Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday. The daily rhythm recalls that of the past five years: working hard for twelve hours a day, six days a week. Lucienne’s vitality astonishes Rémi, as though the maid’s forty years of labour had not exhausted her but prepared her instead for the next twenty. In counterpoint, Victor’s absence passes almost unnoticed. Nothing new under the sun.
Each day brings its share of trivial events. On Tuesday, Americans descend from a large red, white and blue bus, delighted to visit the charms of the French bakery. Mmmmm delicious, so frenchy, so baguette! They are fat as thieves and plunder the butter, spreading it outrageously over their bread.
On Wednesday, it looks like the same bus and the same tourists, but the attack is more serious, for these are French people who have come to compare. Lucienne cannot understand a word they say, and when they leave, satisfied with the volleys they have fired, Rémi gives them the finger.
On Thursday morning, Claudine warns him that the mixer has been acting up again. Rémi scratches his head. No matter how carefully he inspects the machine, nothing seems wrong. He alerts his supplier, who will come on Saturday.
Noëmie goes quietly about her business, arriving an hour before closing to put things in order. Lucienne and Rémi take the opportunity to tidy the back and make sure everything is ready for the night’s baking.
Friday, Saturday. It rains heavily. While people scowl at the prospect of losing a weekend, flora and fauna open roots and beaks wide; earthworms venture out in broad daylight and birds believe in paradise on Earth. A succession of Lucienne’s relatives punctuates the days. The rain drives away the tourists, and revenue suffers. The relatives settle at the tables and play cards. The Rumour Club exercises its collective larynx. Revenue rises. Even Lucienne grows too hot, and Rémi feels slightly nauseated because the volume reminds him so strongly of New Year’s Eve gatherings when Aunt Germaine cackled above the crush of drunken people, drunk herself but utterly determined that what she had to say about the neighbour on the third concession reach the other side of the table and Aunt Laurette’s ears.
Overexcited, Lucienne takes a small white pill from her handbag and swallows it with a little water. Rémi asks what it is; she answers that it is nothing and returns to her conversation with her cousin Mariette.
Irène is seldom home when Rémi and Lucienne return, so they barely have time to say good evening when she arrives before immediately wishing each other good night.
Rémi sleeps in Victor’s bedroom. Sleep comes quickly and without dreams, and the next morning he thanks the fellow—or the pulleys—up above for granting him unconscious nights.
And then, Sunday.