The Catalans: A Novel by O'Brian Patrick

Author:O'Brian, Patrick [O'Brian, Patrick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: W. W. Norton & Company
Published: 2007-07-17T00:00:00+00:00

“GOOD MORNING, ALAIN,” she said, kissing him on both cheeks; then “Dear me, you look very poorly, Alain; are you quite well? I could make you a tisane in no time at all. I am sure a nice tisane would do you good.”

“No, no, I am quite well, thank you very much. I did not get any sleep last night, that’s all.”

“Oh, Alain, I hope you did not go to those dreadful creatures in Port-Vendres?” Once, long ago, Alain’s youthful curiosity had taken him to the bawdyhouse there, and he had been seen coming out by his Uncle Gaston, Aunt Margot’s late husband.

“No,” he answered seriously. “Xavier and I sat up in the garden, talking. You know, Aunt Margot, we have no earthly right to interfere; not the least right in the world.”

“Come and sit down, and tell me all about it. I am longing to know what he said.”

“Well, I am afraid I cannot tell you all that: in the first place it would take hours and hours, and in the second it was not talk that one could decently pass on.”

“I see. But come into the morning room anyway, and I will make us a pot of coffee. You would like some coffee, wouldn’t you, Alain?”

She had led the way into the quiet, sunny room; she had made the coffee herself, and now the empty cups were cold on the little table.

“. . . so you see, I cannot range myself on the family’s side against him,” said Alain. “I told you, did I not, that I should probably turn out a disappointing ally?”

“Oh, do not say that; you are not disappointing at all. But how he must have suffered, poor fellow: he must have suffered dreadfully.”

“I am afraid he must.”

“He should have gone to Father Aurillac. I wonder why he did not go to Father Aurillac.” She reflected for some minutes and then said, “Alain, you will probably think me an unfeeling old woman, but don’t you think, as a friend, you ought to advise him to take a blue pill and keep to a low diet? Then some mineral waters like Evian or Boulou for the liver?”

“Oh,” said Alain, a little staggered, “that is a very dampening view of it.” He turned it over in his mind, and said, “But it is wonderful what a pill will do, I must admit. Wonderful and disheartening, the link between one’s liver and one’s mind.”

“Why disheartening?”

“Because one likes to think of oneself as a free agent.”

“I am sure, Alain, that all the oil in the cooking down here, and the heavy red wine, is what makes the people so violent, miserable, and irreligious. Have you never noticed that churchgoing and white wine or cider and cooking in butter go together?”

“Well, if he ever consults me, I will tell him what you say. But seriously, Aunt Margot, that is not all that is wrong with Xavier. I wish I were better at conveying the feeling of a conversation: if I had managed to convey even a tenth of the profound sincerity—the shocking .

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