would you mind showing me your revolver?’
‘If you like. Are you keen on guns?’
‘I know nothing about them.’
Maxime took the Smith & Wesson from behind his back and held it out to Martial.
‘Watch yourself, it’s loaded. The safety’s on, but still …’
Martial took the weapon like a relic in his outstretched palm.
‘It’s heavy!’
‘It’s the real deal. You have to know what you’re doing. That’s an ergonomic grip; I had it made to fit my hand. You’re untouchable when you’re holding it, every shot on target …’
He was interrupted by the sound of the telephone ringing. To Martial’s great surprise, Maxime leapt out of his chair to answer it. While he was speaking, Martial took aim at the gate, then a bird and the window of the house across the road … Bang! Bang! Bang! …
Maxime sat back down.
‘What the hell would I want a new fitted kitchen for?! … So, what do you make of it?’
‘It’s grand! Thanks, you can have it back now. So you’re back on your feet, are you?’
‘Some of the time. Let’s just say I’ve got rather used to this chair. It suits me pretty well. We all deserve to be looked after now and then, don’t we?’
‘Absolutely.’
Maxime slipped the gun under the cushion behind his back and poured himself another drink, which he sipped pensively.
‘It was Léa …’
‘What was?’
‘It was Léa who reported me to that idiot caretaker. Odette and Marlène will have filled her in – women can’t help but gossip. Not that I’m surprised, coming from a dyke like her!’
‘A dyke …?’
‘A lesbian, in other words.’
‘Are you saying Léa’s …’
‘That’s exactly what I’m saying! I can spot them a mile off. She’s been all over Marlène from the minute she arrived.’
‘No! … Marlène?’
‘You’d better believe it! Hands off, my girl, that’s private property!’
‘Léa … Well, I never! Who’d have thought it …’
‘That’s how it is, Martial old chap. Even here, I know, even here!’
What on earth was up with them all today? Honestly, the looks on their faces! Not even Léa could bring herself to smile. Fair enough, it was hot and sticky, there was a storm brewing, and it made your body prickle all over, but even so … It was bad timing because Nadine had read an article earlier in the week about ‘laughter therapy’, a new technique devised by doctors, psychologists, yoga teachers, sophrologists, masseurs and other therapists, and today was the day she was going to try it out on the group. She had mugged up on a few physical and mental exercises designed to promote happiness, positive thinking and self-esteem, and to help things along she had baked herself a little hash cake which was beginning to kick in. The Sudres, the Nodes and Léa had listened obediently as she introduced her theme, assuring them it was scientifically proven that we should all laugh for at least fifteen minutes per day to maintain good health, upping the dose in case of illness to re-establish a virtuous circle, stimulating the immune system and ending the vicious cycle of illness, depression and weakened defences …
For Christ’s sake! There really wasn’t much to it; all theyneeded to do was join hands and laugh … Five pairs of eyes as cloudy as the sky stared blankly back at her. The air conditioning in the clubhouse had still not been fixed, so Nadine found herself standing in front of a row of streaming faces, like waxworks of forgotten celebrities being melted down before coming back as more contemporary figures. All in all, a disconcerting sight. Nadine’s mouth was dry and her eyelids drooped as though too big for her eyes. A dull itch tickled the palms of her hands. Clearly her audience was unconvinced. They looked at the floor, avoiding her gaze, all except Maxime, who glared right at her with a face like thunder.
‘Give me one thing to laugh about. Just one!’
‘Well … I don’t know, Maxime … Anything, it
Janwillem van de Wetering