Read Online The Panda Theory by Pascal Garnier - Free Book Online

lodged a complaint at the police station because I know who did it!’
    ‘That’s the right thing to do.’
    ‘Between you and me, I didn’t really like the dog. I only went to the police on principle.’
    ‘I see.’
    ‘He was horrible. He barked all the time and was bad-tempered as well! He belonged to my former husband, a real mongrel.’
    The old woman hadn’t yet turned to look at Gabriel. She kept her gaze fixed straight ahead on the altar, munching on her false teeth, gripping the handbag that sat on her bony knees.
    ‘It was a black and white mongrel called Georges. They used to go hunting and fishing together.’
    ‘Your dog was called Georges?’
    ‘Yes, like my husband. It was his idea. “That way, if I get lost,” he said, “all I have to do is call out my own name!” It used to make him laugh. He died a nasty death.’
    ‘Your husband?’
    ‘No, the dog. It wasn’t a pretty sight, believe me. It was terrible. My husband’s death was much quicker. He decapitated himself with his chainsaw when he was out pruning the cherry trees. He didn’t suffer. Well, that’s what the doctor said. But what does he know? He’s never been decapitated!’
    ‘And your dog?’
    ‘Poisoned meat. Rat poison. You know, those little red pellets. His vomit was full of them.’
    ‘That’s terrible.’
    ‘Yes, terrible. His eyes bulged and his tongue was hanging out as if trying to escape his mouth. Animals arestupid, especially dogs. Perhaps it’s the effect of the people they spend time with. They only think of themselves. They’re not like us, they don’t have a soul.’
    With a crooked finger, she made the sign of the cross so rapidly it looked like an aeroplane propeller.
    ‘Are you waiting for Father Mauro?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘He’s always late. He’s a drinker.’
    ‘Ah.’
    ‘Yes, he’s a drinker. And he masturbates in front of St Rita as well. I’ve seen him do it. Everyone has their flaws, I suppose.’
    ‘That’s true.’
    ‘I’ve only come for confession. I’ve got an appointment at the hairdresser’s at four o’clock and it’s already twenty to. I won’t be long. I’ve just got to tell him that I was the one who killed Georges but that I’ve blamed it on my neighbour. Speak of the devil, here he is now … Have a nice day.’
    ‘And you.’
    The old lady got up and scurried shakily down the aisle to meet a jovial-looking priest of the sort you’d find on a cheese packet. God had no need to worry, business was good.
     

     
     
    The street swarmed with extras but there was no audience, or director. And there was probably no script either. Everybody wandered around without aim or purpose, hesitant and unable to find their place. Perhaps that was the intention. It wasn’t unusual to bump into the same person in different parts of the town; grim-faced, lost in thought and waiting, in the absence of a revelation, for some sort of sign. The entire town seemed on standby. The sky was equally unsettled, with threatening clouds, light rain and intermittent flashes of lightning. Swarms of minuscule gnats, impervious to swiping hands, buzzed overhead. Nothing made sense. If being alive was just a hobby then how could you be sure that there would be a tomorrow? Just as there was no guarantee there had been a yesterday. It was a day to kill someone for no reason.
    Gabriel had bought himself a frying pan, a pot and a camping stove. He was going to eat alone in his hotel roomtonight. Ham, mashed potato and chestnut purée. He’d had enough of them. He didn’t want to see them or listen to their whining. And yet, without realising, he found himself in front of the Faro. The bar was crowded, like a teeming fish tank. Noticing him outside, José waved his cloth in Gabriel’s direction, inviting him inside. Now the panda and José looked so alike it was hard to distinguish them; they both grinned like Cheshire cats. As Gabriel didn’t move José dashed out from behind the counter and opened the