Anyone Knows This Song Dun Dun Dun

Conte to illuminate the night (H. Mousset)


Dear Marie-Claire,

How I've found? But the Internet, simply. I remembered the name of your small shop, and I typed: "Iridescence". From what I see, little shop became big. It is a kingdom that you have now. Your pretty little lights, those little globes gleaming where the light pulsated like a heart, seem to have made you happy - At least your fortune. It is far away, the little street of our beginnings. So it seems, everything has been razed and rebuilt, is unrecognizable. Whatever, I never returned, even if I kept some contacts. Like others, I took the check from the developer and I went farther north. It's going pretty well.

Remember, Marie Claire, the little cafe down the street? It was our headquarters for both industrial relations and human each other for the business heart of a few. Do not deny, Marie Claire, the close attention that you awakened in the male clan of the street. You have graciously but superbly ignored elsewhere. I thought to offer contact lenses, while others expressed their disgust by various deviations.

Look, Pierrot, for example, who had always pain at its business tax. You have snubbed so he began to fill as a quince for your attention. There's one that you should bless is Isa, the little flower of 14, who wanted his Pierrot. You pushed her in his arms. At present, the Pierrot walking Vichy-strawberry things go, and opened a gallery Isa Art.

But that was the west face of the bar over the coffee machine. It must be said that we would just east! And quite to the east, we saw them arrive every morning such nice, but lonely and taciturn, who had converted to office the store at the corner of our street with this little impasse ended on a bizarre big house with walled entrances - in principle, because we thought the squatters. But no one would see!

He was tax counsel and, like a hermit, he spent his days in front of records and to his PC. We also wondered if he had a life outside of Taxes. He left the last, and we never heard of him. One day, however, I met his sister who told me what had happened. I hope your site is strong and that I will not saturate your email with my story.

was the last Christmas before demolition block. There was more than him on the spot. Everything was empty desert, walled. He was immersed in the accounts of its customers. The night was clear, not like now, where the amount of Kilowatts which towers and glittering department stores like jewels set in the adornment of the night prevents me not to feel like a wartime atmosphere when I walk into town at night.

But how did they enter, these two children, a boy and a girl? Diaphanous, they regarded him with that mixture of timidity and insurance for children who know what they want and they know they will.

"Give us the VAT, all VAT

Stunned, he looked incredulous, and would first take it as a fantasy:

" And why not the business tax, children ? "

" We do not like the color of the paper. This green it is a bit murky. "

" Tell yourself, children, the Treasury is not an impressionist painter. "

But without further delay, the children went to his PC, set to keyboard and mouse, and the figures began to dance a jig. And they said to him: "Now, grab your checkbook and credit card, and follow us." Why obtempéra he? He did, anyway.

They disappeared into the night in the neighborhood. Not far: they took the dead nearby, and entered the abandoned house by a notch opened in the planks which condemned the entry. At Upstairs, they found a young couple in extreme poverty. They came from Eastern Europe, and the young woman seemed to have become a mother soon. Driven by unemployment, they had finished their course here, distraught and overcome with hope.

Overwhelmed and uncertain, he saw the children, who simply told him: "Take VAT. Once again, he complied, without even wondering why this time it had become so docile. Soon, a doctor was called and the young woman was admitted in the clinic. It was time, he was born on Christmas night, beautiful twins, a girl and a boy. The young man, meanwhile, was installed in a warm hotel, paid in advance for a month, with enough to see come and find a job.

Children do not allow him to breathe. Leaving behind the boy who knocked out of surprise and happiness, did not know how to say his gratitude, they went around the neighborhood. There was not a homeless person for whom that night, Christmas was not a softness in reserve, not to mention the girl who came to take her little cream bar every morning. Do you remember? Hustler of us suspected, and feared that one day does not end up falling under the sway of a "protector". It was actually a student who imagined he could safely be funded and part of his studies. A little help enabled him to deal with urgent deadlines, time also to think, to turn away from a life at risk, and not to lose her friend, she really liked, and that she had said nothing .

As always, there was one night, and there was morning. But it was a special night for the neighborhood! At dawn, the children smiled at him with a malicious tenderness, then disappeared into the wall.

Alone on Christmas morning, he wondered how he would explain to her why her Inspector of Taxes Accounting like a day after raves . Mechanically, he lit his PC, and consulted the balance of his accounts ... and did not return.

In short: he was VAT credit and account fees receivable had increased. And everything was fair and justified. The Treasury repaid him his credit in 15 days. As for his customers, they also found themselves in VAT credit, which put them in so much joy they réglèrent all their fee notes with a quickness usually unknown species. And to top it off, he received an extension to the promoter's compensation for expropriation. There were months that the dispute dragged Call in, and no one thought more.

In total, he received three times seven times what he gave. Shortly after he closed his business and left. The bulldozers were at his door.

that settled in Marseilles, with his sister, who had, and it always has, a company that seems to work well. At first, he helped his sister manage the business, but it did not last because the Accountant of the company threatened to drop them. Indeed, every day of VAT, the firm's employees returned in tears, as our friend remade all their statements and submitted them an interrogation worthy of a criminal investigation of the judicial police. He therefore ceased to interfere.

Anyway, that's when he fell ill. He based visibly, it became almost transparent, but he was beaming, to believe that its substance was gradually replaced by light.

I dream, Marie Claire, to take you with me in Marseilles. Say yes, please ... We assemble in the morning at Notre Dame de la Garde. When the sun comes out from behind the horizon, there, behind the islands, behind the Chateau d'If, the cloak of darkness that covers the sea, the bay, Hills, retired, and the city gradually penetrates into the Kingdom of Light. We did not want to go down when we saw it up there ...

is what he saw every morning since he had settled on the hill, and all parts of his apartment gave sea, where his sister was found dead on Christmas morning. He smiled at sunrise, to believe that the sun and he had made a contest of light, which both radiate the most.

Hear me well, Marie-Claire, I swear to the city, the sun, sky, earth and the sea that morning, for once: The sun is lost.

A Marc and Verena Tenneroni.
Hervé Mousset

Time Equivalent To Tanning

Routine (Sandro)

Night fell on the street. It was one of those evenings that we can not decide if they are cold or mild. The rain had been falling since morning and at times slipped into slush. I finished my espresso, the eighth day in the brewery where I have my habits. The room is noisy and smoky, but the clouds, there are pretty girls who are thinning. At the next table there was one who seemed to be waiting for someone, but we felt it was wrong soon grew tired. She was so beautiful that time I wonder what I liked in her, she had already handed his coat and sent me a slap of cold air through the revolving door.
Finally, it was a cold evening.

was almost a good day: I did not have a corpse on his hands and had had to kill someone today. In short, things were rolling nicely. Soon it would be true at night when the streets turn orange, with the crunch of smoked down to those descended from the limousine in front of the carriers of luxury restaurants. The time also when the riverboats harshly illuminate windows of the rich, on the covers who are missing teeth and poor alike. In town, in those moments, there's always cooing pigeons to you all that makes no sense. Gallieni bridge, they were three.

This will soon be Christmas and flashes across the city as a red light. People going about their purchases, screaming and gesticulating on the sidewalks as if their lives depended on it. The caps are in full swing but from time to time in the middle of the brothel hallucinating, you meet an old man with wandering eyes, a little lost with his empty basket, and that counts his steps to return to his two-room kitchen. Species visions diluted, figurines wet really already there with the mower that perhaps waiting to kiss the pavement slippery.
There are also teenagers who talk like machine guns. They are blond. They laugh. Me, more so.

I got back in the old navy blue Safrane, with its creaking door and slamming it takes three times to close it. In "the box" 10 years ago, the Safrane was for the chiefs. Ten years and 250,000 km later, they are for people like me. Maybe I became chief, then. Or old.
I drove for five minutes when the radio crackled something like "mayhem to disused warehouses of 106 Quai de l'Avenir, a neighbor had heard gunshots. "Calling all cars available.
As I close, I said" OK, you take. On site in five minutes ".

I say" it takes ", but this is not my area or my business normally. But now, all flicards base are taken from the demo, matches football and the bomb is in the air. Bigger world to do business the old way.
I say "it takes" because I'm supposed to team up with Steff tonight. But it will operate in the prostate in three days, and he wanted to sail with a "small" one last time before the curtain is finally drawn on the high tide. He asked me if he could slip away two or three hours. I said yes. I understand.
I understand everything, and that's what I tired more quickly than others, I think.
I tabled in town, and just now, I'll call his wife to say they had a corpse that will keep us quite a while.

I "put the blue" to try to fight my way through the tide of woodlice asleep on their GPS screen, and I got the old warehouses along with a rinsed frighten squirrels.

I waited a moment in the middle of halberds which ricocheted onto the roof of the car, the time to look around if everything was normal. In doing so, I met my gaze in the mirror.
My eyes eaten by the beard of three days, my tired eyes that ever sailed yet, after my hand trembling a little to have done so much clinking ice cubes. I have eyes of sailor. It makes me seem to know everything that goes into the sea as sung Souchon.
Souchon, the nickname he gave me many years ago.
But people sometimes say anything.

I got off the car without slamming the door, taking my Beretta in his right hand, wrapped in a plastic supermarket bag. Not bother to play cowboy and rouse the neighborhood. I work with old, to vice.
Got into the warehouse through a door window smashed, I advanced cautiously, intermittently, by putting me under cover. From time to time, I turned on my mini flashlight, holding it away from the body, not to provide too easy a target. I progressed slowly in huge auditoriums abandonment, frozen in their mineral state, sometimes walking on broken glass or debris.
But there was no noise or anything suspicious.
Finally, at the foot of a huge loom, I found the body of a dog, a shepherd-type Undetermined, who took a dump right in the chest with buckshot. The blood was fresh and I stood there the explanation of the shooting. No doubt that the homeless shelter here sometimes, or a dog dealer making transactions.
I pulled a tissue from my pocket, and told her closed eyes. This was probably not useful, but it will do for the times I could not sleep with men, with the UAS which always gesticulate on the corpses to avoid giving the impression of having come to nothing .
But even so, it does not please me halfway.
I removed my old mac green water, one that is full of tasks diverse, and threw him on the body.
is what I always tell young people who enter the profession: "the stiffs, you can not save them and murderers, you do not stop often. So be respectful of the dead, if that's all what you can do. "

I found myself in the open singles jacket and it was still raining, but long ago I feel nothing.
I lit a rod in the recess of the metal door of the warehouse. Yes, the rain will not relax its prey, it always drooled his rage and I have blown smoke in my face. It makes us all one. I noticed
lost a black cat who was walking on the sidewalk. He had the hair stuck in places on the spine, and advancing by leaps and bounds from its hindquarters sway. He had been wounded in the pelvis. Twice, he turned to me her slender profile, pierced by two green-eyed panther. That is all that remained of his grace lost.
And then he hopped towards an alley toward a garbage can, another, about anything.

I also observed a Santa tempered regained his old van parked straddling the sidewalk. He had not removed his disguise, presumably to protect a little rain. When to throw on the siege, he just removed his beard and cap. And I saw he was black, no longer young, with curly hair almost white, like the old uncle packets of rice heartily wished his friends. It started with difficulty, to appear again in a store or two for ten bucks an hour.

I got back in the Safrane, I took the microphone in hand to tell the radio station "RAS, case settled on the spot". But at the end, I realized that I did not know the names of the warehouses. I looked up, peering through the windshield drops her crying and I read with great penalty, on which the rust black letters running down the wall:
"Ets Bonaventure. Cutting wholesale" .

And that, in wanting to take the microphone in hand, the iron grip tightened on my chest and my jaws. I took the hot flash like a wave higher than the others you wet the towel at the beach. The sweat came to me, oozing everywhere, like a stream under rocks. I heard my heart beating in the last beat, and then the stuff I farted in the head. I took all of a sudden, as we drink the cup. My head hit the steering wheel, I saw km / h, rpm, oil , Airbag and then nothing. This heat and sticky liquid in the head, this small pool of blood like a leaky faucet stubborn. Perhaps like childbirth.

It made me think of my Mom, and I wanted to send a message as a closed winter under a duvet, words to say nothing, or rather to say the opposite, because here it becomes urgent, it's cold, it's scary, it's random.

On the Quai de l'Avenir, the caps are now very important, especially at the No. 106, where vehicles must laboriously around a blue Safrane the windows fogged up encroaching on the roadway. We see in column three, lines of those who pretend to rush into something, someone, or anything. Prisoners of their beetle plate, one can not distinguish the red from their stop lamps. The rest is already night. They hasten slowly, sheep without a shepherd.

One day they will have to burst too.

Sandro

Philip Baudou

Bestway To Masterbate Without Buying

Service Station (Sandro)


We see neither heaven nor earth, but the wind continues to blow his sand.
Driven by wind through the can rolled on national dilapidated, in spurts, in the light tinkling of his rusty metal. She went through what was the area of the station, a pump hesitated cons, rebounded against the blower to the pipe burst, and finally touched a rattlesnake coiled on the pit emptying. But he has not even lifted his head, nor heard his rattle. Here, snakes do not care. They are like us, they do not care at all. They wait.

is the annoying sound of the can bounce on the cabin of the station that reminded me that I was thirsty. It was the afternoon a day that I would never really there. There are days like that, days before leaving that we have opened our eyes. Here, there is nothing to eat, or stuff then lyophilized in dispensers. And the fountains of fresh water that survive, one wonders how and by whom they are replenished. But I shall not want since I'm here.
I do not count, I do not expect either. A good moment I got there by car - my old Volvo T5 - on a light throttle. More fuel in the tank, the gauge was flashing red, and then at all.
I just find the essence: I sneers and still others with me. Other? These are the ones who came before me in this hole. Jeff, Had, Emilio. They took up positions in what they have found available around: the carcass of a bus, a caravan, a mobile home.
At least I have a corner to me. Apart from those pesky rattlesnakes that are stashed everywhere, we can not really complain.
This is not what I thought, that's all. Today is Monday

, or something like that. The sun comes up every day like, like a fried egg. Yellow on top, while white sand around. It still happens, new on the national and tight lines. It happens every day, believe you me, and start all over again. They want a place to sleep, they are looking for gasoline, something to eat, advice to protect against rattlesnakes.
They only print anything, they are unkempt, bewildered, angry. They all say they have an important appointment, they should call emergency someone, a someone, it's a matter of life or death. You bet.

First, it means they believe it is the phone, which is already a manifest error of assessment. Then, they estimate that there would still be someone to listen. The
idiots, be allowed to say. They
also inevitably ask what time the bus goes to town. But there is no bus, that's what they do not understand. There is no city either, at least to my knowledge.
It discerns well at night, like a glow behind the rock barrier. Some say the evening, there are at the top like a giant statue of a serpent. In brass. Illuminated by spotlights blinding. But we can not reasonably call it a city either. Moreover, those who tried to go there never came back.

arrived, all they need to explain from the beginning, it's exhausting. And they seem enclosed in their night is a lost cause. Only those arriving by ambulance, the gallows over their skinny arms or during an infusion, which seem to borrow some wisdom. Some seem familiar, they nod knowingly. They are very pale, as white fog that idea. We salute them briefly, they tear their infusion and were told that "it's going to go now." It remains
sometimes in their eyes like a ray, can be a revolt, but do not stop at that and go home soon is shelter. Yes, I think that's what to do, and yet without regret.
The important thing is to keep a residual space. That's what I do. I'm happy in my station. Except rattlesnakes. That's still a brood, as the saying right away.

It's everywhere, day and night. At first I was killing them with blows of the key to drain, or I could lay my hands on. But it is to remake each passing day. Their bite is horribly painful, but strangely, it does not die. It swells not. It's like an electric fence for cattle, a punishment that would come regularly and by surprise, reminding us that we screwed up. And it will pay for it. When one thinks he has had his account, it reverts to the fund, and even faster.

At nightfall, it's time for fools. They arrive on the national, pushing their shopping carts with their meager belongings metal, shouting and gesticulating in the sand-laden wind that is imbued everywhere and squealing teeth. Invariably, one of them, a big redhead pale as a dish, mounted on a barrel of oil and engine knocking on it with a monkey wrench. Then he recites: "If you continue to promise us without giving us, create all the abundance of poor desires, you will come from other, more and more poor, O my brothel chart, and less accommodating me. That is why you'll die all. "(1).

And then night threw his black cloak over it all, the insane, the carcasses atrocious bangers Sand, rattlesnakes coiled on the seats smashed, and did not speak again until the next evening.

I will then lie down in the seat of the gate of the station.
There is still an old Texaco road schedule posted on the wall, the colors turn blue under the effect of the sun. It's a naked girl, who rejects his three-fingered white satin thong. She looks at me with a baleful eye.

That too much to say, it is surprising at first. There no woman, but then at all. The innovation is that it does not lack either. More desire, a few vague memories that float, nebulae necropolis.
night, we clearly see a few that turn up in dreams, but they are immersed in the strangeness. They are usually strapped in purple satin shirts, hoisted on high heels and each hold a sheep on a leash. And then they go in the morning, beautiful, beautiful, beast as day.
short, do not worry about that.
These are stories that dreams faded as an old man who speaks of spring, when we were young, but today all that we once had to itself, it went behind.

This is said to be Had, my neighbor across the cafeteria. An elder, wise old man. Still, he left one night on the road with his stick fortune.
I liked her, Had, but here, do not get too attached. On its face, there was a dismal expression of gender in life, no, I will not go much further than that. Such as "another blow like that and it's a head older than I pay." That's why he went to see the mountain and statue making. After a few days he has gone, as was his destiny from the beginning, and it hit the desert as a kind of fall.
I do not know if these things are fair or not, but that's how it happened.
I hope that the issue came to him like the wind that erases everything. And she carries him and all that that meant.
Had, Had his name was. It goes directly where it is the best one.

There is also Emilio, who arrived at about the same time as me. He sleeps in his Alfa Romeo 166 on the parking lot of my station. He is still in its juice, as it came. Valentino suit his now full of dust, his shirts and Armani sunglasses to match. It worries me a bit, Emilio because he is struggling to adapt. That evening, I spoke endlessly about women, their perfume, smell, the whole range of their cries and moans, the positions they took and he mimes with his hands. He also talks incessantly about what he lost, saltimbocca alla romana, the Barolo, the al dente farfalle , ristretto coffee and light brown foam steaming well. It's full of smells, his stories, but here it does not help.
So, I listen in silence, and I nodded gravely by one who understands. There is nothing else we can do without making a mistake in these cases.

One day when I still managed to get rid of it, I went to the pit to drain. I slipped on oil and banged my forehead on the metal lift. The pain struck me, and I'm sprawled on the floor greasy. Immediately, I heard the rattle of a rattlesnake that was there. He bent his body into rings and statement the neck to hit. I was struck, beaten, and have made no attempt to flee. Besides, he would have had time to hit before I could sketch anything. I waited for the bite, one more ... Against all odds, he gradually relaxed after a protracted moment, rested his head like a flat shovel on the ground, six inches from my face. I distinctly saw his thin, forked tongue that came intermittently, and its thin slit pupils like a skirt. And then, very clearly, emphasizing his words, he said: "You have these lives, though, is to cry."


------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------- ---------------------
-Credit: Troy Pava site "Lost America".
- (1) Jean-Patrick Cuff in "The case N'Gustro" on page 246, Gallimard Black Square.

How Much Is A Silver Pear Worth

The hanger (Ph. RENEVE)


hanger Subject nm for hanging clothes, designed to catch on other objects when moved, and to win his support in other cases.
"These hangers will make me crazy" (Nerval).


Since ancient times and distant peaks, the hanger is the enemy of man.

Yet without doubt a human who has invented, designed and manufactured the first. But it is safe to assume with the likelihood that the most dazzling man was inspired by Satan and designs the most shockingly vile and malicious. Because it was originally one of the most difficult everyday problems that humanity has ever known.
There is no doubt that the unfortunate family that invented the devil has been difficult to deal with for centuries the curse that men have retrospectively cast upon her offspring to a number of generations that causes vertigo dangerous with the most experienced mountaineers.

This individual soul in black, obviously more inspired by the desire to harm than those to be useful, therefore, one fateful day, had the idea of having a heart-breaking hook up a harmless object for receiving a garment and dare claim that the hook was said, graciously and with a natural ease, calmly ask on a bar named the rod and leave kindly to the first user request.
The bad faith of this lamentable creator was detectable upon completion of his dastardly plan, since the first attempts to use the object in conditions close to reality have been crowned as successive failures and bitter. Why under these conditions the hanger he enjoyed success as we know, this remains a mystery unfathomable abyss, the most extravagant oceanographic expeditions have been elucidated. Word of mouth, always ready to deceive unsympathetic ear by a vengeful mouth, had to play an important role in this unfortunate spread of an object that clearly deserved a clear rejection and massive populations.

Thus the world is found there today with the usual nonsense, totally perverse and surreal full, use clothes hangers for storing many harmless and friendly, which would be infinitely better on hangers and in boxes, chests or cabinets uneventful and well disposed towards the human race. These clothes are poor the rest processed by the disgrace of their fatal store in as many evil things, permanent provocations and insults quiet calm that prevails generally in all of us.

As usual, and sometimes, force of habit, the mere sight or mention of the subject leads inevitably, in an individual normally consists of hands vaguely related to a functional brain just operational, the occurrence of behavioral which can be extremely serious, ranging from broken hangers or not lined up their jet through an open window or not, through the fire with flamethrowers, self-injury with their teeth and homicide by strangulation bender.

is the main feature of the hanger is landed his wickedness, his unwillingness recurrent even his sadism triumphant in two circumstances of her life loathsome: the coupling and uncoupling.
When it comes to hanging, it supports a garment or not, he dithers and hesitates, slides, made the wrong head, short deploys malignant ingenuity to achieve two goals that seem have fixed since time immemorial as Veterans: clinging to its peers and refuse to be placed on the rod. He succeeded brilliantly in general in these two companies for ample time for the individual who tries to make the maneuver ring looks horrible curses and blasphemies hideous. When the poor wretch
finally manages to hang the object so nearly satisfactory for his haggard mind, only to realize with terror row as the wheel arch was placed, with the vilest cowardice, in one scenario that sadly is not exhaustive list: the hook is installed on another horse on the pole, he took with him another hook, hanger has managed to bring down others, always heavily loaded, he managed to bring an end neighbor in a garment, the garment fell, etc.. And the officiating to repair the damage, not without having cursed his mother, his sire, cat, neighbors and the sky in its full entirety. Some consider sensible and appropriate to attach physical manifestations of their state of mind as kicks to the wardrobe, the factor which has just struck, blows from head to punctuate the walls obscenities, hooting and stamping fast wicked, but those perks were not in favor of all.
The hanger in place, it is preferable, as most philosophers hoary and physicians most careful, with application to forget the previous episode and possibly the very existence of the object. Imagine the clothes hanging in the air like a magic and quiet is usually very helpful to support the sometimes painful consequences of his hanging - aphonia, wounds on the hands, headaches and other nervous exhaustion.

Stall, second abomination bender is a test at least as perilous. Indeed, in a proportion that the most elaborate studies estimate that nine point two of ten cases, the hanger is desired, during the movement must go out the wardrobe, so without any penalty to carry at least one of his accomplices will be made a duty to support its removal. Most often, they push the perfection of the gesture until the fall of hangers or taken away, which will inevitably fall bright clothes and muddy shoes fragile, soiled carpets or tiles freshly washed.
Montaigne spoke of the philosopher in a cage in the towers of Notre Dame who, however wise he was, trembling with fear and dizziness. He could have illustrated the movement of people and their moods loss of patience by the example of the hanger hook, which leads those most serene and peaceful people to adopt more slowly for a time variable ways the most filthy, most hysterical and violent most of their contemporaries.
should not ignore the potential dangers of this situation. Besides the physical damage that can inflict the subject, many are frequently observed neurological damage, ranging from permanent state of manic excitement in cintrophobie, very serious syndrome causing the patient to a life of prostration vegetative mixed with a desire Obsessive a terrible revenge.

Vengeance, as this text, revenge long burst of sun-ripened my burning hatred. That these abominations are forever cursed and that their very name sounds like hell in the name of the Evil One. Hanger! Hanger! Such is the cry of the Bender Beelzebub, which resonates forever in closets fatal suffering humanity.

Hanger bite redrum Cthulhu Nyarlathotep oulmig ARSK nrrmflflhh

Philippe RENEVE.

Crafty Carls Crabmania

The Marine de Loire (Th BONNETAT)


Each autumn holidays, I'm traveling.

EXPLORE vast land of my grandfather on the island in front of his house.
It is hidden between the Purple and the Loire, behind a curtain of poplars.
his side I'm Robinson Crusoe or Captain Hatteras.
We take the flat file that the green water above the sand tub and hop it's arrival.
Whenever he walks the square of earth is the New World is rising to it.
Frogs and nature, a flock of birds and the wind mostly at the peak of birch.
Then he unfolds his sharp knife in the ground.
And chewed raw onion to starboard.

Him, the silence and me, we all three bears together. It works similarly
without opening the mouth stretched to the same secret.

But I'm much more curious and, one day, I know.

long time now, I set off with his right arm and thick.
This funny drawing.
I imagined and I would love to see it up close, touch the features at your fingertips. The drawing will take
relief and I know that. It becomes something that I have seen anywhere.
I lip on the issue of child and every time I'm afraid to shake his peace, I can no longer accompany the ballad.
I keep his silence.

"Grandpa takes me ..." I want to show him
I'm not a farm boy school garden.
But a worthy grand-son of an adventurer who never speak.

In her kitchen, I often ate the light "Lamotte Piquet" hung above the door, next to the Comtoise.
I ate dozens and dozens of meals and wondered how to plow the ocean. But darkness descended
always on his meal. Nothing was ready to talk about.
I emerged hungry, deprived of all the answers to my questions.
When you're small, it is clear that the old are trying to forget history and throughout history. They
erase. But
there he could not.
was marked with indelible ink.

I was doing sketches, drawings in vain on sheets of scrap quickly hidden from the tattoo Chinese blue and imagined:
anchor who said the crossing of the Atlantic, the dragon
for the stopover in China or back of the turtle to cross the Equator
But mostly it's a three-masted ship in full sail to pass the Cape Horn and I resumed scribbling incessantly.
He had to make a long voyage.
Sure. The boat is apparent one day to browse the memory of Grandpa.
And then he told me. At

strength, even when I became impatient. He must have known what it was like a child, although this too I was wondering if he had cleared. Yes, I wondered if he had cleared.

is the last day of vacation that doubt has been installed.

I first thought lost some petals had fallen on his arm. It was not spring yet.

After dinner he fell asleep by the fireplace, sleeves rolled up.
was time to go closer to see. Do
remained to follow the contour.
On the skin opened, pierced by a dagger, a A RED ROSE pink ... and ... detached, in black ink, a first floating HELEN E.

I saw the two leaping round eyes of my late grandmother, her protector sheets and hush-the-small-listening-to-door.

was the end of the trip.

Finish Around the World.
Silence. Not
move.
Getting very, very light. In
apnea.
Keep your breath.
At the bottom of the hold.

Secrets.

Teresa BONNETAT
-November 15, 2009 -

Corine De Farme Cream Houston

On the side of the bear (D. Stealth)


The next day, the morning after a restless night, my bear of the night took me back to the shore of the bed. I kept my eyes closed long ago, torn by its resolution not to come support my fevers. Especially not wake up! I sleep as he stood by my side. Pretend, keep your eyes closed! Overnight in a flat boat that ran a long pole we chatted quietly, heavily. I can still hear his deep voice unspoken.
A wordless exchange between the anxiety of my fears of the unknown, death and the grave of his reassuring words, his "you'll see." Slowly, carefully, making sure it did not mask, however, it was scary to learn that the death was not informed.
You are great now.
"Your auntie died, his body no longer moves. The country is all-white is populated by people who do not move, no longer speak, sing no more. "
- Because they were not wise?
- Do not be a child, you are great now.
- But why you do not want to come?

Was it to help my courage? He offered me some as a feeling that fever, little by little, leave me in peace. Finally, a little peace. If she returned, it would be less often. I should spend my nights alone. Alone with the pain and emptiness at the heart of his absence.
He had spent the whole night to lead me on the great lake of fog which covered the valley at night. Embarking on the river, located just before and turning her back, I had even dream about, not daring to look. Had I ever done? He gave me a tour of never-ending river, the mill over there that made us laugh, much to the elbow which carried behind the forest. From the shore we were past the meadows, gradually, as in dreams, and from there, everything was allowed; up survey of the village houses. Patiently, slipping in the middle of everything white, it gave me grief weighing in interlude, flying over the village homes of friends. I had greeted with bursts of joy fleeting dream in the dream
"Well, you see me?"
And their smiles down time gave me a strength to admit, a few seconds, the terrible shock Auntie's death initially attached, forever, my companion of burning nights. The journey was long, how often went there to my room many times that my petitions brought us back to another round in the boat flat. This strange
flat boat that had nothing incongruous - we must say that I knew so much. We see him sitting and I needed without question. It was I who had brought a fancy dinner awakened from sleep in diving. He had taken command for them to say goodbye.



When there was a death in the village, a formal division of labor in City Council had decided the distribution: a coffin carpenter, the wheelwright. Later I was amused by this wheelwright who played the "Charon". The coffin! The coffin was the feast of breaking the routine of days. The apprentice or worker would stay there at home, at dinner with us, then he would work at night alongside the father until the morning when we find him at breakfast. He had to hurry to the happy days of free fridge. The coffin ready, drive the van to the home of the deceased ... and thence in a world without undertaker, my father and his apprentice, fresh from his 14 years, attended the final moments of families prior to beer by them ... epic scenes we came back and made us happy at the family table during those years. Fifty years later we still contons when it so happens that we encountered:
A family just lost his grandmother.
- Yes Lucette've told me at school, she just died. You'll make him a fine coffin dad's grandmother of my girlfriend?
- Of course my darling, we'll even make him great!
The father, mother, elder sister were all giants. Go for a giant coffin ... The Meme
Lucette kept the room so long that Dad had never seen.
- Hello sir Dames vot'mémé in how it is?
Easy to say at the table, to make children laugh, but faced with a family
crying ... So it was a coffin XXL.
They found the old woman in the room she occupied without leave for months. That's where we bore him his meals and that made him the semblance of toilet use in that time. They had great difficulty getting the coffin into the narrow staircase spiral. My father and Arpette family were out and distributed the body. There was the usual practice that gives parents a few moments of meditation, friends, neighbors ... and then closed church and cemetery management.
Some families insisted that the deceased took with him a object, a watch or a prayer book. It even during those times when a particularly vile old man was leaving, his wife, a boxing bug in the same category, insisted to put this and that and something else before my father and stoic priest who looked at his watch. The son of the house approached my father resigned:
(low voice with a serious prison door, before the entire bereaved family)
- Marin mister?
- Ouiiiiii ...
- You would not still a little room?
- But surely, slipping here on ... the side.
- Could not save the old woman?

When we need to work to live, we cross difficult moments.

But that day it was not the Atreides to the funeral, but much worse for my father ...: The Meme

giants was a quasi-dwarf, a tiny bit of good wife. Hindered the father! Cushions claim to people who are crying and staring at you wrong?
She was put in box and towards the door.
Ouch! The empty body separated from its cover was well past the go but to return, even down, macache!

He had to go into the barn to look for strings. Where are those pesky strings? What he said his son just now? Will make him repeat it.
A rope at each end, we approach the coffin of the window and bad idea ... An end to the window sill and the other to the ground.
Chhiiiii Flochhh , Granny falls south pole is the toggle
outside
Chiiii Flochhh , North Pole
We try as much as possible to descend to the ground either horizontally. But in the window frame, you hesitate. Until ground, the horrible landslide. Loading into the van. It seems that even at the entrance to the vault ...

burials until Auntie was so. Gales of laughter at the table, among the cousins at the workshop, a few of our happy connivance.

These coffins, he had to do them well before putting the same too small

Invariably events unfolded the same way, the dialogue closely.
We're here, my brother and me in the studio to turn them around. Choose the wood. The oak smell strong for the rich and walnut "only for the poor" ... You had to see the contortions some embarrassed son or sons in law from claiming "walnut-is-too-well-anyway" . A true test in this world where what people will say it does not spare ourselves, we, not peasants. More
took shape over the coffin we were excited ... He stood there on the bench, like a hundred times renewed call to our ingenuity.
And presto, we jumped in and armed with a piece of board we will simulate a ship. For the wooden coffin was a dark and serious wonderful boat coxswains rivers and aspiring sailors.
Tell Daddy you make us a coffin yeueuueeu?
Wasting no time we were playing marbles in a game where no one could afford his usual antics distasteful: step aside and get lost in the floorboards or below, and then ...
The ritual meant that Once finished, Dad goes to bed in and called my mother.
simulated panic which ended with a slap because "there were enough of these silly games"

This game often ended well. Laughter as an island lost in the perpetual fear of slaps unsuspected. Children know when it's time to smackdown. Some live without knowing it because they are absent, them and their borders. To me they were fluid and undetectable, reality sometimes had his chance but he was so fickle!

So that was the life of laughter and slaps that end in the coffin to the grave-boats!

From my Auntie's funeral incomplete archive begins at the graveside. Concentration prior family, the little jacket that rasped neck, polished shoes that hurt their feet, nothing stuck.
It starts with the same impossible Question: Dad does it on purpose to make funny faces to make me smile? I never watched it, but just a little ahead in the confusion of cries and moans triggered in the procession of women in black, while ten meters earlier
... ... What was he saying?
What could it be?
The same gestures to hide the head, eyes, mouth, this attempt to take an attitude, the immediate cessation, and it starts with the arm gestures ... Meeting an assumed sorrow that has no time settling that already disenchantment of his sister called to order. Was that the reason for this clash between opposing feelings at the confluence of attitudes? The cohort of black women found no favor with me.
I learned.
I found this gesture several times to Halloween and the following year after the anniversary of the death. The same theatrical play which became ever more a grimace, increasingly reduced or even barely sketched.

Twenty years later, at the bottom of a hospital bed where I was going a bit unexpected and yet so inevitably, I recognized the actor at the draft he drew up his act quickly on the shelf of unnecessary accessories. I was swimming in blood, and one that I lost the one you gave me. There was not enough to make so many expenses.
I found myself yet, true to my old shadows, in a sea of white - in hospital - and the great thing was the stream of blood that left me and one who, with difficulty, just fill the void. In the mist of a feverish night or was it one day, my old friend, the Bears came back to me. His return after all this time gave me the serenity that contrasted both with the red eyes of the nurse who had stayed up all night, pushing with the finger during hours, the blood perfusion was unable to penetrate the body that went peacefully.
Quiet, I remembered the graveyard scene, this peak 20 years earlier, after the cries and protests too much pain and handkerchiefs tucked into bags immediately got back in the car. Slamming clasps bags, slam the wooden ruler from the Lady of the cathedral later to make us sit up, his knees, the same deep fervor. The meal was waiting for us, "should not be expected when one is in people." Uses this occasion I was told by Mom Queen usual way. I remained a little apart in the driveway deserted, frightened and disoriented. The real sadness had taken me there, while his dummy sidekick had left the others to the imperatives of the goose to oven.
So that was it!
Parents, cousins, relatives, or less, took the colors with an aperitif. The meal was great as usual. At the end of the table completely forgotten children and Globule who do not lose one. It brought back memories of those hours of lively discussion at the limit of the dispute over the merits of cooking oil Huilor and Lesieur. Queen's was remarkable for this sentence imperishable.
"You can say what you want me but I keep Lesieur" The malevolence of Globule forever remember him saying. The was a nasty Globule!

Donatien Stealth

How To Cater A Weddingfor 150 People

Conspiracy (A. Zelensky)


Armand Mauduit just moved. Tonight he sits in his new kitchen. He finished his dinner, comfortably seated at her kitchen table. Turning her head slightly to the left, he can see the continuous line formed by the stove with his oven, dishwasher, washing machine and the sink.
The former owner left him with a fully equipped kitchen. The units are in new condition, even if they are a few years. He inherited the same coffee machine is placed at the end of the table. Armand is rather user Mauduit Italian coffee maker. But why not try another route to the black brew which he dedicates a special affection? That said, and with all due fairness, the comparison turns, according to him, the undeniable advantage of the Italian way. But few
sectarian, it alternates: when pressed, it emphasizes the power when he has time, he returned to his coffee with the hiss has always posting fun.

Tomorrow, Sunday, Lisa comes to breakfast. He opted for a roasted chicken with roasted potatoes also. He recalls with satisfaction the plump bird, a farmer, who sits enthroned in his refrigerator. In the process, came to his mind the other stores are doing this afternoon. The freezer is filled with no excess. Mr. Armand do not stack.

On rising to go into the dishwasher, where it will store the dishes in the evening - which will join the previous day - His eyes fell on the oven. He remembers when the former owner has reported that he had not had time to clean it. Not that he was dirty, "he said. He does not cook much. But still ... In any case, there was a system of self cleaning.
Armand remembers so it will take place this evening en route for self cleaning the oven is ready to receive the next roast chicken and potatoes. It is true that the oven is not really dirty. He examined it. But cooking a chicken in an oven that has been used for another, which keeps track of fat and food projections Foreign ... Of course, a chicken - or a roast - is a chicken, whatever the person begins to cook. Although ... The quality of the bird - farmer or not - selected ingredients to add flavor, doneness can be indicative of the person.
Anyway, he did not want to trust his chicken to an oven soiled with another. But as he waited for the last time, tonight he must conduct himself with self-cleaning.

The first thing to do is to consult the manual of the oven. Everything is carefully stored in the cabinet drawer along near the door. Armand M. leafing through the booklet and found the section on cleaning. He reads it carefully. The explanations seem simple. But am aware that the acting out is often problematic. So he prefers to wrap several times the various operations to be performed before launch. The choice is between this two forms: self cleaning immediate or delayed. The second option is cheaper but takes longer. Nowhere is it mentioned how long. Armand Mauduit no longer surprising: there are always those instruction manuals, white, as if the author proposed a riddle - unless this is a trap - to users. Let's trust, "he said. They must know what it is. He opted for the deferred option formula, which spends less electricity. The operation is slow and consumption in the furnace to be heated less.

Armand Mauduit therefore presses designated buttons. It has retained all three lights concerned - green, orange and red - must go out one after another. This will be a sign that all is well. A sort of buzzing noise is heard soon. The thing looks good.
In the wake of technical maneuvers, our proud owner decides to start machine wash his dishes. He never before had this kind of device. He lives for years, usually alone and did not feel the need.
But progress is offered comfort. Why sulk? After filling of liquids suitable openings in the machine, he starts. Now the hum of the machine cycle reserved for dishes in addition to the hum of whose function is to cook.
that was missing was the spitting of the coffee machine and the whirring of the washing machine to give her ears a quartet of music concrete kitchen. But it has already made a machine in the morning and do not drink coffee at night. Still: he finds himself contemplating with some tenderness these devices that ease life of drudgery.
After a last look at his little world of technology in action, it turns out the light from the kitchen and joined his room, peace of mind. He falls asleep on the vision of a kiln free of any dirt, ready for the Sunday chicken.

the night, he wakes up, how often to go to the bathroom. He tries to outwit the need to pee. But he is soon obliged to rise. He knows he will then take time to sleep. Returning toilets, it has an unusual sensation of heat. It undoubtedly comes from the kitchen. He directs them in the dark, distinguish the glow of lights from the oven. He was surprised: he seemed to recall that they should be extinguished. What time is it? A glance at his watch the information: two in the morning. A quick mental calculation confirms the obvious: he had to turn the oven to self clean 22 hours. It should be cleaned well. But two out of three lights, orange and red are always lit. And he did in this kitchen a warm oven ....

He shrugs, exasperated against himself in this irrelevant joke he made to himself. He knows one thing: if he wants a chance to go back to sleep, he must flee this place. Without really thinking, driven by a kind of instinct, he goes to the switchboard and lowers the handle corresponding to the kitchen, welcoming the passage, having entered below each controller, the corresponding room in the house . He dare not imagine his mood, had he been at night, to experiment to find the right joystick.

Once in bed, he tries not to question why, four hours after the start of cleaning, both lights are still on three toes. What a mistake he committed? It summarizes, in spite of himself, the various actions he has made to achieve self cleaning. Self-cleaning, not self cleaning! Not so sure ... What word do we employ? How to remember? That is not the problem! But if he does not even know if we say self-cleaning or auto cleaning, how would it be able to know what he did with those damn buttons! Without notice and in the dark. Yes, but the record is not better. He followed the foot of the letter, this leaflet and here it is. He exhorts

calm, breathe deeply. To clear his head, he thinks that Lisa is coming tomorrow. Alas! it is brought back into the oven, since it was invited to breakfast and lunch ... He has the feeling of being surrounded, whatever they think. He disappears under the sheets. The wing of despair would have touched, if a thought had not then made, saving. It cut electricity! This oven will not damn the law! Want to warm to rhyme? Well, it's still my decision here. A sly smile that he imagined his lips relaxed. Then he hugged
nostalgia evoking his old furnace that was abandoned by moving. It was not so many stories, this one. It is cleaned by hand, simply. With the product, or even with a sponge and a scraper. The image of his old cook fleet before his eyes. What happened to it? With this way of new, nobody had a grudge and it eventually scrapped. He sleeps on a poignant sense of regret.

He wakes up late and grumpy. He pasty mouth and an overwhelming desire to coffee. Once in the kitchen, he goes to the coffee machine. When where he puts on the button "in", he recalls, noting he does not turn red, the current cut. Grumbling, he goes to the switchboard and deliver electricity. When he returned to the kitchen, it lacks drag on the ground, he finds that it is indeed wet. What happens is there? He looks down: a puddle of water spreads outside the door of the refrigerator.
the power turned off, it sank. In a sudden movement, Mauduit Armand opens the device when the temperature is just cool. He remembers the provisions in the freezer. There is no time to lose. We must pour down there at the top. Frozen food should never refreeze thawed ... And everything is. He began to empty the freezer and refrigerator to cram in content. It welcomes the transition from not having filled excessively.

But the effort fasting exhausts. He has more than ever need coffee. He crawls towards the coffee machine. When he puts the button on the "in" a strange noise is heard. Feeling shy heat rises. Armand Mauduit, reluctantly, turned to the oven, without believing. But yes, all three lights are ablaze, self cleaning is left as if nothing had happened.

Armand Mauduit surprised himself by falling into an acute form of despair or not to indulge in destructive rage. A stupor, due in part to lack, lack of coffee, fortunately protects the excesses to which the situation could have taken. It is driven by an obsession: to drink his coffee. It seeks a cup. But they are in the machine dishwashing. It forces a bit to unlock the door of the machine, while saying that a cup washed on the draining of the sink would have cost less effort. When the lid flap, he saw the machine at the bottom of a water and soap. It did not last as it should. Armand Mauduit instinctively passes a finger on the first dish that comes along, and already knows it will be as fat as when he placed there the day before or the day before. It reproduces the same thing on another cloudy, with a clear conscience he will get the same result. Still

away behind his mattress daze, he leaves a cup, a knife and a spoon and rinse them thoroughly under tap water, reviving a gesture traditional, if not traditional, since tap water has not always existed. And he can not help thinking:
"It's much easier to wash dishes at the tap."
And then we hear in the air already hot from the kitchen that cry:
"But what I have to fuck her dishwasher! "A little
relieved by this outburst is understandable, the man covered his wins at the show. There is no question that lunch in the kitchen, where heat rises inexorably, where the hum of the furnace is combined with the sputtering of coffee in a duo no longer music, but hell. Still a chance that the dishwasher itself or you.

When he returned to Brewer, another disappointment awaits him, as it is true that misfortunes never come singly. He looks in vain for her beloved black liquid in the container authorized to receive it. This is definitely empty. The water remained at the top, where he paid earlier. The powder in the filter es t dry, devoid of any moisture. Yet the button is on the "in" position, the lamp lit. But most other no sound comes out of the machine. He is bent on the button, off, back on. It even pushes the machine, finding the rage of the child who gets on the solid object.

Then there is too much. He lets himself into a chair. Tears well up in her eyes. His gaze wanders, pathetic, or on the kitchen yesterday, he sat, happy, proud gaze of the alignment of its aircraft. And the envy of coffee in the back stabbing and saves a reduction which could lead to serious ends.
He rises, propelled by a query.
"there's Nescafe? "He pulls
his seat and rushed to the cupboard. Search feverishly. And substance hidden by other provisions usual, his hand hits the surface of the upper box. When he checked out, it reads "Ricoré. Whatever! Provided he has the illusion of feeling run down his throat dry and hot liquid black. The imagination does the rest.
When it's warm water, it almost surprised to see the gas light. With town gas, there are no surprises. Not like these hotplates that take a long time to warm-up. Luckily the kitchen is free.
He captured the pot with his simmering water to the living room, not without looking bad in the oven. He can not tolerate the vision of the heating device in action. It burns at first taste, so great was his haste to swallow his nickname coffee. He winces when the taste of the beverage substitution reached its taste. The coffee is related to distance. He chews on a slice of bread without butter. He has no courage to face his refrigerator cluttered with food he does not know how he is going to consume them within the required time.

his empty cup, he feels a little exhilarated. Not without regret, he rose to head toward the kitchen. It searches the record of the oven he stored the previous day. A sense of self compassionate hugs. Poor him, had he known, by classifying the damn book ... But at the same time recognizes the wisdom of providence - it is not believing - that leaves us in ignorance - blissful - the future ahead. Yes, but it was expected that the furnace would cause so many problems, may be he would read the manual even more attention, probably he would have avoided the worst ...
"What good is asking all Questions? " he said, kneeling in front of the camera for all its hardships, to better examine the buttons, record in hand. LEDs orange and red are switched on donations, but the green is off. The operation is on track. Mauduit Armand decides to attempt the impossible: moving from self to self clean program immediately. The idea of brushes that is a risk, but it is so exasperated by the heat that invaded her kitchen that is not really capable of reasoning. This event, the transition from one program to another, is nowhere mentioned.
"I'm not surprised it's so stupid machine. If at least it always did what he command ... "
images of rampaging robots assail his mind. But he goes further. Awakens in him the desire to control, that old human reflex whose origin is lost to the confines of our origins. It never be said that the object, its creature, he resists.
He starts turning a knob. Then another. And now the green light comes on again. Armand Mauduit is then taken to a rage that comes from deep within his brain, which brings the early hominids. It supports all buttons frantically, shaking the oven gets up to better tap it with his feet alternately.
And then he falls down. And finds that sits in a puddle. It takes a few moments to understand it more from the refrigerator - it has covered just now - but probably the dishwasher. He remembered the soapy pool seen at the bottom of the device: it has flow out behind ... the wet, he gets up, stiff as he spoke of these robots, a while ago. Armed with a mop, sponge it on ground, something evil is good, dry quickly.
Fire cheeks, he stood up and think later. Already 11 hours. Lisa will be coming to 12.30. He rushes on the phone.
"Lisa, listen, I thought we could go to a restaurant, it would make an exit ..."

It follows on the face of Armand Mauduit the vicissitudes of his conversation with Lisa, happily surprised by this program change She sees nothing wrong and will be there on time. Then, on prompts the caller - it can really take your time, it's Sunday - it accepts without difficulty to postpone half an hour he came.
Lise is not history. It may not be a beauty, it is not an intelligence uncommon, but it is not annoying. Armand Mauduit welcomes chance. Women have become so difficult ... And this is what he hears. It is always dropped him, he has flair. Once a pain in the ass by that cross, he identifies and avoids the collision.
Once the handset rested satisfied with the resulting delay, he took refuge in her bed. The folded blankets to the top of his head, he closes his eyes, put earplugs, and attempts to place themselves in voluntary interruption of consciousness. He set up a mental guard every thought that stalking inappropriate and removes instantly. This

hello from domestic public gives modest results. After a short respite, the issues are linked. What will he do? The porter's lodge is closed. No store does not work on Sundays. And what a shame ... even compared to Lisa. What will she think of a man unable to navigate the buttons on an oven? It is often compliment him on his strength - when he opens a bottle. That's the only thing Directory - traditionally given to humans - to which it is not refractory. Lise
believed capable of avoiding all the traps that this plumbing, electricity and piercing the walls, the three mainstays of domestic knowledge attributed to the male. If she knew when to plant a nail, but rather on his hand that the hammer tends to land. As for the drill so dear to his colleagues, he has an absolute obsession, as is panic fear of seeing it turned against him. If
wants to keep the love of Liza, better not mention the history of the oven. But anyway, he said: she does not know me at the bottom. Is that she loves me or a picture of me? Is not this an opportunity to compare the image to reality?
The risk of losing his aura with Lise, encourage ridicule, not conducive to what they say, with feelings of love. Although ... Women have a mother's heart always ready to soften the weaknesses of a man in whom she found the little boy they have had or will have.
Anyway, it is well to notice the heat that reigns in the kitchen and win the whole apartment. She wants to assist in preparing the appetizer, she will follow in the kitchen ... So, a light suddenly illuminating the spirit hunted by Armand M. A first image looks like: his mother leaning on an oven, then another: Lise charging a flat in the camera ... The association is a natural oven, women. Who does the cooking? Who makes cooked them? How is there not thought of? Lise must obviously know how to clean and self-cleaning oven. He heaved a huge sigh of relief that releases all the tension of that awful morning. He will say:
"Imagine that ... But me, home appliances, I do not know. You, I'm sure it's a had a child. You make so the kitchen. "The honor will be safe
. It will not make fun of him. The oven is not a male. It will give him the opportunity to demonstrate superiority over him. With a beautiful spirit, he does a bit of cleaning and preparing carefully.

The bell rang at 13 o'clock. Lise is there, all smiles, a little package wrapped by hand. She always has a gift for him. He kisses her with an outpouring from the recognition that early. He led the show by protecting it from his arm as if to remove the undeniable warmth that has invaded the premises. Moreover, only installed on the sofa, she remarked:
"It is very warm home. They do not heat up again when same? "
She posed in a mysterious package wrapped her on the table adjacent to the couch. He did not even think to exclaim, as is the custom:
"It should not! It's too nice ... "
He thinks only one thing: the oven. Exactly, his remark about the heat is a hook. He will hang his problem immediately. With a smile that feels very wrong, he began:
"To get hot, it's hot ... Imagine ..."
Lise listening with his customary expression of benevolence. She stops just to get the additional information useful, in his confusion, he forgot to give.
Then she gets up and offers to go.
"I will leave the leaflet? asked Armand.
"I'll try without. The practice is better than their explanations. I understand they t'aient confused, my darling. "He knows
, Lisa always takes his party. She understands. This is the record which indicates the error and not him who is unable to read.
When they are in the kitchen, Lisa looks with an air of competence the heating device. She squatted to better scrutinize the buttons, then turn one of them with the assurance given by the certainty of being in true. Armand, where he is believed to guess that this is the "Stop" button. And it is sure to have, also supported it. But he soon finds that all three lights are now extinguished. Never happened to him in over a curb, green. He opened his eyes to convince the undeniable reality: on the camera screen, no glimmer of no color sparkles more.
Lisa gets up and turns to him:
"I think it will go. It should press "stop", my darling. " Armand
Mauduit, in a whisper, articulates :
"But I pressed on it."
"Yes, but you, at the same time, pressed the others. That had to cancel the effect off "
" That was ... stammers Armand Mauduit, all sense of shame.
"It happens, you're perhaps upset, there's plenty ... the oven, it's not your domain".
She adds that with this cruelty gives unconsciousness or innocence:
"I, if I was asked to repair an electrical outlet ..." It Considers
inside the furnace, through the window and said :
"In any case, you have a spotless oven. To be cleaned, it is cleaned! Now we must wait until it cools. "
a tone he wants happy, the owner of the oven cools announcement:" We will use it again. Today I'm taking you to the restaurant! "
He leads the show to offer him a drink. He then noticed the small table on the package she brought. She has a mischievous smile, looking undo colored twine around the bundle. Soon appears a box of chocolates. Mr. Armand does not lend itself to immediate attention the form of sweets. Then, taking one, he realizes that it reproduces a small hammer. He exclaims: "It's awfully good imitation! "
" Look at the other, my dear ... "He discovered
rummaging through the box that the chocolates are shaped tools, nails, screwdrivers, crescent wrenches. The resemblance to the real thing is amazing. Armand M. manipulates chocolates, divided between surprise and doubt.
Why did she choose this kind of candy?
He looks up at Lisa. She smiled and he thought he detected an expression on his lips mischievous. He stammers to give a capacity: "Where'd you get that? "
" It's original, right? I thought you might like this ... "
please him, please him ... What does she mean by that?
But he refrains from asking for further clarification.
The mystery never gets very light. Armand Mauduit did not understand most of what had happened in her kitchen that night he managed to decipher the meaning of the words of Lisa. And continued to wonder if there was a relationship between the two phenomena.

Anne Zelensky

Which Paper Towel Is Stronger

Polar bears (D. Stealth)

Again they accompanied me to the pillow ... The clock bears.
When the fever that had called them vanished, they disappeared with her in the burning cave where I found them every time. Polar Bears in dengue fever?

Fever, this childhood companion. A bike ride a bit too fast, stop in the shade a bit too long and that was it. Too long to read back an open window. Fatigue so common for a child so puny. Everything was concerned. Mouth off like a rocket. Of fields, river, school ... I was taking it one day in the attic where I had discovered, among the banned books stocked by the previous tenant, a cartoon in a thick volume. At the bottom of delirium following night polar bear escaped from a fantastic story had come to populate my nightmares. Repeated fevers, recurrent nightmares, polar bears helped by my alarm became instant regulars in my childhood. Sometimes they accompanied me to kindergarten and high school where I would take my "temperature". No way that the more you deprive me of school.
Attics! We, the children were leading a constant struggle relentlessly to impose our sovereignty over a territory as large of a sudden we challenged prohibitions, advice and affection floats helpless. Whenever they reminded us of the scale stripped, floors rotten, cutting tools and forget the trunks or other wonders put there so that they do not elsewhere, in our hands before our eyes. Windows naked rich potential falls, drafts and colds galore. The brotherhood of adults do not lack invention to forbid us to go where we wanted to just go
- Because they forbade us. !
Light as air, what had we to fear from the floor uncertain?
We do not need a genius or a black perversion to sense the real reason. Strange questions, looks suspicious. How obscure or inexpressible worried because they say no? Their unimaginable lack of seriousness in the conversation "in our ears we had learned very young what they feared. They feared that we were to use the lofts of activities they had not yet given up and that for some, they were updating again as soon as opportunity arose. We do not know the very exact contours but we longed for their intoxicating mysteries We learned not only the contempt of the great, but very young, the case of attics taught us how the great brotherhood of adult relatives, these thirty years old, handled the double talk. The gods were fallible.

We do not engage them all the time, far from it but by a drive cycle, the key-pee became the main activity and the unique obsession with large tribe of children fraternal. Replying to strict rules and unwritten, anywhere according to custom, the children settled wherever they wanted. Girls or boys were using this inalienable right. Without art and without caprice, they watched as much as we ensure their share of battle in the reconquest of the area still banned barns and granaries. Why they did not lack imagination or cunning cunning. Pending the maneuvers they played at the dinette, which we call "playing the mother and daughter." This word came from their mothers. They also stood in the drifts? Without a doubt, but we will need many years to learn. The game: a variant of the universal "live like the great" was held in preparation of meals based on fictitious pieces of stems or broken pottery in small plastic dishes introducing the worm realist representation in the imaginary conditionals.
" Looks like I am the daughter " Intonation Singing was part of the rite.
"Oh no it already me who made the mother the other day .
Gradually the meal took a more authentic to the chagrin of parents finding the raids in the kitchen cupboard. In good weather for pantries there was no fridge so no dairy dessert and boudoir reigned unchallenged monopoly in the realm of cookies. No question of touching the cheese from the father. Too risky. A few dried figs, sugar cubes or coffee beans ...
" Looks like it would be meat " The way recitations poorly known.
flowers, paper, swallow us all ...
From realism realism. ... A key player in the game was invited. He was summoned in general when the wafers were replacing pieces of broken tiles. My brother had a knack: younger or reassuring he was the Father in all games. Very important the father when the game's theme is life and its simulacrum punctuated by the repetitive production of meals.
It sets the table is served a meal, eat, scold the person who made the child, then put away ... and How to sell a meal. ... What had little interest became central.
"Looks like we would night "
At night, lie down, put blankets, spread coast to coast.
At this time the boys were kept away by the merest chance nearby, within earshot. It in need of "chance" for from the palm of the river where we build our eternal sand dam, we find within earshot or sight. It was the chance for couples to dads-moms are very fast and the meals are shipped to dummy pass to: "Looks like we would night " Attics then played their proper role.
What "crimes" were committed in the name of the dinette!

Unlike their daughters always busy rite strong connotations, we guys had other epics Getting to block one day with that damn river sand left on the current riverbank. The material was abundant and found in the bed belonged to nobody. The beginnings were promising. It was a simple matter of speed: advanced construction faster than the water carried them away. Easy ... Five or six, with our aprons for dumpster progressions without sparing our pain. The misfortune was that we start over the width of the course, the bed became more deeply to the other side and the current became more powerful and fast. Farewell ... and dam, dam and lake dreaming, nature resumed her rights. This was in no way a reason to give up. Day after day, week after week, only the weather could stop us, not failure. Rain or farmers and their cows inevitable. These cows then were used merely to come and drink at the exact location of our sand, and that for generations of cows ... It was as if these animals were dictating their laws to men. As if their owners could not take them elsewhere to drink like cows.
Frankly when we looked more closely at a mile and a small wood separating the sandy slope leading down to the water's identical, but on the other side. When nature plays itself Deter projects the future of humanity!
So, as you could not bite every day guns and belts of the American cowboy in the village. Especially when these Americans were American. In this case we waited for the next IM hoping that he has very strong boys. After the week of the arc, off we drove to the day of the sword. " You will hurt yourself, take me right away these sticks! "The ghosts of Roland as our neighbor yelled insults.
__Pfff Durandal a stick! __ We go to the huts.
boxes, crates, cans, newspapers, pickets and ... boards. We can not imagine today a world without plastic. No bag, canvas sheeting. Nothing, nothing but nothing really .... We had the bags in jute, but farmers seem to hold even more than their cow. Stories of potatoes and Jerusalem artichokes. Pffff!
Also, this shortage, the same rotten plank she became a valuable commodity. How many holes in the hedges, hastily blocked by a piece of board for years, they regained their independence? How many walls lean and farmyard, park in piglets they became "intermittent"? It was enough to enrage: son of a carpenter Helpless boards. Once this pseudo-house almost finished, in a mock site you visit, girls were invited. No need to go get them. They were there. At stroke of old curtains and old dresses they had finished the building. Not in its most technical and challenging picket-bearing pillars of shovel handle, or support beam on the tree but, rather, interior side. Indeed they applied to seal the large voids left on the sides revealing who would go to all that take place inside.
And it was left to the dinette.
The space between the house and suffered a narrow road which we referred to the other side in the meadow. Brambles for blackberries, wild plums, space for the ball, tree for reading. Tucked away in the foliage had finally peace, Mom did not see me. Otherwise, she had the genius to organize my "walk in you" or my "are you here to do anything." She did the same with my father. How many times do I have to interrupt a meticulous assembly or plating to keep him warm for the laundry tub to extend ... One law in a day: minimize the opportunities to be in his space ... If you held it. A collateral risk remained, however. Do not light a long time she was quite surprised to see you unexpectedly at a turn of your lack of vigilance
" Oh you scared me " and bam! A slap, she was reassured. In the pre
twenty meters opposed a distance longer than his arm between her and me. The cabin construction was hampered by its lack of the usual obstacles boards and "all that mess there-is-not-in-the-gypsies-you-go-me-clean-off-again". Yet here in front in the workshop for years, long wide boards and light teasing us, in the same place at the same corner, useless and annoying.
" Tell Dad I can take the boards? "
Repeating my request received a response built piecemeal over the years.
- Not
- ....
- Because
- ...
- They are Vadon
- But euhh?

was a carpenter, a former tenant of the workshop. These traits, plotted on the boards, a single plane of a plane he wanted to build. He disappeared
and one day he was found much later in the Pyrenees, eaten by bears!

- We? Here, we're at home, so it's our boards as it is ... by the Bears.
- We do not know, he may have family
... But then Dad when you're dead, they'll keep the bears. ?

For boards was not. It was non.Ce was not for years. I saw them one evening, much later, in a family outbreak of the rout. We were only tenants. Home who was not with us ...
A cataclysm came and offered the opportunity All clarifications.

In a world where the images were so rare, death found its first imaginary representation: it was a world of ice, mountains, and polar bears. Impressive, strange but not scary. Having never known, I was putting my grandfathers without sorrow or pain. The bears were so often at my side. Mundane to the point that one day I break the ban by capturing boards Vadon, was it necessary that the drive "cabanatoire" is urgent!


Was it cries out of breath or breathing? Nobody knew. The back of the house was heard yelling outside. He had to run and rush home to his court, enter through the narrow room where the two men ate and grab the black bakelite. 'Allo! "Then it was be smart and start his memory, no time to rehearse the other end of the line and can not afford to remember. And then it would have bothered.
" is not right to disturb the world .
was a gift from God - the bears? The woman had obtained the phone all the magic of poles and son, were followed by going to school, along with the camera because it was a war widow. War widow? With more than thirty years after Verdun, at the same time as two or three black silhouettes of the town that he had installed.
" Pschhh Pschhhhh " If I had known
then, I loved the sound of locomotive to cross the few feet between her house and ours. Nine times out of ten it was a call from my grandmother. The grandmother from Paris, grandmother gift, grandmother cakes. When we arrived it was delicious hugs and fables. The monkey, the monkey and the nuts and whole host of La Fontaine and Perrault. She left me this gift of knowing fables before kindergarten. The phone is telling us that she had, she sent gifts either. One day, she sent us in Merignac receive huge packets it sent us from England.
" But what is England? "
Cakes, a new bike for me, England! Nothing to do with my other grandmother who never came, her mother except to cry. I do not understand why the phone did not come to our house while my two grandfathers were dead. It took enjoy a moment of patience from my mother to understand that war ubiquitous in everyday conversations in the village, family and the school was a strange thing which took place in two stages, the first and second. The two men had chosen to die "before the war" period accurate enough that my mother taught me again her usual verve by a slap exceeded. " No! Before the war it before the second! "

That day, as usual, I was building a cabin in the meadow in front of the other side of the road my other playground On this road, the cars were so rare that they could play without interruption and when he reached one, we had ample time to grow. One problem, my dog never left me, being deaf and a little miro ... One summer day, a day of mopping bike, I was not there. Brought me a cart, his neighbor's dog that accompanied the school day. Man and dog adored each other. Quite a homebody by nature, the animal liked to follow in the vineyards behind the hill in the grasslands of the bottom of the river and forests of the plateau opposite. It he was constantly spends most stubborn caprice: wear a tool in his mouth. The truck went on to the pitch of the old horse and proud as a deer, pick or sickle in the mouth like a trophy, the dog squad around. A thousand times he did the same dirty tricks: he misled his tool and stung the old man of black anger. " You'll tell me where thou hast laid him vain sacred god? He had tried to pass him any post but the dog did not want it and continued its provocations until he prevailed. The sickle often recurred when he returned home dinner on the threshold of his house.
That day, busy at my cabin, under the supervision of my dog, I had heard down ... pfff pffff Pschhh pppfff Pschhh.
- "Mr. Marino Mr. Marino ! It's your ... It looked like he was waiting: he jumped up and crossed the fifty yards without touching the ground ... Your Mom! "

Owl's Grandma! The construction does not monopolize enough to keep me from watching the return of Papa. Impatience lengthens this time too slow for me. He is returning. Odd, how does he know that I'm here? He recognized Through the leaves the famous boards banned? Looks like he made faces with his funny gestures: a mixture of hands on head as if to protect themselves from blows to hand over the mouth or eyes. " is not possible .... This is not possible "

Mom in the doorway - "My sister died "
Auntie is dead? Auntie's sweet, beautiful smelling? The mother of my cousin who lives in Paris with Grandma?
And Dad always got angry with Auntie. It is now more angry that she had gone there with her father she had barely known Vadon and up there, away in the mountains. Dead at twenty-six years. What is twenty six years?
While the house was filled with moans incomprehensible. What kind of pain could they feel? My brother went out and joined me distraught. Together we handed Vadon boards in their place ... I was angry
Bears. They would teach me death.

Donatien Stealth

Do You Need Hunting Safety Course To Bow Hunt

The man of stone knocked (Th BONNETAT)

In sunlight, which confuses the gray stone studded with white blue sky, the man lay quartered.
legs of clay soil.
In his bed falls, four women stand hieratic dignity of mourners all dressed.

Four women dropped from the vertical drape .... At

imagine, contained in his despair, one of them a patina which is made of limestone chalk.
From white chalk to tell the whites of the existence on the blackboard of a life devastated.
"Come z'enfants of the Fatherland"
They stand, glued back, children, lined gray schoolboy blue, gray blue sentence already.
And watching.

Frozen.
Row

The stone grave, prints and confronts the time in the contents of silence.

the middle, between the women and children, this heap of rubble, stones and masses, the remains of the damage, the crumbs scattered together forever and forever in the gray uniform stand of giant crude and still bearing the man's name.

He went like an eagle in a storm of freezing rain, he went to the North. Then he walked all wings, sank in the heart of the land for gaps. Has pioneered a new way to tread the world, without language or thought.
On the map, travel logs, traces scribbled alone for the battalion.
War it was the song of death! He can never tell it. They burned the earth, ashes returned to each cut, were mixed with the charred bodies. In the ruins, they ran into hell, scattered.

One day someone who was no longer someone has drawn, eyes wild, he was shot.

a stroke.

Today, shaded branches dark, starry, one wonders who cultivates yet the flowerbed on the marble floor.

Women are headed an elegant feast.
They capture the light, the sacred and sacrifice.
They are the ones that radiate on the days that stretch, babysitters steles imaginary ruins blended.
It is they who write the history of man, war and the forgotten. The
losers.

Only the silence of stone for one prayer.


BONNETAT Therese - October 23, 2009 - At Memorial Lodève (sculpted by Paul Dardé)



War memorials pacifist Paul Dardé

Hand Held Electronic Skip-bo Game

And Grandma? (F. Spassky)

Holidays promised to be memorable. We had decided to "do Spain, the peseta during the to consider, even for the working class, holidays Mogul.

The decision had been slow to mature.
Lucien had been explained by Jose fellow factory schedules bizarre, fries in olive oil, the tapas the tortilla sandwiches and the mysterious "Sereno! " was called into town at night to get open the door of the building.
During winter evenings, in the smoke of gypsy-corn and the vapors of plum, regulars had warned against the sun, the severity of the Guardia Civil , the virulence of the mosquito local, state dismal roads and macho pride English. And we had discussed whether to go see a bullfight "cruel, but where toro has a chance ...."

They began by buying a caravan.

The choice was long and painstaking. On the advice of friends already have, we opted for a rather small model but with two beds, one double and one single. We had a room for Grandma, she would travel this time they had managed to squeeze in anywhere.
Lucien himself had mounted the coupling system and had been searching the trailer a week before departure. The concierge had given special permission to park in the courtyard of the building of Billancourt.
Friends and neighbors came to visit, providing advice and recommendations, some gossips criticized the small size. "Lets say, Gigi, they would pull a big trailer on English roads ..." said Lucien.
Gilbert took possession of the premises, heaping dishes, cooking utensils, bedding and provisions, bought pots of geraniums "against the mosquito" and sewed colorful curtains. Annie, the eldest, a 17-year soft brunette wearing a sauerkraut BB chirped, taking poses, it was "groovy." Jojo, kid pale complexion, the grim look and ears, said the top of his ten years as the caravan was "super cool". Even Grandma rather suspicious to such extravagances technology after making the turn and tried his bed, admitted it was "pretty."

They loaded the rest of the material the day before departure, bicycles, umbrellas, floats, perishables. And all these people, exhausted by a year of hard work and took industrial miasma, July 31 at three o'clock in the morning, the direction of a campground near Alicante. José had chosen for them, in English, two months ago, a perfect location not far from the toilets, near the beach and in the shade.

The road was infernal in the day, under a blazing sun, with monstrous traffic jams from Orange. The caravan, however, brand new, a burst tire toward Narbonne. Lucien cursed the bad luck began to change the wheel on the side. Jojo found a way to play marbles with nuts and we started half an hour to find them with a lot of embellished with a few slaps paternal maternal contributions. Granny began to find the time long and complained about her rheumatism while still contributing to the great annoy everyone to scream its transistor.

We arrived at the border in the early evening and it was still losing an hour to go Customs. First sensation of unsteadiness, first contact with the ridiculous patent leather caps the Guardia Civil and a je ne sais quoi in their hardness and that number, entry, was feeling the heavy hand of Franco.
They had stopped to change money. First conversion price in pesetas. We watched with amazement some of these strange pieces were gaps and these tickets cheap paper ... They read the inscriptions: "It's like when even a little French with" a "at the end, we'll manage ...."
Lucien and Gilberte, who had his license, took turns driving every two hundred kilometers. We arrived so late at night that the site was closed and, like others, was taken before the tail gate closed. Then they piled as they could to five in the caravan for a few short hours of sleep.

The next day, in the early hours, they took possession. It unfolded the awning of the caravan, we planted the tents youth and met the neighbors, almost all French. It settled some issues of stewardship and we rushed to the beach to bake in the sun to tired bodies.
Parents sounded by the collapsed travel on the sand after stalling even under a parasol. Annie, all its effects bikini, (as Lucien had found "it could have anyway, get something a little bigger than confetti on the ass, especially in Spain ...) began to see the boys, seriously considering losing her virginity on the occasion of the first exotic vacation. The
Jojo, not tired, spent his time yelling, splashes of water and sand her sister and parents until he was yelling in the original by a stranger huge, red as fire, of a nationality that no one knew precisely determine the moment. He was so hefty that even Lucien, who had an abortion yet nothing, decided to let the insult to France and repatriated Jojo with kicks to the buttocks in the family fold.

Annie did not put more than two days to achieve its ends in the arms of a French neighbor, "psychology student". Dilettante hollow chest talker but he managed to drag him nightly in his narrow wall tent without needing to press beyond the minimum established by the conveniences.
But the young man in question while he was out of sorts, this was not his first attempt. And if it was not an arrow in his studies, however, was evidence for the thing to put an undeniable talent that "great" in states where it does not suspect its existence. Confidences of friends who had seen the wolf had been, indeed, only moderately enthusiastic. Also, before this unexpected revelation, it became very assiduous attendance of his clandestine nocturnal and tireless love.

Jojo He teams up with a band of rogues equally unbearable multinational who spent his time to commit hangable shots inside the camp. At first they contented themselves with foolish enough to pipe water as innocent people who were doing the dishes in the bathroom or hide the clothes of women taking their shower. But it chanced that during one of their pranks they fall on the giant which had dealt Jojo at the beach, and against which the boy had kept a grudge as a souvenir of kicks to the buttocks that it was taken by his father because of him. The man, a Finnish whose skin had turned to scarlet under the effect of the sun, who was there on vacation with his wife and two kids with hair so blond it was white, became their scapegoat.
Once they placed the turds in front of his tent, another, defeated the sardines for a nap so it collapsed on its occupants. Worse, they set on fire one day and it was a miracle if there was not a serious accident. The campsite management interfered, abruptly ordered the parents to keep their kids under penalty of expulsion, the floats in all languages were distributed and returned a few quiet time.

So be it then took the family camping holiday trips habits of Siesta : Grandma got up and trotted the first in a dressing gown to the reception to fetch croissants English huge and rubbery. She made the coffee, which usually woke Lucien and Gilberte. Jojo, all tousled, arose soon after.
The girl (well, ex-) only emerges towards lunchtime, with dark circles under the eyes when we already returned once to the beach. "I think she has a look of paper mache," said the mother, Grandma smiled as sweet and as all the seniors, she had a very light sleeper and knew exactly what to think about the wealth of his granddaughter. All evenings were organized
transhumance appetizing, invitations hurled, went and relaunched. The parties
alley starts immediately after the meal, once completed negotiations on the towers of dishes. Then we remade the world and the victories were watered until late into the night.

But one morning, after the ninth day he came this:

"- Dad, there's Grandma who died ... "The dextral
paternal springs from the depths of the sleeping parental befall a resounding slap on the nape of Jojo in pajamas. Is that clock like that, after the liters of sangria last night, wet themselves of pastis, should not piss off the man ...
- But it's true! replied the boy crying half Grandma it moving, breathing it!
The mother awoke in turn sat limply on the bed:
- Oh okay, Jojo! You're not funny, what time is it?
- But Mom, I swear, it breathes and is more bizarre I'm afraid ...
- Hey, it hears you, Lucien? Go see! It's your mother after all ...
Only a vague grunt answered Gilbert.
"Well I'm going. Jojo is my rest ... "The mother returned

upset:
- Lucien, arise. I think it's serious ... Little was right ... "

It was a shock for the family. Grandma is that she was old but apparently in good health ... In addition, we liked him: always cheerful, kind, adoring grandchildren. They went
awaken the great who first, burst into tears. Tears are communicated to everyone for many minutes. We stood there sniffling and go from time to time if, at times, the same it was not just sleeping very deeply ...
After a while Gilbert returned to earth:
- I go to the reception to know what to do. We have not even called a doctor, she said, recovering herself to cry.
- Shhh, Gilberte, we will hear you. Wait. Stay here, must think ...
- But ...
- Stay here, I tell you! Children, return your tents, I must question your mother!
Annie, this time with Jojo took her in his tent to try to calm him down.
- Gigi, you must immediately returned Billancourt, said Lucien ...
- But your mother?
- Ben precisely: can you imagine if the troublemakers are declared his death in Spain? If it is found they will demand that she be buried here. And how are we going to come and see the Saints?
Gilberte began to cry harder.
- Come, come, calm yourself. Have a drink, "he said, pouring him a glass of pastis pure. And even assuming they accept that the body is repatriated to France, you have an idea of what it will cost?
- perhaps they will suspect us of having murdered? ...
- Yeah, you can get stuck here for years ... With what they say about prisons Franco ... Think,

... They thought so that 'they came to the conclusion that the only way was to hide even within the party, to leave immediately and pass the border at night praying to God so that we do not discover the macabre transport. It was hoped a police presence lowest and flowing traffic. Once in France, we would return post-haste at Billancourt, we would arrange to arrive the night and smuggle the corpse in his bed. Then we declare the death.

Neither Gilbert nor Lucien had the slightest idea of rigor mortis and methods available science to determine the date of death, but they believed that their plan would work. Anyway they still saw no other possible.
remained the kids. And then the neighbors of camping. Would find an excuse. And why not, just a death in the family? It

Briffa children. Jojo was too shocked to protest, but the big one, spent the first emotion, found it bad. She had taken a liking to Radad with his student and forced to stay like this, in full flight, his education at the thing, it put him as regrets, feelings of incompleteness ...
Gilberte was responsible for spreading the excuse of family bereavement we have learned early this morning by phone from a booth in France. Canard that it served both at the reception as neighbors, while the rest of the family frantically folded the tents and camping equipment.
We managed to take the road towards noon. Grandma had been left in his bed under the sheets covering of linen and various clothing.

Shortly before midnight, after nearly 700 kilometers of roads barely passable English, the tension inside the family car became maximum. It was first decided that this would lead to Gilberte who pass through customs, but gradually as we got closer, his nervousness increased so that Lucien had to take the wheel, but he himself ends up not not carry off. If Annie, shared the sadness and unspeakable fantasies stood roughly correct, however, who had Jojo awakened after a long nap became increasingly hysterical, crying and screaming, which further increased parental stress. Fort
appropriately, at the exit of a bend, the sight of the border post of La Junquera and line of vehicles waiting their turn him literally cut chewing tobacco, he almost forgot to breathe. A thick silence settled in 403.
The customs stopped the car, claimed the documentos the vehicle and the ID, looked suspiciously on the occupants and made open the caravan with a blow torch quickly and he verified it was circular empty of any human presence, gave the papers to the stunned occupants in the car and beckoned to ride.
French Customs was even faster: "nothing to declare" they passed without incident.

nerves could finally relax. It continued the journey on real French roads and they began looking for a café to recover from his emotions.
At the pike of the day they found a "road" that never closed. We parked the car and his trailer in the parking lot.
Gilberte, Lucien, Annie Jojo and entered the establishment. Morale was already better. Another ten of hours away and it would be almost out of the woods. One could look to mourn, to bury Grandma, finally, everything is normal in these cases ...
ordinary breakfast proved insufficient, it ordered the croque-monsieur, eggs, solid food . Gilberte, who was behind the wheel took two extra strong coffee. Jojo came back into life before an order of fries, a few shots of Lucien agrees in addition to its white omelet and asked for a second big-sausage sandwich butter.
So it cheered as the surviving members of the family left the coffee shop " To ensure that road, "the National 9 in the morning already very soft, 10 August 1961.
After a few dozen steps towards their team, they stopped incredulous, open-mouthed and motionless, pressed against each other at the sight of their incredible 403 lacked a caravan which had evidently been stolen.
This lasted several minutes and it ended by saying that Jojo:

"But ... and Grandma? "

Frederic Spassky.