Soft in the Head Read Free Page B

appearances.
    He even makes snide comments like, Well, well! What a coincidence!
    It doesn’t matter, everyone knows where they stand with him since the night Marco’s car broke down.
     
    This one night, Marco was supposed to be going round to dinner with his sister and his brother-in-law. Just when he was about to set off, his Mercedes conked out. Marco went round to Landremont’s place and was hammering on the door for ten minutes before he answered. Marco kept knocking because he could see lights on and hear the TV. Given that they’re neighbours, he knew Landremont was definitely at home.
    Anyway, long story short, in the end Landremont came to the door.
    Marco told us about it the day after.
    “Straight up, lads, I thought I’d met a zombie! Landremont had had a skinful!… I told him I really needed a favour, that I needed to be somewhere and I couldn’t get the car started. Said maybe it was a track rod or maybe the cylinder head, or maybe it was something else. And d’you know what he said to me?”
    We said: No.
    It was true, we didn’t know.
    “He said: ‘Leave me the hell alone, go find a mechanic.’”
    Marco added, “I’ve never seen a guy in such a state, never! And I’ve been on my fair share of benders, anyone here can vouch for that.”
    We said: Oh, yeah, no question…
    “Hang on, I’m not finished! He’s so bombed that at one point he says: ‘Sorry Marco, I need to take a piss.’ So I said: ‘Sure, no problem, go ahead.’ But he just stands there, not moving, holding the door open. You want to know the best part?”
    We said: What?
    “He pissed himself. He stood there, stiff as a board, looking like he was thinking, and the bastard pissed in his pants!”
    We all said: Really?!
    Michel said:
    “So what did you do?”
    “What could I do? I said goodnight and I went home. Then I called my brother-in-law and asked him to come pick me up.”
    We asked: What about the car?
    “Pff, some glitch with the electrics, that’s all.”
     
    Ever since then, we’ve known that Landremont has rough nights.

 
     
    W HILE I WAS EXPLAINING the names of the birds to Margueritte, I wasn’t thinking about any of that, just about the word coincidence , which reminded me of Landremont’s comment when he saw me having a drink with Jojo. Which brought me back to Jojo, specifically to his birthday party the previous night (well, five in the morning, actually). And the fact I hadn’t had much sleep, which, on the one hand, explained why I was so emotional, and on the other, why I had a banging headache. If I don’t get my eight hours, I’m a train wreck the whole day.
    It was at this point the little old lady said:
    “You’re looking very thoughtful…”
    So I went and explained everything, like we were close friends or something.
    “No, not really… Just a bit tired. Last night, I was at the fortieth birthday of my friend Jojo Zekouc.”
    And so she said:
    “So you’ve got a friend who’s a cook?”
    I was gobsmacked.
    “So you know Jojo?” I said.
    “No, I haven’t had the pleasure. Why do you ask?”
    “Well, how did you know he’s a cook if you’ve never met him?”
    “Well, because of his name, I suppose. Zekouc sounds like the cook in English.”
    “Oh, yeah,” I said, “of course.”
    But I was completely stunned. I mean, obviously I knew that that kind of thing was possible.
    When I was a kid, the butcher on the place Jules-Ferry was called Duporc. And the guy in the hardware shop opposite the town hall is called Le Charpentier. But it would never have occurred to me that Jojo had a name that matched his job. And an English name to boot.
    I said goodbye to Margueritte. Since she was a nice person, I added:
    “Margueritte is a pretty name.”
    “For a pigeon, certainly!” she said and laughed.
    I giggled. She said:
    “What about you, what is your name?… If I may be so forward.”
    “Germain Chazes.”
    And then, as if I was the mayor or something, she said:
    “Well