My Chocolate Redeemer by Christopher Hope Page A

core stuff, the heaviest metal in the universe!
    My grandmother lies back on her pillows and closes her eyes, but her mouth is open wide. ‘For heaven’s sake, consult Father Duval, child, he will help you to stop this incessant precipitation which waters no flowers and grows no leeks. And listen how you make me raise my voice!’
    It is only when I take off my earphones that I realise she is raising her voice.
    â€˜When was Grandpapa killed, Grandmama?’
    â€˜At that most predictable of times, at dawn. Just as it is done in books. Believe me there is no way crueller of killing people than as it is done in books. He was taken into a square in a village not far from here, in the closing days of the war, and tied to a stake. We were all there, the families of the men to be executed. We crammed the viewing area which was roped off. It was like a farm show! The poor victims were led out like cattle and tied to their stakes. Everyone was there, the De La Salle sisters, old Brest, dead these twenty years now, father of the present young Brest, the butcher, and of course the entire family Gramus who in those days were still the undertakers for folks in these parts. They were at ease with death, collectors of it, and this was a variety they had not seen before. Death by firing squad. I knew then what the friends of the condemned felt during the Revolution when they watched the business of the guillotine. Young Old Laveur was with me that dawn. He nearly married me once, you know, and he was so gallant. He said: ‘If I could take the place of Victor, I would do so, Justine, my dear.’ It was raining that morning. Hard. Even the shots sounded wet.’
    â€˜Now you are crying, Grandmama.’
    â€˜But my tears cannot be treated. Promise me you will see our good Father Duval. Tell him what is in your heart.’
    â€˜I’ll go and make us some chocolate. And then you must sleep. We have Monsieur Cherubini tomorrow night.’
    â€˜And the great Party rally on Saturday morning. What a time that will be! Monsieur Cherubini is a giant among pygmies.’ My grandmother lay back and her tears began to subside. She looked younger, even the mention of Cherubini’s name had this effect on her. When I returned with the chocolate, we sat sipping it in silence. She cupped her hands around the mug and looked into the sweet, steaming depths of her chocolate and she smiled sadly.
    â€˜On the morning I lost him, in the rain, I saw on the wall above our heads a great advertisement painted, for chocolate. Cémoi , I recall, in letters big as giants. It would have been the last thing he set eyes on.’
    This was the first time she had told me about my grandfather’s death and I was utterly astonished. I knew that the Maquis had been active in the mountains round La Frisette and the little villages by the lake and I imagined my poor grandfather’s horrible, heroic death. I could see she was sleepy, so I’m sorry to say I took advantage of her.
    â€˜Who killed him, Grandmama? The Germans?’
    â€˜Germans!’ Her eyes widened. ‘Certainly not! He was killed by the French!’

Chapter 4
    So I go to consult Father Duval. The crying sickness has made me desperate. After all, that’s what he’s there for – to counsel troubled souls. ‘Your priest is here to help, forgive, save,’ says Grand-mère. Which is fine if you merely listen to those words, but if you write them in your mind and look at them as you would words on a blackboard – ‘Help, forgive, save’ – and try and make them apply to Father Duval, then it’s very hard not to giggle. You’re supposed to believe what the words are supposed to mean. But you’re inclined to say, ‘Sod this! I’d rather be watching telly,’ as the English sometimes put it. To use certain special words some people ought to have to apply for a damn licence! But having been allowed