have to admit it’s a good one, isn’t it?’
Rodolphe burst out laughing. His fat belly wobbled, giving the camera a rocking motion. The shot itself would not be a good one.
‘What about yours, Jeanne? Do you like it?’
In her palm she held a glass ball, which she set down on a mahogany pedestal table.
‘Is it a crystal ball?’
‘You guessed it! I bought it in a new-age shop. So, what can you see in it?’
‘Nothing.’
‘What do you mean, nothing? It came with a guarantee. If you can’t see your future, I’ll take it back.’
‘There’s no need. It’ll make a very nice paperweight.’
‘Give it here. I bet I can see better with my hands than you can with your eyes.’
Rodolphe put down the camcorder and took hold of the ball.
‘It needs warming up a bit … there, I’m beginning to make something out … it’s still a bit blurry but it’s getting clearer … There it is! It’s blue, lots of blue … the sky or the police? … The sea, perhaps … Nothing, emptiness, nothing but emptiness, a long, long drop …’
‘That’ll do, Rodolphe. Very funny. Why don’t you open your present?’
‘Oh, yes. There you go, have your ball back; it works fine. So … Oh, it’s big!’
His podgy fingers tore at the paper and the sellotape holding the lid shut.
‘What is it?’
‘A set of bathroom scales.’
‘Bathroom scales? For weighing? Fantastic! I’ll try them out straight away.’
He put the scales down in the middle of the floor, clambered onto them and struck a pose like a statue.
‘How much do I weigh?’
‘A hundred and fifteen kilos.’
‘Is that all?
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