At the top of the window a magpie
wiped his beak on a branch, bent head, and tail bent to balance him
--then dropped like a mottled pebble out of sight. She sat up, drew the
table prepared overnight towards her, lit the lamp for the chocolate
--thinking of the dim Julien who might pay his beautiful visit in turn
with the moon and the sun.
She got up and dressed, and walked in the spring morning, first to the
bread shop to buy a pound of bread from the woman who wouldn't smile
... so serious and puzzling was this defect that Fanny had once asked
her: "Would you rather I didn't buy my bread here?"
"No, I don't mind."
Then to the market for a bunch of violets and an egg.
And at last through the "Silver Lion"--for luck, opening one door of
black wood, passing through the hot, sunny room, ignoring the thrilled
glances of soldiers drinking at the tables, looking towards the girl at
the bar, who shook her head, saying: "No, no letter for you!" and out
again into the street by the other black door (which was gold inside).
She passed the morning in the garage working on the Renault, cleaning
her, oiling her--then ate her lunch in the garage room with the Section.
Among them there ran a rumour of England--of approaching demobilisation,
of military driving that must come to an end, to give place to civilian
drivers who, in Paris, were thronging the steps of the Ministry of the
Liberated Regions.
Pages:
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237