commando missions to the closest corner shop. Their timetable consisted of having sex, drinking and grazing on foods that required no preparation. Next door there lived a bear, Rodolphe, whom they could hear coming and going, growling, slamming doors, turning the TV and hi-fi up as far as they would go, who constantly howled his presence and yet didn’t dare knock on their door. They were unfazed; the sound of the waves they imagined lapping around them easily drowned out Rodolphe’s ranting and raving.
‘Lying in the shade of the filao trees fringing the white sand beaches of Mauritius is like sleeping under a fan of light feathers. There’s nowhere else like it. The sand foams at your feet and the silence rings in your ears.’
‘And the fish, tell me more about the fish!’
This continued until the 27th, the day of the funeral. It had turned milder and the snow was melting, leaving patches here and there like bubbles on dishwater. A note slipped under the door marked for Olivier’s attention had coldly informed him of the time and place. Madeleine’s handwriting was just like the woman herself: jagged, pointy, sharp-edged. Olivier did not think it appropriate to bring Jeanne, still less Rodolphe, who had nonetheless done his best to twist Olivier’s arm.
‘Go on! It’ll get me out of the house, and besides I love cemeteries.’
In the end he had gone alone to the church, where he found Madeleine waiting. Since they were the only ones accompanyingthe deceased to her final resting place, Madeleine could not give free rein to her hatred of Olivier. Circumstances dictated that they share a kind of common spirit. The religious ceremony was over in no time and they soon found themselves sitting in the back of the hearse on either side of the coffin, from which the wreath tied with purple ribbon slipped at every bend in the road. The smell was nauseating. Olivier retrieved a hip flask from his pocket and took a long swig of whisky while the old woman watched, appalled.
‘On a day like this! Have you no shame?’
Olivier shrugged. What was so special about today? For the people wading through sludge on the street, today was like yesterday in every respect, and tomorrow would doubtless be no different. It was just another day. What did they care about the long black car skidding past on the slippery tarmac? It meant no more to them than the sight of the binmen picking up rubbish. Olivier shared their point of view. There were no stars in life, only walk-on actors. They arrived at the cemetery in Gonnards, a suburban neighbourhood in miniature where pitiful or pretentious houses called ‘Mon Rêve’ or ‘Ça Me Suffit’ were set out in neat rows. The tomb where Antoine Verdier already lay was yawning. Two gravediggers stood beside it smoking a cigarette and leaning on their shovels. Once the coffin had been lowered into the bottom of the hole, Madeleine did something strange. She grabbed hold of Olivier’s arm and leaned so far over the edge of the grave that Olivier had to pull her back to stop her falling in. A few stones rained onto the oak lid of the coffin.
‘Can’t wait your turn, Madeleine?’
‘I … I just wanted to see.’
‘See what?’
‘I don’t know.’
She was not crying, but her eyes had misted over. They soonregained their evil glint and she let go of Olivier’s arm as if she had just touched a hot iron. The man from the undertaker’s offered to take them back into town. Madeleine agreed. Olivier opted to make his own way back. They parted without saying goodbye. He drained his flask while watching the cemetery workers shovelling. Not a single flower on the surrounding tombs had survived the frost.
There was not much difference between the place he had just left and the city streets he was now treading. The only exception was that here, the dead were living. Olivier had the impression of flicking through a family album, a series of black and white photos that brought back no
‘Lying in the shade of the filao trees fringing the white sand beaches of Mauritius is like sleeping under a fan of light feathers. There’s nowhere else like it. The sand foams at your feet and the silence rings in your ears.’
‘And the fish, tell me more about the fish!’
This continued until the 27th, the day of the funeral. It had turned milder and the snow was melting, leaving patches here and there like bubbles on dishwater. A note slipped under the door marked for Olivier’s attention had coldly informed him of the time and place. Madeleine’s handwriting was just like the woman herself: jagged, pointy, sharp-edged. Olivier did not think it appropriate to bring Jeanne, still less Rodolphe, who had nonetheless done his best to twist Olivier’s arm.
‘Go on! It’ll get me out of the house, and besides I love cemeteries.’
In the end he had gone alone to the church, where he found Madeleine waiting. Since they were the only ones accompanyingthe deceased to her final resting place, Madeleine could not give free rein to her hatred of Olivier. Circumstances dictated that they share a kind of common spirit. The religious ceremony was over in no time and they soon found themselves sitting in the back of the hearse on either side of the coffin, from which the wreath tied with purple ribbon slipped at every bend in the road. The smell was nauseating. Olivier retrieved a hip flask from his pocket and took a long swig of whisky while the old woman watched, appalled.
‘On a day like this! Have you no shame?’
Olivier shrugged. What was so special about today? For the people wading through sludge on the street, today was like yesterday in every respect, and tomorrow would doubtless be no different. It was just another day. What did they care about the long black car skidding past on the slippery tarmac? It meant no more to them than the sight of the binmen picking up rubbish. Olivier shared their point of view. There were no stars in life, only walk-on actors. They arrived at the cemetery in Gonnards, a suburban neighbourhood in miniature where pitiful or pretentious houses called ‘Mon Rêve’ or ‘Ça Me Suffit’ were set out in neat rows. The tomb where Antoine Verdier already lay was yawning. Two gravediggers stood beside it smoking a cigarette and leaning on their shovels. Once the coffin had been lowered into the bottom of the hole, Madeleine did something strange. She grabbed hold of Olivier’s arm and leaned so far over the edge of the grave that Olivier had to pull her back to stop her falling in. A few stones rained onto the oak lid of the coffin.
‘Can’t wait your turn, Madeleine?’
‘I … I just wanted to see.’
‘See what?’
‘I don’t know.’
She was not crying, but her eyes had misted over. They soonregained their evil glint and she let go of Olivier’s arm as if she had just touched a hot iron. The man from the undertaker’s offered to take them back into town. Madeleine agreed. Olivier opted to make his own way back. They parted without saying goodbye. He drained his flask while watching the cemetery workers shovelling. Not a single flower on the surrounding tombs had survived the frost.
There was not much difference between the place he had just left and the city streets he was now treading. The only exception was that here, the dead were living. Olivier had the impression of flicking through a family album, a series of black and white photos that brought back no
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