Michel Déon - The Foundling Boy

‘My parents—’

‘Yes, you’re a good son. Wait a while, and things will soon become clearer. Reflect, observe, learn to judge your fellow human beings and see through them.’

‘You were really cruel to my friend Joseph.’

‘Cruel? You must be mad. He was delighted with his lunch, and thinking that he was shining at my expense. He’s a charming boy, without a single original thought in his head: he borrows from everywhere and has no idea how to be selective. I have the impression that you know already how to be selective …’

They walked along the pebble beach whipped by the wind. Above them gulls hovered, motionless, then plummeted like stones into the trough of the swell.

‘I’d love to go to England again,’ Jean said, ‘come with you on the ferry, have a drink in the pub at Newhaven where Mrs Pickett gets drunk every night, then go to London and meet my friend Salah, see the prince and perhaps Mademoiselle Geneviève … At the same time I’m happy to be back here in my shell, now that you’re going … There are reasons.’

‘Have you left your love affair behind?’

‘No, not really. But Grangeville’s the only place where I’ll get rid of it for good. You can’t imagine how disgusted with myself I feel when I think of Mireille.’

‘Then you’re getting better … Come on, come and see me off, and don’t forget my address. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing one another quite soon.’

From the dockside Jean made out Palfy’s outline as he handed his suitcase to a steward and stood at the rail until the packet cast off. They exchanged a discreet wave. As the boat moved into the Channel they lost sight of each other, and Jean felt at once a gap in his life from Palfy’s absence, though he had only known him for a few days. From now on things were going to feel very unexciting, and Joseph Outen would not be able to distract him from the bitter realities he found himself faced with.

Joseph was waiting outside the youth club, where he had hired a room at his own expense to show his repertoire of film classics. About a dozen young men were with him, members of the Rowing Club who had come purely to please him and were unimpressed by the supposed interest of old films that had gone out of fashion. Joseph hid his disappointment. Yet another. The bookshop was going downhill, and the film-club venture was going to eat up his last francs. The copy of Hallelujah! turned out to be as scratched and worn as it could possibly be, and the youth club’s loudspeakers were so defective that the film’s moving negro spirituals sounded more like a chorus of flayed cats. Joseph refused to admit the sad truth: with the resources he had available, he was simply vandalising the ‘classics’. When the lights went up and he suggested a discussion about King Vidor’s message, there was a shuffling of feet and every member of the audience had an urgent appointment. Jean stayed behind with his friend, who took him to a bar-tabac at the port for a beer.

‘I’ll get there!’ Joseph declared. ‘I’ll shake them up, get them thinking. You’ll help me.’

‘How? I have to earn a living urgently. I haven’t even got enough to get the bus back to Grangeville.’

‘Good Lord, why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I’m telling you.’

‘Here’s ten francs. It’s all I’ve got on me. Let’s meet during the week. When are you going to start training?’

‘As soon as I can.’

‘You mustn’t give it up, you have a talent. How many press-ups are you on now?’

‘A hundred. Mireille wore me out in the last few days at Roquebrune.’

‘You didn’t pick it up again on the way back?’

‘I’d like to have seen Palfy’s expression, watching me do press-ups every morning.’

‘I didn’t like the man. I expect you noticed. His money doesn’t impress me. He’d do better to spend some time improving his mind. Oh well, you can’t always choose your travelling companions. Drop in at the bookshop during the week, I’ll think about your problem, but these days life is hard, the crisis is hitting everybody.’

That evening, at the rectory, Jean opened his notebook and wrote:

e) It is wise not to mix one’s friends. I should never have put Ernst and Salah or Palfy and Joseph in each other’s presence. Ernst despised Salah a priori because he’s black and Salah despised Ernst’s racism. Even though when you think about it it’s hard to understand why: both are such generous and disinterested natures, they’re made to get on with each other. The same difficulty when Joseph involuntarily made me think how dishonest Palfy is, dishonest in a way that I’d found entertaining up till then. Yes, I was a bit uncomfortable with it for a while, and felt guilty at benefiting from his swindles. So my moral sense was suddenly alerted because of Joseph. On the other hand, Palfy helped me, almost without a word, without comment, to see that despite his posturing Joseph is never going to rise very high. He’s jinxed. Everything he touches turns to dust: today his bookshop, tomorrow his film club, even the Dieppe Rowing Club, where he’s the most energetic and least talented member. Whereas everything works for Palfy: he steals cars without a second thought, finds a cheque book when he needs one. Everything amuses him because everything succeeds, and because success is his only criterion he believes himself justified in acting the way he does. The whole situation is a bit of a catastrophe: my friends don’t get on, and their mutual discord shows both of them in an unpleasant light. It would have been the same if I’d switched them, Ernst face to face with Joseph, Palfy face to face with Salah. It’s a good lesson to remember. Don’t mix your friends. Put each of them in a drawer, and don’t open one drawer without being certain that the others are tightly shut.

At six in the morning the abbé woke Jean.

‘I have no one to serve mass. Will you come, as you used to when you were a pious little boy?’

‘Yes, Monsieur l’abbé.’

In a church numb with cold, lit by two mean yellow bulbs and a few candles, a moving, simple mass took place that was attended by three old women and a young man on his knees at a prie-dieu, his face hidden in his hands. After the ‘Ite, missa est’ the three women stayed behind, telling their rosary, and the young man crept towards the door as though he wanted to hide, but Jean was certain that the devout early-riser deep in prayer had been Michel du Courseau. Jean did not take communion, and when he was in the sacristy afterwards, helping the priest to take off his chasuble and alb, Monsieur Le Couec said to him sadly, ‘That mass was intended for you, my dear Jean. You must have had your reasons for not taking communion, which I respect and shall not enquire further about. Let’s go and have a bowl of coffee.’

The penury of the rectory was such that the abbé heated up his coffee over a spirit lamp, and for breakfast buttered two thick slices of a brown loaf he was given by one of the farmers every week.

‘And now what will you do, my boy? We hoped you would go on with your studies. It’s possible, there are scholarships—’

‘I want to earn a living straight away. But what can I do here?’

‘That is a very good question. Antoine du Courseau has gone, but we could speak to Madame du Courseau.’

‘She doesn’t like me.’

‘You’re wrong. Obviously there was that regrettable story—’

‘I didn’t do it.’

‘Time has passed. She’s a charitable woman.’

‘When she’s sure everyone around her will get to hear about it.’

The priest smiled and nodded his head.

‘At your age it’s a little sad to possess so few illusions. You’re undoubtedly right. So let us make her think that everyone in Grangeville who matters will hear about her tireless generosity towards her gardener’s son.’