Oscar Coop-Phane - Zenith Hotel

Yesterday was hard work. Before the holidays, it’s always the same. The kids don’t want to be in school. It’s all very well yelling at them and punishing them, those wretched brats are oblivious. And some of them are just plain stupid. You do everything you can for them, you stop them cheating or drinking in secret, and all you get is spitting and abuse. They give you a nickname and they take the piss behind your back. You try to do everything right, to keep to the rules and teach them to do the same. They don’t want to know, they only think of themselves. They let off bangers and water bombs, they throw paper pellets at your back. Some of them have weapons, Biro peashooters and rubber bands stretched between the thumb and index finger. They’re rich kids, it’s a private school.

It’s the same routine, day in and day out. There are the public holidays, but they’re all in May. Every day it’s the same old, same old. You have to be there a quarter of an hour before the students, that’s a responsibility. 8.15. And Estelle wants space, so we live in the suburbs. We don’t use the car in the week, the train’s more practical. There’s one at 7.12. Has to be that one. The next one, the 7.45, gets there too late. A twenty-minute journey. First compartment, third door from the end. It’s by the métro exit. You see the same people in the compartment in the morning. Sometimes there’s one who’s not a regular and he takes your seat. You can’t hold it against him, he doesn’t realize. Still, it’s annoying. But that’s life. You go because you have to. Often, it’s crowded – you’re all crammed together, people step on each other’s toes. Everyone’s on their way to work.

There are hundreds like us. We simply don’t see them. Actually, it’s a bit scary, it sort of hits you in the stomach, like when you realize you’re going to die.

When I have the time to think about it, that is. Otherwise I have to deal with the absences or Estelle. It all takes time, keeps my mind busy. I don’t look at the other people, I think about my own business. And besides, I’ve got Estelle and the family, that’s plenty.

Emmanuel’s father used to be in the military. He’s retired now. He’s been places and done things! He was in Sudan. Darfur. He drove tanks and jumped with a parachute. He fired a submachine gun; he peeled spuds. Emmanuel’s father was a hero, and Emmanuel has always been fascinated by him. Sometimes he talks to his colleagues about his father, but they don’t understand. His father is better at recounting his exploits. Emmanuel struggles to find the words. He’s slower, like a guy who’s no good at telling jokes. It’s all there in his head, but he can’t get the words out. He’s aware of it when he talks. But he can’t help it, sometimes he gets the urge to talk about his father.

There are dark circles beneath his blue eyes. Administrative, industrious circles, not tiredness from partying or drinking. What’s making Emmanuel tired is his life. It troubles him and he can’t sleep.

No one notices his nose. His chin juts out a bit. He has a goatee, trimmed around his mouth. His wife says it makes him look dapper, and it doesn’t take long to do. He’s never known how to dress. Now, it’s Estelle who chooses his clothes. A nice shirt and smart trousers. He looks good in shirts – he doesn’t look slovenly. You have to keep up appearances in front of the students. You have responsibilities, and they judge you on what they see, they don’t look beyond. If you’re slovenly, they get ideas straight away, and after that they have you at their mercy. They find the crack, they pour into it like little black ants and eat you alive. You have to show them who’s boss. They’re not there for amusement either.

Emmanuel doesn’t like children. Estelle though, she wants one. It’s scary. A kid messes up everything. We’d have to rethink our lives when we are fine just as we are. You spend years trying to get a decent job, you know how it all works and what you have to do. A kid turns everything upside down, it knocks down all the cards you’ve stacked up, like a big gust of wind.

That’s Estelle for you. We’re settled, we’ve got ourselves sorted out. The minute things are going smoothly, as they should be, and we could just relax, she has to rock the boat. We’d have to rebuild everything around us. Months of preparation so that everything fits together nicely and we wouldn’t even get to enjoy it. That’s what a child would do, we’d have to rethink everything, the apartment for example. And if we move, that means changing our schedule, taking a different train, a different compartment and a different door, without even knowing where the métro exit is.

With a kid, you’re venturing into the unknown. You can’t go to the cinema on Saturday night like you did before. What do you do on Saturday night with a kid? And we don’t get enough sleep as it is. If we’re going to have broken nights as well… no, that’s no life. Estelle, sweetheart, we’ll see later, we’re fine as we are, just the two of us. We like our jobs. We go to the cinema on Saturday night. And besides, with your dickey heart it’s not a good idea. And he thinks about how much weight she’d put on. Perhaps a baby in her tummy wouldn’t show. But he doesn’t say that to her. He’s right, that wouldn’t go down well. He doesn’t say it, but he chuckles when he thinks about it. Mustn’t laugh in front of her. To stop himself, Emmanuel pinches his thigh through his trouser pocket. When Estelle’s upset, it’s best not to wind her up. Otherwise things go awry and he can’t touch her for a month. She bears grudges, she never forgets. Emmanuel would like to make all the decisions, but Estelle is stronger.

Sometimes, you have to give in – Father often says so. He knows what he’s talking about, he’s seen his share of enemies. Not minor domestics in the suburbs, but gun battles ending in death. He’s got loads of friends who died. One of them had both his legs cut off above the knee. When Emmanuel was little, it gave him the creeps. Mind how you go, son, or you’ll end up like Gillou. After that he could no longer blithely ride his bike, he was haunted by the image of Gillou, who’d stepped on a mine. No legs, no bike. And the two pink stumps sticking out of Gillou’s shorts were ugly. Despite that, he seemed happy, he was always telling jokes. And then one day, he blew his brains out. Bang! They said he was cleaning his gun, but Emmanuel wasn’t fooled, he’d seen it on TV, they say he was cleaning his gun so the widow can get the pension. A funeral with full honours for Gillou. Even though he had no legs, the coffin was the normal size.

A gun salute and red-white-and-blue flags. Flowers everywhere. Father had got out his uniform. He keeps it in the big cupboard in the sitting room. When Emmanuel was little, he used to touch all the badges stuck on like buttons. With the tip of his index finger. Had to be careful, the uniform was kept in a polythene cover. Like at the dry cleaners. Father didn’t want him to touch it, had to be careful.

The real medals were in the display case. A glass tower kept locked. His mother cleaned it every Sunday. Emmanuel had never managed to open it, he’d never found out where the guns were. Now he could ask Father but he was a bit ashamed. And what would he do with guns? They’re dangerous, believe me.

The train pulls into the station. Emmanuel gets off. Now he has to take the métro. Not the same atmosphere. You feel more rushed. It’s not unpleasant, you’re stepping into your day. It’s hard to get a seat. If you’re lucky, you can grab one of the folding seats, but the standing passengers press against them.