The Mahé Circle (Penguin Modern Classics) by Georges Simenon

Author:Georges Simenon [Simenon, Georges]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2015-05-12T04:00:00+00:00

5. Péchade’s Letter

Bells. Masses of bells plunging into a sky like the sea, making trembling circles there. The circles widened, collided, merged with each other, and then the bells, with the elegance of dolphins, began to plunge again. He frowned and said:

‘There must be some ceremony going on …’

A funeral? A wedding? He couldn’t remember what it was. But he had to go to it. He was walking quickly. His mother was behind him, chivvying him.

‘Hurry up, François,’ she was saying, without seeming to notice that he was naked. And she added this curious sentence:

‘You’ll miss all the weddings.’

What weddings was she talking about? His own, or ones he had been invited to?

He was puzzled. His hand, feeling his chest, discovered that he really was naked. The sun was shining through his eyelids. He was lying down. He realized where he was: on the iron bed pulled up close to the window, so that the children’s beds could be nearer their mother’s. The window was open. Fresh air and sunlight were coming in through the slats of the shutters and streaming over him in his bed. He was also streaming with sweat.

He frowned, because he knew he had something unpleasant to deal with. The first thing he managed to place was the bells: nothing to worry about, it was just Sunday morning, that was all. He had forgotten it was Sunday.

But why were they whispering in the windowless bedroom where Mariette slept? He listened hard, without opening his eyes, and recognized Hélène’s voice.

‘Hurry up, Jeanne, you’ll make us late for Mass. Mariette, help her do up her shoelaces. She is just as slow every morning.’

All this in hushed, sanctimonious tones.

‘Michel, don’t make so much noise, you’ll wake your father.’

Ah, it was so as not to wake him that they had taken all their things into Mariette’s room, and were washing and dressing there. They would have to tiptoe through the main bedroom. It wasn’t worth opening his eyes, on the contrary.

He had never been in the habit of sleeping naked. He felt his body, smooth and plump under his hand, and was slightly shocked by it. It was not unpleasant, though. Coming back, he had managed to undress, but not to find his pyjamas, or perhaps he hadn’t been able to put them on. Had he switched on the light? He hoped not. He couldn’t remember. If only he could be sure he hadn’t walked about naked with the lights blazing, between these beds lined up like dominoes, where his daughter Jeanne, for example, might have woken up!

‘Jeanne! Prayer book, gloves!’

The door was opening, Hélène was pushing them in front of her. They had their new shoes on, he could hear the soles creaking, and they all smelled of lavender soap. Were they looking at him as they went past?

‘Come on.’

Mariette came behind the others. He recognized her smell. Because she had her own personal smell, very different from his wife’s.

What was it he had dreamed about weddings? It had just been for a few seconds and he couldn’t now remember.

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