“My boy, there’s dust in your house!”
“Give me a chance this morning, Lucienne!”
“Well, what?”
“Nothing. Give me my morning kiss instead, good mother.”
“I’m not your mother!”
“I would have liked that.”
“Start by going to see your father!”
“Good grief, what’s wrong? I haven’t even been up for five minutes!”
“Forgive me…”
Lucienne sinks into her chair. Rémi softens and stretches.
“What time did you get up? You’re already dressed up as though you were going to mass.”
“Five o’clock!”
“No wonder you had time to notice the dust. We gave our housekeeper time off during our holiday.”
“Judging by what’s lying in the corners, she must not know how to square them!”
Rémi sits down and tousles his hair.
“All right, what is it?”
“I’m nervous!”
“We’re only going to start getting the bakery ready, my good Lucienne. The customers won’t be there for another three days.”
He pats her shoulder and stands.
“Would you like something to eat?”
“I wouldn’t mind a slice or two of toast. And coffee!”
“I have croissants too.”
“Did you make them?”
“No, I don’t make my own pastries. I didn’t study enough of that. When I was with Fernand, I only had time to learn how to make bread. I partnered with a pastry chef in the north end of the city.”
“Do you miss France?”
“Not at all, except Fernand, a little.”
“Was he handsome?”
“Yes, quite. Well built, a simple and warm man. But very withdrawn, unable to declare his love openly.”
“He lived in the country, I imagine.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“I pity you fags.”
“Bah, one cock lost, three hundred found.”
“Fine philosophy!”
“I was joking…”
“I’m not sure.”
“Eat your croissants. Would you like an espresso or an americano?”
“Don’t you have instant?”
“Lucienne!”
“Well, what?”
“Welcome to the city!”
“Well, I’m here, in the city!”
As he unlocks the door of his bakery, Rémi thinks of Fernand. Fernand had never taken a real holiday, the bakery clinging to the Frenchman’s skin like opium to his blood. Or like desire to its pervert. Rémi can understand, for as he swings the old door on its hinges, he feels he is rediscovering the markers needed to fill the hours, the concerns, the fine flour of the countless gestures to be performed.
“It feels good to be back in here.”
Rémi runs his hand over the checkout counter.
“Judging by the dust, you’d think it had been closed for two years.”
“I’ll take care of that for you.”
“There’s no hurry. In any case, I can hear Noëmie racing down.”
“Who?”
“Three, two, one.”
The door opens to reveal a woman in her forties with the eyes of a child.
“Hello, Rémi! Hello, ma’am!”
“Hello, Noëmie. You didn’t have to come down so quickly. This is Lucienne, a great friend. She’ll be filling in for Sylvain while he recovers.”
“Pleased to meet you, Madame. All right, where do I start?”
“Easy, you’ve only just arrived!”
Rémi places one hand on her shoulder and the other around Noëmie’s neck.
“Take a deep breath. Let’s calm down. That’s it… I’d prefer you to come and do the dusting tomorrow. What do you say?”
Noëmie looks disappointed. She begins a shrug and holds her shoulders raised while her little brain completes its reflection. To speed up the process, Rémi strokes the back of her neck. At last, she sighs a cheerful okay.
“I’m going back upstairs. First thing tomorrow?”
“First thing. And say hello to your mother.”
Noëmie turns towards Lucienne and smiles at her with a trace of fear in her eyes.
“Goodbye, ma’am.”
“Goodbye, then.”
Noëmie leaves, smiling.
“Who was that?”
“She and her mother have lived on the second floor for at least fifteen years. When I bought the place, I didn’t want to evict them, even though I would have liked to live in the neighbourhood. And on the third floor, I have a very nice elderly couple. Noëmie is a little simple, as you could see. I hired her to clean, which she does very well. She has a slight tendency to want to clean the same thing three times in a row, and every day. I provide them with bread; I pay her, of course, and when she has enough money, she and her mother go out and buy a dress. Apparently she owns a hundred of them, which she tries on endlessly. But when she goes out, she always wears the same dress.”
Lucienne goes behind the counter and climbs onto the bench beside the cash register.
“You’re a good man, Rémi.”
She drums her fingers on the register keys and extends her hand over the counter.
“That’ll be six dollars and twenty-four cents, Madame Simard.”
They laugh. Lucienne looks around.
“I’m gonna like this, Rémi. I think I’m really gonna like this!”
Rémi takes inventory, helped by Lucienne, who writes down what must be bought or done. Early in the afternoon, they meet Claudine, the baker. They decide to take it slowly on the first day, giving customers time to notice that the bakery has reopened. Lucienne likes Claudine immediately. Rémi will tell her later that Claudine is a lesbian, to which Lucienne will reply that she suspected as much, that there had been a woman “of her kind” in the village and that it had ended badly.
“Lesbians in a village are like whey in coffee. They stand right out, and it certainly doesn’t stop the men from getting excited!”
“What happened?”
“The two women left. People still talk about it.”
“There’s nothing else to do in the country but talk.”
“You never liked living in the village, did you?”
“No, because a fag in a village is like a shit fly around a wedding cake.”
“What?”
“I understand myself.”
“Well, I don’t!”
With a few telephone calls to his suppliers, Rémi makes sure the merchandise will arrive tomorrow, as arranged before the holiday. Then he closes the shop and gives Lucienne a duplicate set of keys. He shows her around the neighbourhood, telling the neighbours they meet that the bakery will reopen in two days.
“There seem to be some handsome little gentlemen around, and not just fags,” Lucienne comments.
“Yes, and they all noticed your beautiful dress.”
“And especially my beautiful greying hair.”
“You could dye it.”
“Oh, come on, and look like the local transvestite over there?”
Rémi stops on the sidewalk, raises his face to the sun and closes his eyes with a smile.
“The sun feels good, don’t you think, my good Lucienne?”