Шоколад / Chocolat

Then a group of four children of Anouk’s age stopped outside, and he moved on. Two noses snubbed briefly against the window, then the children retreated into a cluster as the four emptied pockets and pooled resources. A moment of hesitation as they decided who to send in. I pretended to be occupied with something behind the counter.

“Madame?”

A small, smudgy face peered suspiciously up at me. I recognized the wolf from the Mardi Gras parade.

“Now, I have you down as a peanut brittle man.

” I kept my face serious, for this purchase of sweets is serious business. “It’s good value, easy to share, doesn’t melt in your pockets and you can get”– I indicated with hands held apart – “oh, this much at least for five francs. Am I right?”

No answering smile, but a nod, as of one businessman to another. The coin was warm and a little sticky. He took the packet with care.

“I like the little gingerbread house,” he said gravely. “In the window.”

In the doorway the three others nodded shyly, pressing together as if to give themselves courage.

“It’s cool.”

The American word was uttered with a kind of defiance, like smoke from a secret cigarette. I smiled.

“Very cool,” I agreed. “If you like, you and your friends can come over and help me eat it where I take it down.”

Eyes widened.

“Cool!”

“Hypercool”

“When?”

I shrugged.

“I’ll tell Anouk to remind you,” I told them. “That’s my little girl.”

“We know. We saw her.

She doesn’t go to school.”

This last was uttered with some envy…

“She will on Monday. It’s a pity she doesn’t have any friends yet, because I told her she could ask them over. You know, to help me with the displays.”

Feet shuffled, sticky hands held out, shoving and pushing to be first in line.

“We can”

“I can-”

“I’m Jeannot ”

“Claudine-”

“Lucie.”

I sent them out with a sugar mouse each and watched them fan across the square like dandelion seeds in the wind.

A slice of sunlight glanced off their backs one after the other as they ran – red-orange-green-blue – then they were gone. From the shaded arch of St Jeromes I saw the priest, Francis Reynaud, watching them with a look of curiosity and, I thought, disapproval. I felt a moment’s surprise. Why should he disapprove? Since his duty visit on our first day he has not called again, though I have heard of him often from other people.