It is easy to forget, to let time go its way when there is so much to do, and thus prevent jealousy or sadness from exposing, in broad daylight, the breaches that experience can no longer seal. It is easy to pretend. A lie, when one has no choice, is merely a malignant form of truth.
Rémi thinks of Victor while pretending his mind is elsewhere—on his bread, his customers and Lucienne, indisputably the greatest chatterbox in the city. Stéphane stayed with him only for breakfast. He asked whether he could come back that evening. Rémi told him he would call, that it would be better to see what happened with Victor. Before leaving, Lucienne kissed him on the forehead.
It is therefore easy to forget everything and act as if nothing has happened, especially now that a clear signal has been given, now that everything can change, just as Rémi wanted. He knows little about Stéphane; perhaps he is only the spark, the excuse to begin again, over and over. The calculation is complex: what is lost? What is created? Nothing can be invented, so all that remains is to shake the dice and play again.
“Would you start your life over with Stéphane?” he asks Lucienne out of the blue as she draws breath before continuing her monologue.
“How long since you stopped listening to me?”
“Since this morning… Don’t look at me like that, I’m joking!”
“You old rascal! You don’t have to decide that right away. Seems to me you’re in quite a hurry to rebuild your life, whatever that’s supposed to mean. Repeat your life would be more like it! I’m gonna call the manor. Seems like ages since I heard from Marie-Cé.”
“Three days, exactly.”
Lucienne shrugs with a smile.
“Hello, sweetheart, how are you?”
“Everyone’s fine,” she repeats so Rémi can follow the conversation. Marie-Claire went to see her doctor and, as Lucienne predicted, will not give birth for another three weeks. Marie-Claire’s sister has arrived, so Lucienne need not worry. Lucienne says she likes what is happening at the bakery very much but is not sleeping much; there are some strange neighbours. She laughs. She asks whether Luc could bring her jewellery box. And how is Luc doing? She listens to the very long answer, offering only an occasional “ah…” or “uh-huh,” followed by “It ain’t worth fighting over, Marie-Cé.” “I know you’re going to have more children. Don’t worry, I’m telling you.” “No, Rémi isn’t here, he went out on an errand.” She winks at him. “Victor called? Oh, really?” “Yes, I know, things aren’t going too well between them.” “He wants to get a place… He has a project.” “Mario? Yes, I know about him.” “Okay, that’s it.”
She hangs up and turns towards him.
“His mind was made up a long time ago.”
“You think so?”
“You bet.”
“You never really liked Victor.”
“He’s a good guy! I never said otherwise. And it ain’t none of my damn business. I don’t like fighting, I told you. I’ve seen enough and done enough of that. I left the manor to get a little breathing room, and here I am in another nest of vipers! So when you talk to me about starting your life over, it just makes me want to get far away from here! And I don’t wanna! There’s gotta be a limit. Stay together or split up, but do something!”
She stops. Rémi looks away.
“How do you feel?” she continues more gently.
“How do you expect me to feel? This is probably what I wanted.”
“Then everyone’s happy!”
“That must be it.”
“How come you ain’t angry?”
“Lucienne, I’ve done worse than he has!”
She shrugs.
“The worst thing you did was let your orchard rot like that. You should’ve sold sooner.”
He would like to protest; he knows she is right.
“I’m weak.”
“Spineless.”
“Rub it in.”
She laughs.
“Come on, you’re made of much stronger stuff than that.”
“But beyond that, Lucienne.”
“What? You ain’t happy, I know. It’ll pass. Just forget Victor! You don’t have any children, only a house together. He’ll sort it out for you; he’s a notary. In a week, it’ll all be over.”
“I’m tired.”
“Say that when you’re my age.”
“You won’t give me a chance to complain.”
“Not a crumb!”
A customer arrives. Lucienne turns sweet as honey, and Rémi retreats into the back room. The cash register rings; the customer leaves.
“You can say anything, you can do anything, but at least you have to do it in accordance with your own conscience and remain yourself at all times. I’m in a good position to have understood that. For the love of the holy sacraments, love one another, that’s what he said!”
He comes back to her.
“I’m a little confused…”
Leaning on the counter, she looks at him with gentle eyes.
“According to that paper of yours, it’s time to prepare the poolish.”