The Sleeping Car Murders by Sébastien Japrisot

Author:Sébastien Japrisot
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gallic Books
Published: 2020-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

Berth 223

Benjamine Bombat – known as Bambi – stood in front of the great doors to the main waiting rooms, huddled in her blue coat, listening to the sounds of the trains in Gare de Lyon. There was a boiled sweet with a strawberry centre in her mouth, the taste of a kiss on her lips, and an empty box of matches in her hand. She dropped the box in the gutter and said to herself, I’ve had enough, I’ve had enough, what have I done to the good Lord that this should happen to me?

It was a few minutes past six by the clocks in the station; she noticed it as she left. At least she wasn’t crying any longer, that was something. She could always cry tomorrow morning, when she went into Monsieur Picard’s office and he said, mademoiselle, you are very nice, you spell well and you are a good typist; I have no doubt of your sincerity or of the truth of what you say, but unhappily I must tell you that you’re going to have to find a place somewhere else.

Monsieur Picard wouldn’t put it that way, of course, but she would certainly be fired on her second day, like an idiot, like a goose, like the loco girl she was.

It was Daniel who taught her the word ‘loco’. He said: a loco character, the driver is loco, I met a girl who is completely loco. It meant: crazy, off your rocker, someone with fog in their head, fog in their eyes.

She wasn’t crying any longer, but there was a kind of fog in her eyes, distorting the outlines of the square in front of the station and the buses going off in the direction of Place de la Bastille, misting over this city she had dreamed of so long, like a goose, like a loco girl from the provinces.

Tomorrow she would be fired. They would probably even take the room away from her. It would be finished before it had begun. Three days ago, just three days ago, she had imagined that she would arrive in Paris with the appetite of a healthy young animal, the flashing white teeth of a healthy young animal, cleaned twice a day with Selgine – a really medical toothpaste – with her blue coat that was only a month old, with blonde hair and pretty legs and blue eyes that would break a man’s heart, with good spelling and typing, a diploma from the École Pigier, three new dresses and three skirts in her suitcase, and fifty thousand francs in her handbag.

Instead of that, there had been this imbecile, this beautiful infant from the soap ads, this boy who didn’t even have to shave, this spoilt child who considered himself God’s gift to the world, who thought everyone else was loco, who couldn’t take a step without knocking you down and tearing your stockings, my baby, my darling, my love, Daniel.

She realised that she was on a bus, going towards Bastille, and the conductor was asking for tickets.

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