Since it wasn’t his God being invoked, Father Cédric stayed in my kitchen during the ceremony.
It is said that a man has the family he deserves. Seeing Pierre’s children and grandchildren around his tomb, all united around the same farewell, I thought what a fine person Pierre must have been.
Afterwards, drinks had been organized in the small event room at the town hall. Pierre’s family and friends gathered there to sing songs for him. The doors were open and I could hear the voices and music from my house.
The woman rabbi, whose name is Delphine, came for a coffee at the house. Cédric was still there. The man of the church and woman of the synagogue were a nice sight, together, in my kitchen. Their faiths, their laughter, and their youth all blended together. I thought how Sasha would have loved it.
Since it was sunny, I went out to work in the garden. Delphine and Cédric sat under my arbor and stayed more than two hours, talking and laughing some more.
Delphine seemed entranced by the beauty of my plants and fruit trees. Cédric took her around as if he were the proud owner. As if it were his God, whose house was nearby, who had produced all these little miracles.
While planting my eggplants, I heard one of the songs the family and friends of Pierre Georges were singing on the town hall square. They must have left the event room to sit under the trees.
Even Delphine and Cédric went quiet to listen to it.
No, I no longer feel like flattering myself
By desperately seeking the echo of my “I love you”
No, I no longer have the heart to break my heart
By parodying games that I know off by heart . . .
You, who today offers me the finest of spectacles
With such beauty, you could have found obstacles . . .
But I no longer see any of its lovely mystery
I’m scared nothing will come of what I fear or hope
Because despite all the dreams locked in my soul
I will never again have the courage to love . . .
Bent over my soil, I wondered whether it was for Pierre or for me that they were singing it.
At around 6:30 P.M., everyone returned to their cars to head back to Paris. Once again, I heard the sound that I hate so much, that of car doors slamming.
My three guys had supper with me, outside. I made them an improvised salad, along with sautéed potatoes and fried eggs. We thoroughly enjoyed it. The cats joined us, as if to listen to our disjointed, banal, but cheerful chatter. Nono repeated all through supper, “Isn’t it good to be here, at our Violette’s?” And we responded, in unison, “So good.” And Elvis added, “Donte live mi nao.”
They left at around 9:30 P.M. The days are longest during the month of June. I stayed in the garden, sitting on a bench, to listen to the silence. To listen to all that noise that Léonine will never make again, apart from a little love song in my heart, whose tune only I know.
I think again of Nathan on the back seat. Of our return on Sunday morning, all three of us, in the car. Our hangovers, Julien’s and mine, notched into a twig, green wood, a young shoot, a mere leaf, barely peeping out of the soil, two or three roots, more like threads, so easy to pull out. A sprouting of childish love to uproot. Now you see it, now you don’t.
The gel had left white patches in Nathan’s hair. A bit like snow. Julien told him that, as soon as they arrived in Marseilles, he must wash his hair several times before returning to his mother’s house. Nathan made a face, searching my eyes for support.
They dropped me outside my house, at the road-side door. They were about to set off, but Nathan wanted to see the animals. Florence and My Way came and rubbed themselves against his little legs. Nathan petted them for a long time. He asked me:
“How many cats have you actually got?”
“Right now, eleven.”
I recited their names, it sounded like a poem by Prévert.
He chuckled with laughter. We refilled the bowls with dry cat food, throwing the old stuff to the birds. Gave them fresh water. Julien, meanwhile, had gone to Gabriel’s tomb to see his mother’s urn.
When he returned, Nathan begged him to stay a bit longer. And me, I wanted to beg his father to stay a lot longer. But I said nothing. They had tea in my garden and then set off. I walked with them to the car. Before getting in, Julien tried to kiss me on the mouth, I drew back. I didn’t want to be kissed in front of Nathan.
Nathan wanted to sit in the front, his father told him, “No, when you’re ten years old.” Nathan moaned, and then planted a kiss on my cheek. “Goodbye, Violette.”
I had a burning desire to cry. As they slammed shut, their car doors were louder than the others had been. And yet I behaved as if their leaving didn’t bother me. As if I were relieved. As if I had a thousand other things to do.
After thinking about all that on my bench, I go into the house and close both doors, road-side and cemetery-side. Eliane follows me up to my bedroom and stretches out at the foot of the bed. I open the windows to let in the sweet evening air. I apply my rose cream, open the drawer of my bedside
