Five Quarters of the Orange / Пять четвертинок апельсина

If we could only see it… borrow it…”

“Of course, we’d pay for anything we used,” added Yannick hastily. “Think of it as a way to keep the Dartigen name alive.”

It must have been that-that name-which did it. Confusion, fear and disbelief warred in me for a while, but at the mention of that name a great spike of terror pierced me and I swept the coffee cups off the table, where they shattered against my mother’s terra-cotta tiles. I could see Pistache looking at me strangely, but could do nothing but follow the seam of my rage.

“No! Never!”

My voice rose like a red kite in the little room, and for a second I left my body and looked down upon myself emotionlessly, a drab sharp-faced woman in a gray dress, her hair drawn fiercely back into a knot at the back of her head. I saw strange comprehension in my daughter’s eyes and veiled hostility in the faces of my nephew and niece, then the rage slammed into place again and I lost myself for a while:

“I know what you want!” I snarled. “If you can’t have Mamie Framboise, then you’ll settle for Mamie Mirabelle.

Is that it?” My breath tore through me like barbed wire. “Well, I don’t know what Cassis told you, but he had no business, and nor have you. That old story’s dead. She’s dead, and you’ll get none of it from me, not if you were to wait fifty years for it!”

I was out of breath now, and my throat hurt from shouting. I picked up their most recent present-a box of linen handkerchiefs lying on the kitchen table in their silver wrapping-and pushed it fiercely at Laure.

“So you can take your bribes,” I yelled hoarsely, “and you can stick them up your fancy ass with your Paris menus and your tangy apricot coulis and your poor old Papas-”

For a second our eyes met and I saw hers unveiled at last and filled with spite.

“I could talk to my lawyer-” she began.

I began to laugh.

“That’s right!” I hooted. “Your lawyer! It always comes to that in the end, doesn’t it?” I yarked savage laughter. “Your lawyer!”

Yannick tried to calm her down, his eyes bright with alarm.

“Now, chеrie… you know how we – ”

Laure turned on him savagely.

“Get your fucking hands off me!”

I howled laughter, cramping my stomach. Points of darkness danced before my eyes. Laure’s eyes shot me with hate – shrapnel, then she recovered.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was chilly. “You don’t know how important this is to me. My career…”

Yannick was trying to steer her toward the door, keeping a wary eye on me.