The French Girl Read Free

left before going back into the kitchen. We followed her.  She opened the refrigerator, bent down, and then slammed it shut.  She flung the cabinets open one by one and banged them with such force that they bounced back open.  She looked around and even pulled the trash bag from the barrel to inspect underneath it. Whipping around on her heels, she faced Anais and me.
    “ Où sont-ils ? Where are they?” she demanded.
    I glanced anxiously at Anais and then without realizing it, looked over for just a second at the window.  She caught my glance, strode over, flung up the sash and leaned way over.  I was afraid she’d pitch forward and fall right through.
    Maman surveyed the contents below, pulled herself back in and without even bothering to shut the window, drew back her hand and slapped Anais across the face.
    “ Zut alors !” she said as she headed back to her room.
    I watched the red welt rising across Anais’ cheek. She shut her dark brown eyes as I grabbed a towel that was hanging from the stove handle, wet it and handed it to her.  She placed it gingerly against her swollen cheek.
    Maman suddenly reappeared in the kitchen with an unopened bottle in her hand that must have been in her room. Ignoring us, she rummaged through several of the drawers flinging them open until Anais walked over to a cabinet, took out a corkscrew and dropped it loudly on the table in front of her. As Anais walked by, Maman tried to grab her by the arm, but Anais yanked it back and threw the wet towel down on the floor at Maman’s feet.  I heard the front door slam as she walked out.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER TWO
     
    I tried hard not to think about the county woman coming back and was extra careful from then on to always shut and lock the front door, despite the blue haze of smoke that clung to the ceiling.  Two days later, I came home from school to find Maman’s door locked.
    “Maman,” I called banging on the door. “Maman, please!”
    I heard rustling and finally the door opened up.  Maman’s friend, Luc Paul, came out.  I did not like him much.  He was a thin, bony man with slick black hair, a very long face and a chin that stuck out far from the rest of his face and was always full of stubble.  He smelled like fish.
    ***
    Everyone knew that Luc Paul was supposed to be aboard La Dominique that Christmas morning but he never showed up and the crew, who were anxious to make their morning run and get back to celebrate the holiday with their families, couldn’t wait any longer.  Later on, Luc Paul told everyone that he woke up with a bad stomach, but I once overheard Monsieur Segal tell Madame Fried Dough that Luc Paul was only sick from too much celebrating the night before and what a shame it was that he hadn’t been on board.
    ***
    Luc Paul stood in the doorway wearing only trouser pants. Maman was sitting up in her bed, trying to light a cigarette between very shaky hands.  Several bottles sat on the table beside her along with two empty glasses.  Luc Paul reached down into his pants pocket and took out a wad of bills held together with a scrimshaw clip, peeled off two dollars and waved them at me.
    “Why don’t you be a good girl and go get yourself some ice cream?” he said patting my head.
    I ducked away from him and looked beyond him to Maman who sniffed loudly, wiped at her nose with the back of her hand and waved me away.
    As soon as I turned my back, I heard the door shut and the lock turn.
    I walked down to Le Gateau .
    “ Bon jour, Etoile ,” Monsieur Segal said greeting me.  “I have a special treat for you today,” he said as I laid the two dollars down on the counter.  He quickly scooped them up and put them into the front pocket of his apron.
    Monsieur Segal was quite bald, but wore his hair flipped from one side to the other.  His eyes were such a pale blue, almost gray, as if someone had forgotten to put the color in them.
    “And how is Maman, today?” he asked as I took a