The Long Summer of Monsieur Loiseau

Harry went to the Underline bookstore several times later, and it took a week to realize that the seminars were not held every day, only on Thursday and Saturday nights.So two days a week, Harry came after get off work, absentmindedly watching heated debates, interesting or dull speeches, and now and then terrible poetry, and Alex never appeared again.Harry waited until midnight, went home, talked himself out of this futile effort, waited until the next Thursday or Saturday, and couldn't help but hope that he would go back to the bookstore again.

Harry gradually became acquainted with the pianist. This white-haired gentleman is actually the owner of the bookstore. He is 51 years old, looks like 91, and acts like him.He had been a member of the French army, retreated from Lille to Cherbourg, from Cherbourg to Dunkirk, was very lucky to catch a British destroyer, and from there to Dover.There is a framed photo on the piano. Instead of a photo, there is half a silver chain in it, which looks like a fossil of some prehistoric arthropod insect.The chain was originally tied with a locket, which contained a lock of his wife's hair, but the locket was lost somewhere in the chaos of the war, and only the torn chain remained in his hand.He returned to Paris in 1947, never finding his wife and their only son François.

"Machine gunned on Omaha Beach," he said, pulling up his trousers before Harry realized he had a wooden prosthetic leg in his right leg from the knee down. Jamming the bomber isn't our concern, the machine gunner is. Luckily it wasn't a finger, or I wouldn't be able to play the piano."

"You play well."

"Thanks, my grandmother taught me."

Harry then asked him if the bookstore had been open for a long time.

"Four months to ten years. It was my wife who wanted to own a bookstore, I wasn't too keen on it. As soon as we bought a suitable place, the war started."

"I regret that."

The other party shrugged and patted the piano as if it was a docile pet. "It took me more than ten years to fulfill her wish. I think she would like to provide people with a place to exchange opinions."

"I'm sure she will. Does M. Loiseau come here often?"

"It depends on how you understand 'often'. Sometimes he comes for several days in a row, and sometimes he doesn't show up for a long time. No one knows where he has gone. If he goes to London, he will bring me some money when he comes back. This book, but Loiseau never tried to disappear for more than a month, because all his letters are sent here. He has a lot of letters."

"Conceivably," echoed Harry, "what's the fastest way to find Monsieur Loiseau?"

"Come and try your luck on Thursday night."

"Will M. Loiseau come this Thursday?"

"No, but you can keep an eye out for Monsieur Manat, tall, brown-haired, dressed like a deranged priest. He translated The Kite of Agnes for Monsieur Loiseau, and may have an address on hand, Or the number, I don't guarantee that he has it, but you can ask."

The truth is, Mr. Manner didn't know either.Harry had stopped the literary translator after Thursday night's prose reading, and the bookstore owner described it accurately. Mr. Marner was wearing a conservative black shirt buttoned to the top, but over which he wore a With its long blue and green cape, it looked like some brightly colored tropical bird.Mana had long, mane-like hair, disheveled, tied with some kind of tinkling metal trinket.Harry could smell the strong smell of tobacco on his breath as he spoke.

"Why are you looking for him?"

"We knew each other before."

"Before!" Mana clung to the tense, "Why 'before'? Only people who have had a lot of conflicts say 'before', my dear, tell me your story, maybe I will write it for you A song, you and I found out I'm pretty good at mixing music and poetry. Don't you happen to know how to play the guitar, Mr. Prudence? You look like a guitar player."

"Never touched a guitar in my life. Alex and I don't have a story, I just want to talk to him."

A noise interrupted their conversation, and the two students who looked like students fought and kicked over chairs, and people were either busy ducking or pulling them away.With a smirk on his face, Mana looked at it with great interest for a while before turning around: "What are you talking about?"

"His book."

"My dear, you don't look like a publisher."

"Let's just assume I'm a loyal reader."

"You can't find Alex." Mana shook his head, and the little things tied in his hair collided with each other, tinkling, "This is a very mysterious bird, only he came to you, you Can't find him, you won't see anyone when you turn around. We meet here every time, like spies. The only exception is in a restaurant in Montmartre, he bought me anisette, God bless he."

"What's the name of that restaurant?"

"He owes you money, is that so? You can't trust these people with noble titles. You don't know if they are real. Sometimes you think you know a big man, but he even pays for the wine in his hand. of."

"No. Tell me the name of the restaurant, Mr. Manner, and I'll leave you alone."

The other party spread his hands, made a helpless expression, and told Harry his name.

It didn't sound like a place Harry would volunteer to go to, called The Sirens, a greasy sandwich restaurant during the day and a different look after dark.If you are willing to pay 40.00% extra, you can go to the dance hall with dim lights.Harry regretted not asking the colorful-feathered interpreter whether Alex came to this place during the day or at night.The music was deafening, and a dancer in a fluffy feather skirt took off her corset and threw it at the audience, causing an even bigger commotion.Harry had to shout for the bartender to hear who he was looking for.The bartender shook his head, saying that there were so many young Britons here that he didn't have time to remember every one of them.

Harry's ears were buzzing as he left the ballroom, his coat reeking of cheap tobacco and perfume.The subway had stopped, and even if it hadn't, he didn't want to set foot in those dark and dirty tunnels right now.The apartment the newspaper had arranged for him was in the winding alley behind the Puppet Theater on Gran Via, which was gloomy even on a sunny day, let alone early in the morning.When Harry locked the door and lay down on the sofa, the hour hand of his watch had just slipped by a little.

He fell asleep directly on the sofa without even taking off his coat.The whole morning was almost over when the sun woke him up. It was Saturday, but there was no day off for journalists.The phone never rang, at least proving that nuclear war hadn't happened yet.Harry frowned, glanced at his watch, turned over on the sofa, sighed at the rough dark gray fabric, got up, went into the bathroom to freshen up quickly, changed into a suit, and went out.

The "Viewpoint" newspaper office is on the west side of Haussmann Boulevard, close to Lafayette, squeezed between the "Observer" and "Express", and only one street away from the main competitor "Diplomat" and two trembling sycamore trees Tree.Even on weekends, the office is as busy as usual.Miss Minie looked up from her typewriter and winked at him, and Harry returned a prim smile as he walked straight through the crooked pile of wooden desks into his new office, turning the incessant The phone rings off outside.

The intern left no fewer than twenty Post-It notes on his desk, recording all the calls, questions, notifications, and screams from the editor from [-]:[-] pm yesterday to [-]:[-] this morning ("Harry, I want that copy now Disarmament Comments, Immediately, Immediately").Harry arranged the notes in order of urgency and picked up the phone.

There was a knock on the door, two symbolic knocks, and before he could respond, the intern poked his head in: "Mr. Prudence, someone is looking for you."

Harry covered the microphone: "Let him wait."

"I said so, but he has come in, monsieur, and says his name is Loiseau."

Harry half opened his mouth, unable to think of what to say for a moment.The operator kept asking "Hello? Where do you want to transfer? Hello?" on the phone, Harry hung up directly.

"Let him in."

The intern nodded and left without closing the door.Harry stood up, sat down again, thought about it, stood up again, and pulled his wrinkled shirt. The half-dead potted plant on the table was too ugly, but there was no remedy for it now.Alex knocked on the ajar door, walked in, and closed the door softly.

"good afternoon."

"Nice office."

They spoke at the same time, and fell silent at the same time.Harry gestured to the chair to ask Alex to sit down, but the latter didn't do so. He walked to the front of the bookshelf, looked through the thick, year-marked folders, took out last year's file, and looked through it. Put it back where it was, and pat the dust off your hands.

"This is your natural habitat," Alex commented, tugging on the cords of the blinds and peering out onto the street. "Can't believe this is where I first saw you working."

"Just moved in, not quite 'natural' yet."

"Harry."

"Alex."

"I heard an interesting thing recently."

"Appreciate further details."

"A reporter is looking for me everywhere, not only in the bookstore, but also in a suspicious dance hall. You don't know who it is by chance, do you?"

"Maybe this reporter just wanted to talk."

Alex leaned against the wall, folded his arms, and weighed Harry.He didn't wear a scarf today, and a dark green polka-dot tie hung loosely on his collar, whether it was on purpose or forgotten.

"Maybe there's nothing worth talking about, has it ever occurred to you?" Alex asked.

"Then why are you here?"

"To draw a full stop."

"Or maybe you want to see me like I want to see you."

Alex laughed, shook his head, rubbed the bridge of his nose, as if feeling a headache: "God, Harry."

"Let me buy you a cup of coffee." Harry lowered his voice, as if afraid to scare away an invisible bird sitting on the windowsill, "You can decide whether to put a period or a comma, or spill the coffee on the window." my face."

"I'm not in the habit of attacking people with scalding hot drinks."

"Glad to hear that."

"are you free?"

"No." Harry blurted out, glancing at the sticky notes all over the table, "Not at all."

tbc.