Read Online French Leave by Anna Gavalda - Free Book Online

beguiled.
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    We smoked a cigarette while we waited.
    A guy at the entrance rigged the kids up in a dented suit of armor and took pictures of them while they brandished their weapon of choice.
    Two Euros per Polaroid.
    â€œJordan, do be careful! You’re going to poke your sister’s eye out!”
    Either this guy was way zen, or way stoned, or way retarded. He moved around very slowly and deliberately and seemed to have no nerves at all. With a super strong Gitane dangling from his lips and a Chicago Bulls baseball cap on backwards: it was disconcerting to watch him. Fantasia meets Forrest Gump , sort of.
    â€œJordan! Put that thing down!!”
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    Once everyone had left, Way Retarded took a rake and shuffled off, munching on his smoke.
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    We were beginning to wonder whether the little baron de La Lariotine would ever condescend to grace us with his presence . . .
    I could not stop saying, “Pinch me . . . Can you believe this? . . . What the . . . ” and shaking my head.
    Simon became very engrossed in the mechanism of the drawbridge, and Lola set about rearranging a rambling rose.
    Vincent emerged at last, with a smile. He was wearing a worn pair of jeans and a Sundyata T-shirt.
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    â€œHey! What the fuck are you guys doing here?”
    â€œWe missed you . . . ”
    â€œReally? Awesome.”
    â€œHow’re things?”
    â€œGreat. Aren’t you supposed to be at Hubert’s wedding?”
    â€œYeah, but we got lost on the way.”
    â€œI see . . . cool.”
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    That was him all over. Calm, kind. Not making a big deal out of seeing us there, but really happy all the same.
    A moonstruck Pierrot, a Martian, our little brother, our very own Vincent.
    It was cool.
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    â€œSo,” he said, spreading his arms, “what do you think of my little campground?”
    â€œYeah, what the hell do you mean bullshitting everyone like that?”
    â€œWhat? You mean the stuff I tell people? Oh . . . it’s not all bullshit. She really existed, this Isaure, it’s just that . . . Well, I can’t be sure she came through here . . . According to the archives, she’s actually from the dump down the road but since their château burned down, down the road . . . We had to find her somewhere to live, no?”
    â€œYeah, but what about all that palaver, about ancestors and dressing up like an impoverished toff, and all the fairy tales you were telling them just now?”
    â€œOh, that? Put yourselves in my place. I got here beginning of May to work the season. The old biddy told me she was going off on her spa treatment and she’d pay me the first month when she got back. Since then, not a word. She’s vanished. It’s already August and I haven’t seen a shekel. No lady of the manor, no pay stub or money order, nada. I’ve got to live off something, no? That’s why I had to make up that whole shtick. All I’ve got to live on is the tips, and you can’t get tips just like that. People want their money’s worth and as you can see it’s not exactly Disneyland, here . . . So I get out the blazer and the signet ring, and head straight for the battlements.”
    â€œUnbelievable.”
    â€œAh, my good woman, you gotta do what you gotta do.”
    â€œAnd who’s the other guy?”
    â€œThat’s Nono. He gets paid by the village council.”
    â€œAnd uh, isn’t he—does he have all his marbles?”
    Vincent finished rolling his cigarette, then said, “I don’t really know. All I know is that he’s Nono. If you understand Nono, that’s fine, otherwise, it’s hard going.”
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    â€œBut what do you do all day?”
    â€œIn the morning I sleep, in the afternoon I lead the tours, and the evening is for my music.”
    â€œHere?”
    â€œIn the chapel. I’ll show you. And what about you guys? What are you up to?”
    â€œWell, we, uh . . . not much.