Out of Sorts by Aurélie Valognes

morale to learn when one is moving away. It might be the last time I see them. For them, two years isn’t so long. For me, every week is a gift. Fortunately we have Skype, Facebook, iPhones, and tablets, so I get news from them regularly. But it’s not the same.”
    “What did you say? Skip ? Like the laundry detergent? Never heard of it.”
    “No, Skype , with a Y . Like the sky. It’s for telephoning everywhere in the world with the computer. It’s free. And it’s very practical because there’s video. You can see each other, and very well at that!”
    “Sounds a bit like Total Recall with Arnold Schwarzenegger, when he made a call with a video intercom.”
    “Huh, I don’t know that film. And I’m not too fond of the former California governor . . .”
    “He’s better known for his movies and his past work as a bodybuilder than for his political activities, anyway. But it’s true that it made quite a stir in France when he outlawed the sale of foie gras in California.”
    “I’m enjoying your company, Mr. Brun. You’re so refreshing. I won’t deny it’s more difficult for me to have a nice time with people my age. I won’t insult you by saying ‘ our age,’ Mr. Brun,” jokes the nonagenarian. “But barely a week goes by anymore without an invitation to a funeral or learning one of my friends has Parkinson’s, Alzheimer’s, or cancer. Just this morning I learned my sister-in-law isn’t doing well. They found something. I’m keeping faith, but it’s hard when you see your loved ones, even very young, taken before you. The secret to not sinking into despair is to learn to live with it and accept that death is part of life. ‘Growing old means seeing others die.’ I don’t know anymore who said that, but I find it very apt. Don’t you think, Mr. Brun?”
    Beatrice continues without giving Ferdinand a chance to respond.
    “And it’s essential, of course, to find stimulating occupations so as not to end up with a stunted brain. Or infantilized by our own children. I’m outraged to see how some people—not mine, fortunately—behave: they order children’s portions on our behalf in restaurants, or tell us ‘never mind’ as soon as we mishear something at the table. It’s true, isn’t it? All right, I’ll stop bothering you. I invited you over to talk about Katia and then I bore you stiff with family stories. So how did the big spring cleaning go?”
    “Very well. I wanted to thank you, Mrs. Claudel, for your help. Without you, and Katia, of course, I wouldn’t have managed. I think I’ll ask her for help with the housework on a more regular basis, if that doesn’t bother you . . .”
    “Not in the slightest, Mr. Brun. I know she’s already extremely busy, even on the weekends, but she’ll find a slot for you, I’m sure of it. Now, what about you? I don’t mean to be nosy, but you’ve been living in the apartment across the way for two years, and we’ve spoken to each other three times at most. All I know about you is that it was your in-laws’ apartment. Do you have children?”
    “I have a daughter and a grandson. That’s all. And they both live in Singapore, so we don’t see each other often, unlike you and your family.” Then, under the influence of panic, Ferdinand hears himself say, “So, what happened to your sister-in-law? Maybe I can do something?” Avoiding talking about his wife causes him to say anything.
    “My sister-in-law is the last person really close to me I have left. Close to my age, I mean. Even though she’s ninety years old and has all her wits, she’s entering a retirement home because she’s going blind. That reminds me of my mother. She also lost her sight suddenly. A problem with the optic nerve. She could only see like a horse with blinders on. The doctors had said it could wait until after vacation. And then at the beginning of August, curtains! She couldn’t see a thing anymore except blue. Who knows why? With my sister, they made