We all work steadily, and manage to clear about a quarter of the space. When we get home at the end of the morning, Mother is appalled. “Have you been rolling in garbage? Whose idea was this?” Actually, I think it was mine. She sends us up with Loli to shower and change.
After lunch Father asks us if we want to go to La Fourcade with him to see the new chicks. Of course we do. Ginette told me that, a long time ago, we had hens in our back garden. When Grandmother Clara died, Mother had them moved to La Fourcade because they did too much damage to her flowers.
Coralie runs ahead of us on the dirt road, but I walk with Father, holding his hand. “Do you know where the Delpechs live?” I ask him.
“Yes, they have an apartment in the Bousquet building, don’t they?”
“Have you ever been to their place?”
“No, why?”
“It’s... not an apartment. Just two rooms, with windows that don’t...” As I explain, I feel I’m going to cry, so I breathe deeply before I start again. “There’s no air, no light from outside, it’s... like a prison. And they look so weary, so... The parents. As if they’ve been... forgotten. They live in the dark! Why can’t they have a house, or at least windows? And we have so many rooms, it can’t be right.”
“Would you like them to come and live with us?” Father asks.
“Would I? I don’t particularly want to live with them, I don’t think they want to live with us, but why do we have all this, and they’re shut up in those two murky rooms!” My voice is horribly shrill and teary.
“Yes,” Father says. “It isn’t fair at all, and thank you for telling me about it. I’ll talk to Rigaill.”
Talk to Rigaill? I have no idea what Father means, but the chicks are all around us, not at all shy. Coralie wants to feed them, to hold them; I have to show her how to do it without hurting them. Father is discussing something with Achille, the gardener. Rigaill plays bridge with Father twice a week, and he is the headmaster of the boys’ primary school. What can he do about the Delpechs?
Five days later, Father tells me that a social worker went to look at the Delpechs’ place and signed them up as an emergency case. They’ll have a house near the stadium in three or four months. “Before the end of September at the latest,” he says.
What is this? Magic? “Can they afford to buy a house?” I ask.
“They’ll rent it. Rigaill had been telling us about a bunch of houses the town council is building on the other side of the stadium, precisely for families like the Delpechs. But you have to apply, and apparently your friends’ parents hadn’t. So, it was lucky you happened to find out about their circumstances.”
“And that you play bridge with Rigaill!” I say. I’m so happy for my friends. Even though they will live at the other end of town and we won’t play together all the time as we do now.
“Yes,” Father says. “Thank God for our Communist mayor!”
Rigaill is also our mayor, how did I forget? “What exactly is a Communist?” I ask.
“Well, it sounds like you’re one! You are against social injustice, aren’t you? You don’t think people should live in two airless rooms when others have a large house.”
“What about you? Do you think that’s right ?”
“Right, probably not, but what should be done about it isn’t obvious. Some people think that one can help poor people individually, as the Dames de charité do, but that the state or the town shouldn’t meddle. Our town council has Communists, Socialists, and a few Radicals. If the Communists didn’t have a majority, I’m not sure those houses would have been built. It was Rigaill’s idea. Some councils aren’t very interested in public housing.”
“What about you? Are you a Communist?”
“No, I’m not. I’m not anything much, actually.”
“Don’t you vote for your friend Rigaill?”
“No, I usually vote for the Radicals. I like Mendès France. I
After lunch Father asks us if we want to go to La Fourcade with him to see the new chicks. Of course we do. Ginette told me that, a long time ago, we had hens in our back garden. When Grandmother Clara died, Mother had them moved to La Fourcade because they did too much damage to her flowers.
Coralie runs ahead of us on the dirt road, but I walk with Father, holding his hand. “Do you know where the Delpechs live?” I ask him.
“Yes, they have an apartment in the Bousquet building, don’t they?”
“Have you ever been to their place?”
“No, why?”
“It’s... not an apartment. Just two rooms, with windows that don’t...” As I explain, I feel I’m going to cry, so I breathe deeply before I start again. “There’s no air, no light from outside, it’s... like a prison. And they look so weary, so... The parents. As if they’ve been... forgotten. They live in the dark! Why can’t they have a house, or at least windows? And we have so many rooms, it can’t be right.”
“Would you like them to come and live with us?” Father asks.
“Would I? I don’t particularly want to live with them, I don’t think they want to live with us, but why do we have all this, and they’re shut up in those two murky rooms!” My voice is horribly shrill and teary.
“Yes,” Father says. “It isn’t fair at all, and thank you for telling me about it. I’ll talk to Rigaill.”
Talk to Rigaill? I have no idea what Father means, but the chicks are all around us, not at all shy. Coralie wants to feed them, to hold them; I have to show her how to do it without hurting them. Father is discussing something with Achille, the gardener. Rigaill plays bridge with Father twice a week, and he is the headmaster of the boys’ primary school. What can he do about the Delpechs?
Five days later, Father tells me that a social worker went to look at the Delpechs’ place and signed them up as an emergency case. They’ll have a house near the stadium in three or four months. “Before the end of September at the latest,” he says.
What is this? Magic? “Can they afford to buy a house?” I ask.
“They’ll rent it. Rigaill had been telling us about a bunch of houses the town council is building on the other side of the stadium, precisely for families like the Delpechs. But you have to apply, and apparently your friends’ parents hadn’t. So, it was lucky you happened to find out about their circumstances.”
“And that you play bridge with Rigaill!” I say. I’m so happy for my friends. Even though they will live at the other end of town and we won’t play together all the time as we do now.
“Yes,” Father says. “Thank God for our Communist mayor!”
Rigaill is also our mayor, how did I forget? “What exactly is a Communist?” I ask.
“Well, it sounds like you’re one! You are against social injustice, aren’t you? You don’t think people should live in two airless rooms when others have a large house.”
“What about you? Do you think that’s right ?”
“Right, probably not, but what should be done about it isn’t obvious. Some people think that one can help poor people individually, as the Dames de charité do, but that the state or the town shouldn’t meddle. Our town council has Communists, Socialists, and a few Radicals. If the Communists didn’t have a majority, I’m not sure those houses would have been built. It was Rigaill’s idea. Some councils aren’t very interested in public housing.”
“What about you? Are you a Communist?”
“No, I’m not. I’m not anything much, actually.”
“Don’t you vote for your friend Rigaill?”
“No, I usually vote for the Radicals. I like Mendès France. I
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