Un conseil de paix en vaut un autre, les Juchréman(e)s : avant que le Maître vous prenne vos sous à vous aussi, dépêchez vous d’investir dans la bonne littérature !

(liens à droite en entrant)

Et pis tiens, allez, depuis le temps qu’on vous a pas lâché un extrait ! From « Commissioner B. goes south ».

♦

Most of the time, he knew who he was, where he was, what he was doing and everything. Most of the time. But there were also these absences that came upon him without warning… When he was a little boy, his mother had dragged him from doctor to doctor. “Epilepsy” was the only word on their lips. Not much to do about it, they’d say. Maybe it would get better as he got older… He’d got older and, somehow, the seizures had become less frequent. Then his mother had died. Since they were tenants and she paid the rent (out of her husband’s pension, the old man having passed away in the meantime), he ‘d found himself on the street. Moro used to say that he “had the evil eye”. The old bastard meant he could see too well, that’s what he meant! The pasture fences that were gradually creeping up on communal paths, for instance… That Moro was one hell of a specialist in wild re-framing! But nobody said anything, since everyone else was doing the same. Besides, Moro was needed in the village. In his spare time, Moro was a trapper. He was well qualified to know better, having spent his life in the woods. How many times he’d nearly lost a foot— or even his whole leg— in Moro’s dirty traps! It was the gun traps he was most wary of. As if there were still wolves in Volpihac! The only wolves he’d ever come across  were the locals! Except that wolves don’t devour each other. Wolves don’t spit on each other. According to his father, in the long string of denunciations, fights, poisonings and suicides that was the whole Volpihac story, the one and only moment when all these good people had agreed was when the Mormons had landed at La Carbonière. They were all in favor of blaming Saint-Jules Immo for letting this happen. Of squawking that “it was a disgrace to see this elderly American pig flaunting himself with two women! Two women! Who could have been his daughters! Two sluts he’d impregnated before their very eyes! At the same time, almost! They sure were strange twins that had come out of those dirty wombs!” It was the last time he’d heard his Pa laugh like a drain.

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