The Long Summer of Monsieur Loiseau

Winter 1960, Paris.

Harry was already late. He walked out of the newspaper 10 minutes later than expected, and had to go back again because he forgot to pick up his gift.It had snowed a little earlier, and was trampled into muddy water by pedestrians, and then re-condensed into a layer of dirty thin ice, reflecting the dim street lights.The car was still rampaging, and Harry had been here for three months, and he hadn't gotten used to the crazy driving habits of Parisians.He walked down the subway station, and the cold wind rushed up the long tunnel, carrying the smell of mold, stale water, urine and motor oil.

The tavern he was going to was a converted wine cellar in a narrow alley near Rue San Donoghue, with curved walls and a lovely vaulted ceiling, like an upside-down brick-red hat.Stairs decorated with holly and silver ribbons led down to an iron door with a square stained glass panel. Harry stood outside for a minute or two, listening to the commotion inside, took a deep breath, and pressed lightly. Lower the doorknob.

His original plan was to sneak in and blend into the crowd, but Miss Minie, who was in charge of the translation, saw him at a glance and announced his arrival loudly.All eyes turned to him, the half-drunk reporters shouted "Prudence!" in unison, a goblet was thrust into his hand, the crowd swept him in like a sea storm, and the wine spilled It splashed Harry's sleeves and smelled strongly of ginger and molasses.

The party was given by the newspaper for M. Gallois, editor-in-chief of the Paris bureau of Le Perspective, who retired today.In the three years that Harry had known Mr. Gallois, it was the first time Harry saw him in a well-fitting suit. Before that, he was a light-colored shirt that was too big to see the line. The sleeves were stained with indelible ink and rolled up to his hands. elbow.With glasses hanging around his neck on a soft black cord, plus a protruding belly and signature bald head, Editor-in-Chief Jaravo looks like a comic book character.After he left, Mr. Schmidt, who was originally in charge of the Eastern Europe section, took over as the editor-in-chief, and Harry took over Mr. Schmidt's job. From tomorrow morning, he will be able to move out of the noisy big office and move to a private office at the other end of the corridor. Not big, like a wardrobe, but at least one door that could be locked, a foggy glass window overlooking Boulevard Haussmann, a rickety filing cabinet and a pot of wilting green foliage.

Harry still didn't like parties, and he'd developed a way of dealing with them: making sure he'd greeted everyone he knew, staying in the center of the crowd for a while, then gradually backing away from the wall, moving toward the door, and finally—about a After half to two hours - quietly left.At the moment he was working on the plan, handed Mr. Gallois the gift wrapped in lavender wrapper, accepted a warm embrace, exchanged a few polite nonsense, and then, on the pretext of taking champagne, Little by little, he moved out of the crowd and walked to the buffet table.

"I can see you're about to run away again."

Harry smiled, and handed a glass of champagne to the lady who walked beside him: "Why do you think so, Miss Minie?"

"experience."

"Experience sometimes deceives us."

"Not when the object of observation is easy to predict." Miss Minie turned her head slightly, her earrings flickering under the light.She is used to speaking French with the employees of the newspaper, but she speaks English with an indecipherable accent to Harry. Her father is from Lyon, and her mother is a Russian who fled to Paris in the 1910s. Therefore, this reporter is not only a Russian translator, but also a thread that connects the newspaper and the local Slavic community, "Any exciting plans for tonight, Mr. Prudence?"

"Probably the most exciting project is this party."

Migne shrugged, took a sip of champagne, and leaned against the counter like Harry did, watching the reporters squeezed tightly under the red brick hat, and the radio on the small round table was playing music loudly , because the signal is unstable, there will be harsh noises from time to time, but no one seems to care about it.

"Listen," the Russian interpreter said into a champagne flute, "tomorrow night I'm going to have dinner with some friends. In my house, I'm going to prepare a wonderful stew and wine. If you want to come, we will be happy of."

Harry was less adept at invitations than at parties, especially ones with hidden meaning.He took a sip of his wine, fighting for a few more seconds to think.

"Thank you, Miss Minie." He said, "Unfortunately, I can't do it tomorrow night, I have other arrangements."

The other party smiled at him and shook his head, as if he had expected this answer a long time ago, "I hope you won't have 'other arrangements' next time, Mr. Prudence." She kissed Harry on the cheek, put down The wine glass, leaving him at the buffet, returned to the crowd.

About an hour, four and ten minutes later, Harry slipped out of the stained-glass door, back into the cold street, turned up his collar, and walked in the direction of the subway station.

Streetlights were the only source of light, the houses on both sides of the street were pitch black, and the shops facing the street had closed seven hours ago.Harry tripped over something and gasped.A mouse sprinted past the light circle of the street lamp against the wall, burrowed into the sewer, and disappeared.A faint sound of music came from not far away, like a hallucination.Harry couldn't help but stop and listen, and there was indeed music, the piano, and then soft, many-personal laughter.He followed the sound and turned into an alley where a bookstore was open, and lights streaming from the windows and open doors lit the wet pavement like a gigantic lantern.Harry could hear voices clearly now, and the piano played a short strained melody.Out of curiosity, or an instinctive desire for light and warmth, Harry walked over there.

The bookstore is called soulignage, underscore.The small shop is filled with chairs of different heights, facing the temporary stage made of wooden boxes and tablecloths, all are full, and many people are standing.Harry entered without attracting any attention, and no one turned to look at him.The piano is placed at the left rear of the "stage", next to a man in a brown woolen coat, talking loudly, Harry's French is not good enough, he can only catch "Sinai Peninsula", "Canal" and "Israel" Fragments of words, presumably the man was talking about the Suez crisis.Harry was just in time for the end of the speech, and within a few minutes the speaker announced that this was all he wanted to share tonight, asking the audience if they had any questions.A small debate started. A student-looking red-haired man standing next to Harry was very excited. He debated back and forth with the speaker in a woolen coat for more than 5 minutes. At one point, he found a world map from the bookshelf. , pointing to Egypt painted light green, trying to convince the other party.

The pianist interrupted the argument with two heavy thumps on the keys, drawing everyone's attention away.The people in the front row moved a bit to make room for the man in the woolen coat to sit down.Harry glanced at his watch and was about to leave, but someone in the audience stood up and walked onto the 'stage'.

"Monsieur Alex Loiseau," announced the pianist, striking a short high note on the keys.

Mr. Loiseau is probably a regular visitor, and many audience members applauded.Harry stood stiffly where he was, unable to hear anything but his own heartbeat.That was indeed Alex, and it didn't look like Alex. His blond hair was a little longer, and he was wearing a simple white shirt with a dark green scarf peeking out from the neckline.Alex shook hands with the pianist, thanked him, sorted the papers in his hand, and stood in the place with the brightest light.Someone called his name, and Alex winked at the person.

"Of course Mr. Dignou is very happy to see me, because he has another chance to belittle my work." People laughed, Alex showed his dimples, glanced at the crowded bookstore, and glanced at Harry , turned back and stared at him for a long time.

The silence lasted longer than expected, people started looking at each other, and the pianist coughed.Alex came back to his senses, looked away, glanced at the manuscript, and continued in his slightly accented French: "If you were here last Thursday night, you would know that we discussed authors and characters. relationship, we will continue this topic tonight."

He didn't look at Harry again, but Harry kept looking at him.Alex is used to attention and applause, always has been.Harry realized that by now he too was used to sharp criticism, and responded in an equally sharp way.He spoke for about 10 minutes, and the discussion lasted 15 minutes before he was politely interrupted by the pianist, asking him to make way for a poet who was about to read a work.Alex bowed half-jokingly, left the makeshift "stage", and instead of returning to his seat, took the coat that was hanging on the arm of the chair and walked straight to Harry.

"It's quieter outside," he said, pulling on his coat.

Unable to speak, Harry nodded and followed Alex out the door.

With less than 10 minutes to midnight, the wind was getting colder, with a damp night fog.They walked side by side for two blocks without speaking.Harry considered many openings, none of which sounded right.Finally Alex stopped, turned, and looked at him under the streetlight.

"You look nice."

I miss you, Harry swallowed the words back. "The same to you."

"How's the newspaper?"

"Yes, I'm working in their Paris office now and should be here for a long time."

"Congratulations."

"Thank you."

A short pause.The cold wind tugged at the hems of their coats, and Harry thought of summer beaches in Cornwall at this moment, the sweet smell of strawberries and sparkling wine mixed with the salty smell of algae.Seagulls rummaged among the pebbles for shellfish, flapping their wings and jumping away when waves came in.

Harry cleared his throat. "Do you live here now? In Paris?"

"It is." Alex shrugged without elaborating, "This is the first time you come to 'underline'?"

"Purely coincidental."

"It's time for me to go back. There will be a small drinking party later. I know I should invite you, but I still remember how much you hated this kind of unnecessary party."

"I don't like it very much now."

"I'm really glad to meet you, Harry."

"Me too."

The two stood stiffly facing each other for a moment, unsure if they should embrace.Finally Alex reached out and Harry shook his hand, which was as cold as his.Alex gave him half a smile and walked in the direction of the bookstore without saying goodbye.Harry stood on the empty street for a long time, seemingly forgetting where he was for a moment, until the sound of the midnight bell in the distance, he shivered and hurried towards the subway station.

tbc.